There’s a younger version of you still living inside — the one who was silenced, misunderstood, or told to “be strong” when all she needed was to be held. She’s not gone. She shows up in your relationships, your reactions, your fears, your people-pleasing, your perfectionism.
This poem is my heart-to-heart with that girl.
The little me who waited for someone to choose her, protect her, tell her she was good — even if she made mistakes.
I wrote this as a reminder that healing doesn’t always look loud or instant. Sometimes it’s a quiet, sacred reunion with yourself — where you finally say:
“I see you. I hear you. I’m here now.”If you’re on a healing journey, especially one involving childhood wounds, emotional abandonment, or the ache of never feeling quite “enough” — this is for you.
I found her today —
Curled in the corner of my memory.
Knees hugged to chest,
Eyes wide like moonlit water,
Waiting for someone
To notice the quiet ache in her chest.
She didn’t say a word.
But I knew.
Because I’ve carried her pain
In my posture for years.
In my overthinking,
In my panic,
In my perfectionism.
She was me.
I was her.
And for the first time,
I sat down beside her.
“Hey baby,” I whispered.
“I’m here now.
You don’t have to be so brave all the time.”
She looked up —
Surprised anyone stayed.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I’m sorry no one protected you
From the yelling,
The silence,
The weight you weren’t meant to carry.”
“I’m sorry they told you to be quiet
When your soul wanted to sing.
That they mocked your softness
And called it weak.”
She blinked.
I saw her mouth quiver.
“I’m sorry you had to earn love
With being top student and good behavior.
That ‘just being you’ never felt like enough.”
“I’m sorry for every time you cried alone,
For every birthday you felt forgotten,
For every time you swallowed your truth
So someone else could be comfortable.”
She didn’t speak,
But she reached out —
Small fingers brushing my hand,
As if to say, Keep going.
So I did.
“You didn’t deserve the chaos,” I said.
“The broken promises.
The way they made you feel like a burden
Instead of a blessing.”
“You were a miracle.
You still are.”
Her eyes filled with tears
That I knew weren’t new.
They’d just waited for someone safe enough
To fall in front of.
“You don’t have to shrink anymore,” I told her.
“You’re allowed to take up space.
To be messy. Loud. Bold.
To laugh without covering your mouth.
To rest without guilt.”
“I love you,” I said.
And meant it more
Than I’d ever meant anything.
“I love you when you’re crying.
I love you when you’re scared.
I love you when you don’t achieve anything.
I love you when you fail.”
“I don’t need you to earn it.
You already are it —
Worthy.
Loved.
Enough.”
She cried then —
In a way I never allowed myself to.
And I held her.
Like I’d always needed to be held.
“I forgive you,” I added,
“For thinking it was your fault.
For believing you had to be perfect
To be safe.”
“I forgive you for carrying shame
That was never yours.”
She leaned into me,
And for a moment,
I felt the tension I’ve lived with for decades
Loosen.
“You can play now,” I told her.
“You can dream again.
We are no longer surviving —
We are creating, becoming, living.”
“You don’t need to prove anything.
You already are everything.”
And then,
She smiled —
Not the scared smile,
But the real one.
The one with missing teeth
And too much joy to hold in.
She grabbed my hand.
“Can we dance now?” she asked.
And so we did.
To music only we could hear.
On the soil of freedom.
Under skies that never said you’re too much.
This is what reparenting feels like:
Not fixing her,
But freeing her.
Not changing the past,
But changing the story.
Today,
I became the mother she needed.
The voice she longed to hear.
The protector she never had.
And I promised her —
As long as I live,
She will never be abandoned again.
Because she’s not my past.
She is my compass.
My softness.
My truth.
My beginning.
And I —
I am finally becoming
The home she always needed.
Your inner child doesn’t need you to be perfect — she needs you to be present.
To stop running. To sit with her. To hold space for her tears, her joy, her wonder.
Healing begins the moment you choose to stop abandoning yourself.So talk to her. Listen.
Dance with her. Laugh out loud.
Show her that it’s safe now. That you are safe now.
Because every time you choose softness over shame,
Love over fear,
Truth over silence —
You’re rewriting the story she once thought she had to survive alone.This isn’t just healing.
It’s your rebirth.
It’s your homecoming.Welcome back to yourself.
