Your inner kids need you.
And you need them.
Hi Friends,
A couple months ago I was in a writing bootcamp, and this was the prompt for the day: What have you inherited?
I found myself writing to my father. Here’s some of what I wrote:
What have you given me, dad, besides this enormous hole where your love should have been? What have you given me, besides the fear that I am unlovable and not worthy of attention, besides this compulsion to be seen and adored? What exactly did you pass down to me before you passed on? I don’t see you when I look in the mirror; I can’t see you. Maybe if you had shown me any care, had come to my ballgames, had offered me even one piece of advice, maybe then I would be able to make out your features in mine. Why was it so hard for you to love your son? To love this son? Why couldn’t you have faked it. I would have believed you.
What have you given me, dad, besides this endless grief for not having a real father, and not getting to be a son? I want to believe you left me more than emptiness, more than pain. I want to believe you tried your best, that you wanted to know me but didn’t know how. I want to believe it was all you, and not me. That I’m not the broken one. The unlovable one. I want to believe you looked at me with pride even if you weren’t able to express it.
I long to walk through this world carrying some piece of you, some mannerism or inflection that tells others, “that’s Jimmy’s boy.” Something that connects us to one another that isn’t heartbreak and anger and disappointment. What you have left me with, dad, is an unending longing to be someone’s little boy, to have been seen and loved and protected for no other reason than I was your son and you were my father. And that should have been sacred. That should have been everything.
When I read these words back, I don’t connect to them as mine. Mine as in 50-year-old me, as in who I am right now. These are the words, the feelings, of a much younger me. The twelve and thirteen and fourteen and fifteen year old within me. Even the nineteen and twenty year old. The kid who wanted nothing more than a loving connection with his dad, and the kid who lost his dad before any hope of building that connection was possible. My father could no longer neglect me after he died, but his neglect while he was alive has lived on within me. All the younger Scottys have been carrying some degree of that pain for decades. It’s extraordinary how present the pain still is at times.
I imagine many of you reading this are familiar with inner child work, and perhaps have integrated it into your healing. If you’re not familiar with it, I recommend acquainting yourself with how powerful and transformational it can be to connect with your inner child in an intentional, loving way. Googling “inner child work” might be a good place to start. I’m connecting more often, and with more intention, to the younger versions of myself, in order to heal their wounds, to free their gifts, to parent them in ways they were never parented. I have four pictures of myself set out on my dresser — at two, ten, sixteen and twenty — present reminders to stay connected to these kids, to all the different versions of myself still alive within me. They (we) all need, and will always need, to be seen and loved.
I’ve been visiting with the younger Scottys often lately. The other day I spent time with twelve-year-old me. Through visualization, I sat beside him, my hand on the small of his back, holding space for what he was going through. I felt his confusion, and loneliness, and disappointment in our dad. I felt his terror as he was becoming more conscious of his attraction to other boys. I felt how unseen and unloved he believed himself to be. I held him in my gaze, steady and compassionate, and when it felt right, I spoke. “I love you so much. I see you, and adore you, and believe in you with every cell in my being. You are worthy, Scott, and beautiful, and so very loved, just as you are. I know you’re hurting, and I know you’re confused, and I’m here for you. Always. Whatever you need, I’m here. You are perfect, as you are. I love you so much. There is no one in the whole world I love more than you.”
After some time like this, I felt him shift. He nudged his body into my side, relaxed, and I put my arm around his shoulder. I could feel a smile spread across his face. I could tell that he felt safe, and seen, and loved. My body relaxed, too. As did my mind. Everything our inner child is holding onto, we the adults are holding too. Every wound of all the children within me are my wounds to carry. And every moment of healing for them is one for me, as well. There is no separation.
In my experience, the more I connect to my inner child/ren, the more fulfilling my life becomes. I bless them with the compassion and stability of a loving and supportive adult, and they bless me with their openness, curiosity and creativity, among many other gifts.
In one of my workshops, I invite attendees to write two letters to their inner child. The first is a letter of apology for neglecting the kid within them for so long and in so many ways. We have all neglected our inner kids to some extent, and they’re not always raring to engage just because we suddenly are. A sincere apology can help initiate a connection. The second letter is an invitation to connect, to play, to hold one another as best friends and confidants. In this letter, we let our inner kids know how we will be there for them, what our intentions are, the different ways they can count on us. In this letter we set the stage for a relationship filled with trust, possibility and love.
It’s enlightening, when we start to pay attention to our triggers, destructive behaviors and compulsions, how many of them are rooted in our childhoods, in the wounds of the children within us who didn’t get what they needed from the caretakers around them. It’s empowering to understand it’s never too late to create healing around those wounds, never too late to show up as the adults our inner children need. We can do this work in therapy, if that’s an option, in journal writing, in meditation and visualization. There are countless books dedicated to inner child work (please share your favorites in the comments), podcast interviews and TED talks. The resources are there. All we need is a willingness to get in relationship with the many younger versions of ourselves who need us, and a willingness to let them shine as they were meant to.
A couple days ago I sat down to write and could think of nothing. I felt blocked, resistant, like my imagination had suddenly disappeared, and with it all creative impulses. I sat at my computer, staring at a blank screen like I’d done three thousand times before, when the vision of myself as a ten year old suddenly entered my mind. I saw little Scotty running around the backyard, doing cartwheels and spinning in circles until he crashed down on the grass, dizzy and delighted. I saw his toothy smile turn into loud laughter as he got up again and spun and spun until he fell down once more. And then my imagination seemed to reappear and present me with some fresh ideas to explore. Coincidence? I don’t think so. “Thank you,” I said to little Scotty. “Thank you for showing up just when I needed you. Thank you for giving me the creative nudge I wanted.”
It’s not just the little kids within us who need us to show up for them. There’s no saying how our lives will flourish once they start showing up for us, too. In their freedom, and curiosity, and creativity, and joy. There’s no saying what gifts a healed inner child has to share with the adult who took the time to sit with him, arm around his shoulder, and remind him he is worthy, and beautiful, and so very loved, just as he is.
I just announced a new journaling workshop beginning on February 28th called My Book of Love & Joy. For years I’ve been recommending to people to dedicate a journal solely to the positive aspects of their lives: the people they love and who love them, accomplishments that fill them with pride, things they appreciate about themselves, and the list goes on. When we’re feeling down, powerless or hopeless, when our mind is lying to us that all is lost, we can grab our journals and see the truth of our lives in them. We can see the love, and connection, and hope, and beauty. This journal can become one of our most powerful tools during the tough times. For more details and registration, click HERE.
Have you read/practiced The Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron? I’m guessing many of you have and love it as much as I do. I’m so excited to be presenting at Heal + Create, a two-week virtual retreat dedicated to personal transformation, healing and creative living, along with the one and only Julia Cameron, Jacob Nordby, David Gandelman, Flora Bowley, Lisa McCourt, and so many more. It starts in early February and is going to be just beautiful. Go HERE for details and registration.
