Growing up, I always thought I was just really good at adapting. It was a badge of honor I wore proudly. We moved constantly—at least once a year—new homes, new schools, new friends. What a cool experience, right? I learned how to quickly assess a new environment, blend in, and make new connections. At least, that’s what I told myself for years.
But was it really adaptability? Or was that just the story I told myself to make it palatable? To ignore the deeper scars of what it meant to never feel settled, safe, or nurtured?
On the surface, moving around sounds adventurous, even glamorous to some. The chance to live in different places, experience new things, and meet so many different people. That’s the narrative I embraced.
But behind that shiny veneer was the reality: no consistency, no roots, no safety net. With every move came the same process—pack up, start over, leave behind everything familiar, and brace myself for the inevitable goodbye to whatever connections I’d managed to form.
Adding to this whirlwind were parents who were, at best, indifferent and, at worst, neglectful. Nurturing wasn’t part of the equation. I didn’t have the foundation of stable, loving relationships to lean on. I wasn’t taught how to trust, how to form secure bonds, or how to navigate emotional intimacy.
I became skilled at fitting in wherever I landed. But fitting in isn’t the same as belonging.
Looking back now, I question whether I ever truly adapted—or if I just learned how to survive. When you move as much as I did, you don’t really have a choice. You learn how to be a chameleon, to mirror what others want to see, to make surface-level connections that never dig too deep.
Adaptability became a defense mechanism, a way to mask the deeper truth: I was never taught how to form or maintain healthy, secure attachments.
As an adult, this so-called adaptability feels less like a skill and more like a symptom. I struggle to let people in, to trust fully, to believe that relationships are stable and lasting. The story I told myself about being “super adaptable” feels like a shield I crafted to hide the reality: I don’t know how to form secure attachments because I never had the chance to learn.
It’s easier to say, “I’m just adaptable” than to admit, “I have trouble connecting in a healthy way.”
Acknowledging this isn’t easy. It means revisiting a past I tried to paint in bright, optimistic colors. It means admitting that what I thought was a strength might actually be a wound. But it also means I can finally begin to address the underlying issue.
Adaptability got me through those chaotic years. It’s what kept me afloat. But now, I’m learning to move beyond survival mode. I’m working to understand attachment, to unlearn unhealthy patterns, and to teach myself what I wasn’t taught: how to form real, meaningful, and secure connections.
If you’ve ever wondered whether your “strength” is really just a mask for something deeper, know this: it’s okay to question the story you’ve told yourself. It’s okay to admit that the shine of adaptability may have hidden the scars of instability.
Acknowledging the cracks doesn’t diminish who you are. It’s the first step in healing them.
May peace, light, and love guide your path. Always.
#Adaptability #AttachmentDisorder #EmotionalHealing #ChildhoodTrauma #SelfDiscovery #SecondBloom #PersonalGrowth #militarykids
