But she was right.

What I had to learn — what took the longest — was that the coldness that saved me in the driveway, the arctic calm I had been so proud of, was not a permanent strength.

It was armor, and armor is for battle, and the battle was over.

A person cannot live the rest of her life in armor; it stops protecting you and starts becoming the thing that keeps everyone out.

So slowly, carefully, in that quiet office, I learned to take it off.

I learned to let my father hold me when I cried, instead of managing his feelings so I wouldn’t have to feel my own.