"We can't selectively numb emotion. If we numb the dark, we numb the light." — Brené Brown, Daring Greatly I've been sitting with that quote for a while now. Because honestly? It kind of called me out. I am a positive person. And I mean that sincerely — not in a "good vibes only" bumper sticker kind of way, but in a this is genuinely how I'm wired kind of way. When something goes sideways, my brain almost automatically starts scanning for what can be salvaged. When someone is struggling, I'm already looking for the door out of their pain. When the conversation turns heavy, I feel this quiet pull to find the flip side — the lesson, the silver lining, the reason it might actually be okay. I genuinely love that about myself. Cheering people on? That's where I come alive. Holding space for someone's mess while also helping them see their way through it? That feels like my lane. I don't even have to try — it's just how I move through the world. But here's the part I've had to get honest about. Some of the people closest to me have, at different points, gently (and not so gently) told me I'm not being realistic. That I gloss over hard things too fast. That my reflex to find the bright side can sometimes feel like I'm not fully with them in the dark. And at first? That stung. Because my positivity doesn't come from naivety. It doesn't come from pretending. I know the world is messy. I know people are complicated. I know that not everything has a lesson and not every situation has a silver lining tied in a bow. But here's what I've been learning — slowly, imperfectly: There's a difference between choosing the light and escaping into it. One is strength. The other is a strategy — a way of not having to feel the full weight of something hard. And sometimes, without even realizing it, my positivity has been a shield. Not a weapon, not a gift — a shield. A way of keeping myself just above the surface of something I wasn't quite ready to go under. Brené's words cut right through that. Because if I'm always pulling myself (and the people I love) toward the light before we've actually sat in the dark long enough to feel it — I'm not offering hope. I'm offering an exit.