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I have been content on my own for as long as I can remember.

My grandmother likes to tell a story about me as a toddler. I was in one of those old wooden playpens, happily occupied. If I wanted out, I would remove a slat, climb out, let her into the room while my mother was napping, and then climb back in.

Not because I was trapped.

Because I was content.

My mother says I didn’t cry much. I didn’t fuss. I wasn’t dramatic. I was observant. Quiet. Self-contained.

For most of my life, I never thought much about it.

I did not feel misunderstood. I did not feel wrong. I simply assumed everyone processed the world internally the way I did.

Friendships were uncomplicated. Which was perhaps made easier since most of my friends were boys. There was very little emotional analysis, very little drama. We talked, we laughed, we moved on.

I did not unravel easily. When something hurt, I thought about it privately and then moved forward.

It wasn’t suppression.

It was regulation.

As I grew older, I began to realise not everyone moves through life that way. Some people need to speak their thoughts aloud. Some need reassurance. Some need visible affection and affirmation.

I have always needed very little.

That independence has served me well. It has made me capable. It has made me resilient. It has allowed me to stand firmly on my own two feet without demanding much from anyone else.

But I sometimes wonder what it costs.

When you are the steady one, people assume you are fine. When you do not cry, they assume nothing hurts. When you handle things quietly, they assume you prefer it that way.

And often, I do.

I am not a worrier. I do not spiral easily. I am rarely overwhelmed by emotion.

But being reserved does not mean being empty.

It simply means the waters run deep and still, rather than loud or visible.

The girl in the playpen did not need rescuing.

She was content.

The woman she became is much the same.

Independent. Measured. Observant.

Still capable of letting herself out when she chooses.

And perhaps still learning that sometimes, it is all right to let someone open the gate for her.

– Kate