At first I thought the crack in my confidence, my wellbeing, my competence, was small, like the tiny valleys in the top of an old wooden table, or a playground injury a bandaid can soothe.

But it was not small. And to my horror, as it widened, I discovered beneath it a cavern of self-loathing and uncertainty—a cavern so large that it must have grown as I grew, stalactites of shame and stalagmites of anger forming one drip at a time beneath the surface of straight A’s and awards.

Had I sensed it there all along, this cave into which I felt myself falling? I fell until the crack through which I’d fallen seemed a mile above me, a splinter of light, unreachable. This new reality of you, and coldness—it all smelled like loneliness.

I wanted the old world back, didn’t know how to be me in this new world, didn’t dare look around. Instead I huddled to maintain the smallest sense of self. Was it years before I looked up? My eyes had adjusted, and to my wonderment I found I am not alone, as others move about in this underground home, and tiny lights shimmer from all the shining walls.

My misunderstanding becomes curiosity. Thank you for your patience. I think I may come to like it here.

Regards,

Middle-Aged Me