Meeting The Inner Child

Somewhere in you, the child you were is still present. Not as a ghost. As a layer. As the foundation that was laid first.

Imagine a place from your childhood. Wherever felt most like safety. The room, the garden, the corner. Let it form around you. Not with effort. Just let the memory offer what it offers.

Settle into the place. Let it be the age it was, the colours and proportions of memory. And then, somewhere in the space, there is a child. The child you were at some age, you choose the age or the age chooses itself, however old feels right for this visit.

See them. The specific child you were. Small in the way you were small. Looking the way you looked in the photographs of those years. Playing something or sitting quietly or waiting in the particular way children wait when they are uncertain.

The child sees you. There may be wariness. Children are careful with strangers. But you are not a stranger. You are what this child will become. There is recognition under the uncertainty. Something in them knows you.

Move toward them slowly. At their pace rather than yours. Sit beside them if you can. On the floor if that's where they are, on the step, in the space that is theirs. Bring yourself to their level. This is important. down to where they are, not up expecting them to meet you.

Some version of the following may be needed: I know it has been hard. I see it. I am not going to tell you it does not matter because I know it matters completely to you right now. But I need you to know: you are going to be okay. Not perfect. Not without difficulty. But okay. I am the proof of that.

You do not have to resolve anything. You do not have to undo anything. The child needed things they may not have received. You cannot go back. But you can do this: you can offer your presence. You can be, right now, the adult that the child needed. Not fixing. Just here. Paying attention.

Let the child show you something if they want to. Something they are carrying, some feeling or fear or the particular loneliness of an age that does not yet have words for loneliness. Receive it. Acknowledge it. Thank them for showing you.

Before you leave, tell them: I have not forgotten you. I carry you. You are part of how I became who I am and I value that, even the hard parts, even the parts I would have changed if I could. You did your best with what you had. I see that.

The child does not need to respond. Children do not require reciprocal eloquence. They need to be seen. You saw them. That is enough. That is a great deal.

Leave slowly. But leave changed. Something passes, in these meetings, between who you were and who you are. A kind of exchange. Compassion flowing backward into memory. Resilience flowing forward into now.

The child is there whenever you need to visit. They have been waiting a long time. They are not angry about it. They are just glad you came.

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