Wow! Those words sent a flush of recognition through my
body. How many times have I done that? For sure with every therapist – and a
handful of other people too. How many times has it been successful? Zero. Zip. Nada.
Desires, needs, longings of my wounded little girl? Normal.
Expectation that someone who truly cares and understands will fulfill these for
me? Trouble. Others can help with some of this, but no one can truly be there
100%. I will never be someone’s top priority. I am the only one who can be that
for me. I am always with myself. I am always interested in myself. I’m the one who must step up to the plate.
I have certainly accumulated evidence that others can’t do
it for me. Despite buying time (hours and hours and hours) and expertise from
caring, trained professionals, those deep, deep dependency needs are still
unmet. Have those therapy experiences been useless? No, certainly not; I have
learned and grown. But I have still not learned to parent my wounded inner
child.
Before I started thinking, reading, learning about the inner
child, it always seemed like an awkward paradigm. Was I supposed to think
myself into a little girl with ribbons and lollipops and then talk in a baby
voice? I doubted that would ever happen. As I move forward on this journey (and
I am truly just beginning), I am understanding that my wounded inner child is my long squelched feelings.
Growing into adulthood, I became that same critical,
unavailable parent that were my first attachment figures. “Don’t be silly.”
“You don’t need that.” “Grow up.” “Stop crying.” And a host of harsher words
that drove the still undeveloped little girl underground. Taking care of
herself, hiding, looking for safety the best she could. That wounded child is
under the boot heel of derisions that are no longer there, threats that no
longer have meaning.
Working with my inner child now means allowing her to
express those longings and unmet dependency needs without criticism or
judgment. Those feelings are the voice of my inner child. Sure, my inner
critical parent still judges, still feels ashamed. But my therapist is teaching me. I may
be only in kindergarten but I am determined to graduate.
It’s a time travel story, and my little girl is waking up to
a world she doesn’t recognize.
She held herself until
the sobs of the child inside subsided entirely. I love you, she told herself.
It will all be okay. -H. Raven Rose,
Shadow Selves
Give yourself a big hug –
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