She Was Here

There’s something so significant about me turning 23. I felt it the moment my family cleared out of my hotel room that weekend. When the quiet washed over me and I felt actual peace for the first time in nearly a year. Here’s the thing, being alone was never something I feared– in fact I often prefer my own company because I can actually hear myself think and think CLEARLY when I’m alone. This comforting silence brought tears to my eyes. Tears of joy of course but as the song goes, it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to. And good god almighty did it feel good.  

I should also mention I was already feeling pretty emotional after re-reading God Help the Child by Toni Morrison. For a long time I could not properly articulate why Toni Morrison is one of my favorite authors of all time but now I can. Mechanics and writing style aside, it’s the introspective nature of her works that do it for me. It’s her emphasis on the self and the self reflection that many of us fear. Her words are so simple yet beautiful we can’t even see them forming the mirror we’ve been avoiding for so long until we run smack into it while reading. The first time I read God Help the Child my senior year of undergrad I related to Bride’s childhood struggle with colorism (an intra-communal problem often swept under the rug) and then “blossoming” once free of her former environment. I sympathized with her mother’s wound. But what went over my head was inner-child healing. Until March of 2021 that is.

Being stuck at home for over a year due to the pandemic wreaked havoc on my mental state. Like Bride I could feel myself regressing into my childhood self I tried so hard to run away from— I even found myself questioning my sanity only to later be told by my counselor that what I was experiencing was to be expected. My inner-child needed a lot of healing and being forced into an environment (childhood home and bedroom) ripped those unhealed wounds right open. That’s the thing about “growing up” it doesn’t mean we are suddenly rid of our child selves, they remain a source part of us. So when it comes to wounds, slapping on a band-aid and “moving on” doesn’t always cut it. When we were children we needed more TLC than the generic band-aid on our booboos. We needed our wounds cleaned, comfort from our caregiver, and monitoring until the injury scabbed over and fully healed. Otherwise we whimpered and complained until we were acknowledged. The little kid that will always exist within us is no different. We can only run without acknowledging our inner-child and the wounds they still have yet to heal from for so long. Little Bre has caught up with me and she refuses to be ignored. Rightfully so.

My biggest block in my main character journey is my wounded inner-child that so desperately desires external validation and acceptance especially from my family. Growing up I was bullied by my peers and felt a serious emotional void from my family. I never felt good enough as I was so as a survival tactic I learned to make myself small in order to get by until I could leave my hometown and be free. I remember the day I promised myself I would go out of state for college and “stay gone”. So much resentment and sadness built up over the years because my desires to live boldly and peacefully march to the beat of my drum never left me but I was terrified. For years I’ve oscillated between being the sad and terrified little girl to the numb yet angry young woman who felt trapped in her people pleasing ways. 

So those tears shed on my birthday was for new beginnings in healing. It was giving myself permission to live instead of merely surviving. I took a leap of faith and allowed myself to be a little selfish in order to indulge a childhood love that never left— travel. It felt so good with my new level of self awareness; like a baptism as I begin my new life as a healed woman.

At 23 I’ve begun reparenting myself. I’ve begun validating myself and honoring my feelings the way I was never taught but so desperately needed as at 8 years old and I feel stronger than ever. Honoring my feelings is honoring myself. Honoring my feelings is standing up for myself. Not stuffing it down and pretending I’m not bothered. I’ve started indulging my childhood self by writing creatively— this blog is honoring her as well as the stack of journals on my desk with letters to her and plans to make even our craziest dreams come true. Fully acknowledging my inner-child has given me a zest for life I thought was lost for good.

The purpose of this post is to encourage you to do the work and heal your inner-child or whatever your shadow work may force you to confront. Granted I am still a work in progress but getting to the root of what’s been stopping me from living my main character life for so long has made this journey all the more fulfilling. A main character without development is flat. As tangible beings we are anything but the sort. Do not feel ashamed of your wounds and the need to heal, instead think of them as your origin story and pat yourself on the back as you face them head on.

I encourage you to seek counseling. But if that is not possible at the moment, write to your inner-child. Write a letter to your inner-child acknowledging the wounds that should have never been inflicted and telling them the things they needed to hear back then and probably still need to hear right now. Get reacquainted and stop running. You cannot outrun yourself.