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Or, as my mother would describe the pleasant side of this temperament: sanger kayente. She insisted it wasn’t a trait I inherited from her.

She loved watching me dance at home, her eyes lighting up in a way that made me feel cheery, seen, and deeply loved. Perhaps I reminded her of someone she once held close to her heart.

So I kept dancing, day after day. I watched her lingering sadness and gloom gradually fade, replaced by something brighter. She cooked my favorite foods with that same light in her eyes. I loved those moments.

But then, puberty hit, and it felt safe to share this side of me with peers outside. Yet, my choice to go out more may have stirred memories of heartbreaks she had long tried to forget—heartbreaks that, for a moment, I could make her forget by lighting up her eyes.

At that point, I reminded her too much of him.

To grow or not to grow ..