Murife, why are you running?: Part 2

Lesson from an "other"

In my last article about my mother's backyard farm, I mentioned a certain chick that was always running—and I hinted that I had a theory I’d like to share about this behavior.

This article is about that theory.

Welcome to the second installment of Lessons from my Mother's Backyard Farm.

Disclaimer

Today's inference is based entirely on my personal observation. If there are studies—or even personal experiences—that say otherwise, that’s okay too. I’m simply sharing what I saw, thought about, and concluded.

When this chick, we'll call her Brown, was born, she did what all chicks usually do—followed her mother around closely. Her mom was super protective. But then, unexpectedly, she died. Brown, who had no littermates, was suddenly thrown into a world where she hadn’t yet fully weaned from her mother, but now had to struggle alone.

At first, when I noticed her fearful behavior, I was curious.

Could it be because she had grown up alone? Or was it something deeper—maybe the shock of losing her mother so suddenly?

To test this theory, I watched another batch of chicks. This time, there were just two. Whether it was a stroke of bad luck or the effect of illness ravaging the farm, their mother also died unexpectedly before they fully weaned. Now I had two sets of situations to compare.

And the difference was clear.

The sibling pair were less flighty. In fact, they would follow me around whenever I came to feed them. Yes, their mom had left early too, but they still had each other. They interacted with the other birds on the farm, even if a little differently—but there was a connection.

That’s when I came to this conclusion that a major factor in Brown isolating herself and being so flighty was loneliness.

Lonely

Theory: Behind certain flight behaviors lies not fear, but loneliness.

Unlike the second pair, she had no one. No shared experience. No littermate to navigate the loss with.

She had become so used to being the only chick of her mother that every other bird—or person—was seen as an imminent threat to her safety.

And that made me think: isn’t it the same with us?

Some of us are the first children—the first experiment of parenting, things were figured out over our heads, a lot of them trials and errors.

Some are only children, growing up with no peer to share the confusion of childhood with.

Others are the only son, the only daughter, or the last child with a ten-year gap between them and the rest.

And though we were never truly alone, we were emotionally isolated in our experiences. That, too, leaves a mark.

And maybe that’s the real point here.

Some of us have built our entire personalities around the absence of connection. We weren’t necessarily born withdrawn—we just learned, over time, that people leave. That comfort is short-lived. That it’s safer to stay on guard than to risk being left vulnerable again.

Like that lone chick, we flinch at closeness. We run from extended hands. We’ve been alone so long that love, friendship—even kindness—feel suspicious. And maybe that worked when we were younger, when it helped us survive. But the problem is, we never updated the system. We never re-learned what it means to let people in.

So, the walls stayed up.

But here’s the thing: we’re not chicks in a backyard farm. We’re human. And unlike that chick, we get the chance to reflect, to unlearn, and maybe—even just maybe—to reconnect.

So, here’s what I’ll leave you with:

If your instinct is to run, ask yourself what you’re really running from.

If your instinct is to shut people out, ask yourself who first made you feel unsafe.

And if you find yourself always choosing isolation, ask yourself whether it’s really a choice—or just a habit that formed around hurt.

Because you deserve more than survival.

You deserve connection. You deserve closeness.

You deserve to stop running.

If this piece stirred something in you, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Or share it with someone who might be silently navigating life in survival mode too.