Today I was looking at an old photo album.
I usually don’t look at my childhood photos because it was so painful.
I do remember having a magical childhood from age 8 to 10.
I was happy.
So I looked at my 8 year old photos to remind myself what a genuine smile was.
And yes I did see the old me smiling.
But there was something else.
Every single photo, my hands were weird.
My hands looked tense.
They looked restless.
They seemed to be tingling.
Even when I was a happy kid, I was bound to feel anxious.
I wish any adults could have lend a hand.
But instead, the response I can remember of an adult is..
When I was 11 and struggling in school, a teacher brutally told me to stop playing with my fingers.
Now I know.
That I wasn’t playing with my finger, it was just my coping mechanism to the anxieties I had not idea what to do with.