The Messy Middle

I grew up in the middle. Not just in age, but right in the emotional crossfire of everyone else’s plots, subplots, and season finales. Never the prized oldest, never the delicate baby. I was just… there. A background character who somehow ended up doing half the heavy lifting.

Nothing was blamed on me more than anyone else, but somehow I was always in the chaos. Friends with the older one, sidekick to the younger one; shifting to whatever was needed. And because I’m a people-pleasing wanderer by default, I didn’t question it. I just adapted, adjusted, fit myself into whatever shape the moment required.

I didn’t realize how deep that ran until I started journaling to get the scaries out. Turns out writing is basically free therapy with better hours. Once I looked back, it was embarrassingly clear: I wasn’t just in the middle. I was the unofficial stability system. The emotional load-bearing wall. The one everyone leaned on without noticing the cracks.

Now I’m doing something feral and revolutionary: choosing a role I actually like, not the one I got assigned at birth. And it’s hard!

Half the time I still feel like if I say the wrong thing, someone’s gonna call a family meeting and what…Ground me? I’m a whole-ass adult. I’m not getting disowned for having my own beliefs. And nobody’s going to love me less for speaking my real mind instead of the politeness-filtered version I mastered as a kid.

I’m not saying being the middle child caused my people-pleasing, but let’s be honest, it sure as hell helped mix the batter.

So yeah, I blame myself for not trying sooner to succeed as me. But I’m trying now…