Sable Monroe

When people imagine childhood memories, they often picture carefree family outings filled with laughter and uncomplicated happiness.

That is not how I remember family outings.

I do remember going to Hope Botanical Gardens in Kingston, Jamaica with my parents occasionally when I was very young. And to be fair, the fact that we went at all probably meant my parents were temporarily in one of their “good” periods where they were trying to function like a normal family again.

Those periods never lasted long, but as a child, I always hoped they would.

I remember the park feeling enormous.

The colors felt brighter there. The sounds were louder. Children were running around excited. Families looked relaxed in ways I could never fully understand.

And then there was the carousel.

I was terrified of the horses.

Not in a dramatic way.

I genuinely believed the horses might somehow bite me.

Childhood fears are often irrational, but completely real to the child experiencing them.

The painted horses looked too large to me. Too still. Too frozen and strange. I did not trust them at all.

Meanwhile, my parents became annoyed that I did not want to ride.

That part stayed with me too.

Not just the fear itself, but the feeling that my fear was inconvenient.

As an adult, I understand that parents sometimes become frustrated when children react differently than expected during outings. But as a child, all I understood was that I was scared and the adults around me seemed irritated instead of reassuring.

But underneath the carousel fear was another fear I rarely spoke about out loud.

Even during “happy” family outings, part of me stayed emotionally alert.

I was always worried my parents might suddenly start fighting in public.

That fear followed me everywhere:
parks,
restaurants,
school events,
car rides,
family outings.

At any moment, something small could trigger shouting, humiliation, or physical conflict.

So even when we were technically doing something fun, part of my mind never fully relaxed into childhood joy.

I scanned moods constantly.

I monitored tones of voice.

I watched my father carefully.

I watched my mother carefully.

I paid attention to emotional weather long before I understood what emotional regulation even meant.

Looking back now, I think that is why so many of my childhood memories feel emotionally divided.

There would be beauty,
sunlight,
music,
rides,
parks,
food,
family outings.

And underneath all of it:
tension.

As a child, I thought every family probably lived that way.

I did not yet understand that some children get to enjoy the carousel without worrying their parents might start fighting beside it.