Eggshells - Illustrated
Chapter One: Reading the Room
You never know
which version
of them
is waiting
for you.
That is
the first thing
you learn.
You walk
through the front door
already scanning
the room
like someone
entering
a place
that has burned
before.
You listen
for the sound
of their voice.
Too quiet?
Too sharp?
Too cheerful?
You learn
to hear danger
in tiny things.
A sigh.
A look.
The way
a cabinet
closes.
The way
silence
sits differently
in the room.
Chapter Two: Becoming a Student of Storms
You become
a student
of moods.
A translator
of tension.
You memorize
what kind of day
they had
at work.
What subject
will upset them.
What words
feel safe.
You stop speaking
naturally.
Every sentence
must pass
inspection first.
Can I say this?
Will this
start something?
Will this
somehow
become
my fault?
Chapter Three: The Floor of Eggshells
You begin
to live
like someone
crossing
a floor
covered
in eggshells.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Trying
not to step
too hard.
Trying
not to breathe
too loud.
Trying
not to become
the next reason
they explode.
And the strange thing is,
after a while,
it becomes
normal.
You forget
what it feels like
to relax.
You forget
what it feels like
to laugh
without checking
their face
first.
Chapter Four: Shrinking
So you make
yourself
smaller.
Quieter.
Easier.
You swallow
opinions.
Hide
disappointments.
Bury
needs.
You become
less and less
of a person
and more
and more
of a weather
report.
Constantly
adjusting
to whatever
storm
might be
coming.
Chapter Five: Weather Report
Every morning
begins
with a forecast.
Not of rain.
Not of wind.
But of them.
You learn
to read
the pressure
in the room.
The look
behind their eyes.
The weight
of their footsteps.
The silence
before they speak.
You stop asking
how you feel.
You start asking,
"What kind
of day
are they having?"
Will today
be calm?
Will today
be distant?
Will today
be critical?
Will today
be a storm?
Your own weather
no longer matters.
You become
a forecast
for someone else's
sky.
Chapter Six: They Called It Love
And they call
this
love.
They call it
communication.
They call it
compromise.
They tell you
that you are
too sensitive,
too dramatic,
too difficult.
So you
believe them.
You blame
yourself
for the fear
they placed
inside you.
You blame
yourself
for the shrinking.
For the panic.
For the way
your own home
started to feel
like enemy
territory.
Chapter Seven: The Quiet Room
Until one day,
long after
it is over,
you sit
in a quiet room
with someone
gentle—
someone
who does not
punish you
for existing—
and they ask you
a simple question
in a normal voice.
And still,
your heart
races.
Still,
your stomach
tightens.
Still,
you search
their face
for danger
that is not
there.
Because living
that way
changes you.
It teaches
your body
to expect
pain.
To expect
anger.
To expect
love
to always
come
with fear.
Chapter Eight: Feet Flat on the Ground
But slowly,
over time,
you begin
to learn
that real love
does not make you
walk
on eggshells.
Real love
does not ask
you
to disappear.
It does not
measure
your worth
by your silence.
It does not
punish you
for existing.
Real love
lets you
put your feet
flat
on the ground.
Epilogue: Home
Because living
that way
changes you.
But healing
does too.
Not all
at once.
Not in
one conversation.
Not in
one morning.
Just slowly.
One quiet day
at a time.
One deep breath.
One honest laugh.
One room
where no one
asks you
to become
less
than you are.
Until one day,
without realizing it,
you stop
listening
for footsteps.
You stop
waiting
for the storm.
And the place
you once feared
becomes
simply...
home.
