Mental Garden

Chapter One: Planted Seedlings

Part One:
In the quaint neighbourhood of my childhood, laughter echoed through the air like the sweetest melody. I was a bright-eyed, happy child, radiating joy and exuberance in every step. With an infectious smile and a heart full of curiosity, I was the epitome of an outgoing and fearless soul.

From the earliest memories I can recall, my days were spent exploring the world around me with boundless enthusiasm. The neighborhood park was my sanctuary, a vast canvas where I painted memories with strokes of imagination and camaraderie. I ran and played with the other children, my laughter blending harmoniously with theirs, creating a symphony of happiness that resonated through the streets.

Friendship was the thread that wove together the fabric of my childhood. I had a diverse group of friends, each one unique in their own way. Together, we formed an inseparable bond, navigating the wonders of youth hand in hand.

Fear was a distant concept—a word I hardly knew. I leaped from swings, soared on the highest slides, and climbed trees with an unshakable sense of confidence. My parents watched with pride, cherishing my spirit and encouraging me to explore the world with an open heart.As I grew older, my outgoing nature withered away. Life has its way of shifting the tides, and sometimes the waves come crashing unexpectedly. As I ventured into adolescence, the winds of change began to blow, slowly stirring the calm waters of my childhood. Beneath the surface of my outward cheer, a subtle unease started to take root.

Social situations that had once been effortless now caused ripples of anxiety within me. My heart would race, and my palms would become moist with nervousness. The once familiar territory of friendships began to feel like uncharted waters. Doubts and insecurities crept into my thoughts, and I found myself second-guessing my words and actions.

As I began to grapple with this new complexity, I sought refuge in my creativity. Writing became my sanctuary—a private realm where I could explore my emotions, fears, and hopes without judgment. The pen became my voice, and the blank pages became my confidante.

The carefree child I once was still lingered within, and in moments of solace, I longed to find that sense of fearlessness again. But I knew that this newfound vulnerability was not a weakness; rather, it was an invitation to understand myself on a deeper level, to embrace the complexities of life, and to embark on a journey of self-discovery.

In the midst of the laughter and adventures that colored my childhood, there were whispers of unspoken truths lingering in the shadows. Communication, like an elusive ghost, was never a strong presence in my family. The art of discussing emotions openly and honestly was a skill we had not mastered. Within the walls of our home, conversations often danced around the surface, never delving into the depths of our feelings or struggles. We spoke of everyday matters—the weather, school, work—but the matters of the heart were treated as uncharted territories, places we dared not explore.

Mental health was an uninvited guest, lurking in the corners of our lives, yet never formally acknowledged. It was as if its existence were taboo, and we found solace in brushing it under the rug. I sensed it in my own moments of vulnerability, the subtle signs of anxiety, the persistent feelings of unease. But admitting these emotions felt like an admission of weakness, so I locked them away, pretending they didn't exist.

As a family, we never spoke about mental health—its struggles, its impact, or its importance. Instead, we erected walls of silence, believing they shielded us from the discomfort that lurked beyond. We smiled on the surface, but behind closed doors, the weight of unexpressed emotions loomed heavily.

This lack of communication, though well-intentioned in its attempt to protect, inadvertently created a void in our understanding of one another. The unspoken burdens we carried in our hearts remained invisible to the naked eye, leaving us feeling isolated and alone in our struggles.Looking back, I realize how this silence perpetuated a cycle of misunderstanding and hindered our ability to truly support one another. Sometimes I often blame my parents but then remember my parents, too, were raised in a similar environment.