Content note: This piece mentions suicidal thoughts and an attempt. Please take care while reading. If you’re in the UK and need support right now, call 999 in an emergency, Samaritans 116 123 (24/7), or text SHOUT to 85258 (24/7).
The Both/And
We’ve all heard the argument: nature vs. nurture. People love to choose sides. I don’t. I believe both shape us. My life is a mixture of what I was born with and what I learned to survive. Naming that isn’t about blame—it’s about context. It’s about telling the truth.
The Rule I Learned Early: Privacy = Safety
I grew up in a very private family. We didn’t talk about problems; we just got on with it. I learned the rule: you don’t need to share details of your life with anyone. So I didn’t. Not with the outside world. Not even with people closest to me. Keeping everything to myself felt like strength. It looked like independence. It was also lonely.
I thought the price of being strong was carrying everything alone.
When I did try to open up, it often ended in arguments. Or what I shared became someone else’s problem, and I got lost in the noise. That taught me to hold my breath around my own truth. To make myself smaller. To be “fine.”
A House That Didn’t Feel Like Home
I didn’t feel like I belonged in the house I grew up in. I didn’t feel wanted. As I got older and more distressed, I caused more trouble—and felt even less wanted. I craved being chosen without being treated as a problem. I wanted to be seen without someone deciding what needed to be fixed about me.
All I ever wanted was to be wanted—without conditions, without a disclaimer.
Why I Believed No One Would Care
When I tried to take my own life, I truly believed it wouldn’t matter to anyone. That isn’t drama; it’s the honest logic of someone who never felt like they belonged in the first place. I did think of people. I thought of everyone. I just didn’t believe any of them would care.
I’m not pointing a finger at any one person. This isn’t about guilt. It’s about the systems and silences that raised me: the kind of love that never learned how to speak out loud, the kind of strength that demanded I carry everything alone. I look back at the girl I was—the teenager I was—and I can see it so clearly now: she wanted to be seen, loved without condition, and chosen. She wanted someone to show her she was worth fighting for. No one ever truly did.
What I’m Learning Now
I’m learning that strength doesn’t require isolation. I can be independent and still let people in. I can hold myself and still be held. I can name the past without living there.
A Final Word on Blame vs. Context
Saying both nature and nurture shaped me isn’t a way out of responsibility. It’s a way into compassion. I am accountable for who I choose to be now. And I’m allowed to admit the forces that bent me into certain shapes. Both are true.
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