I was told I was serious for as long as I can recall, and frequently admonished to “smile more!”

I now know why I appeared wise beyond my years, and sad. It was due to what I experienced as a child that’s finally been identified as significant trauma. I’ve recently researched genealogical records and see that it goes back to at least the mid-1800s on repeat - one disaster, dysfunction, untimely death, or tragedy after another. I feel lucky to have survived this long, possible only because I eventually estranged myself from the remaining toxic mess hellbent on denying anything bad or difficult happened in the family - ever. What passed for “normal” in prior generations, often wasn’t. I’m still an old soul, learning to have some self-compassion that’s better late than never.