I used to think that “reconnecting with your inner child” was some woo-woo nonsense people with too much time and a therapist said to sound deep. I pictured someone sitting in a field talking to a stuffed animal and calling it healing.
But lately, I’ve been forced to face a truth that hit harder than any cliché self-help quote ever could:
I abandoned the little girl inside me.
And the worst part is, I didn’t even notice.
She didn’t disappear overnight. It was slow. Sneaky. Like water dripping on a rock, soft at first, but given enough time—destructive.
See, when things hurt too much, my brain got really good at shrinking the pain. “It wasn’t that bad.” “Maybe I’m overreacting.” “Other people had it worse.”
I became a master at gaslighting myself.
And every time I did that, the little girl in me—the one who was scared, confused, and aching for someone to just validate her—got quieter and quieter.
Until she stopped speaking altogether.
I didn’t realize it until one day I saw a photo of myself at 6 years old. I looked so alive in that picture. Like I still believed in magic and was unbothered by the weight of making other people comfortable.
And suddenly, I missed her.
Missed me.
So I did something that felt kind of awkward at first—I started talking to her.
Not out loud (okay, sometimes out loud).
But in moments when I noticed my thoughts spiraling… when I was hard on myself, ashamed, second-guessing… I started asking:
“What would that little girl want right now?”
“What would I say to her if she was in the room?”
And every damn time, the answer was:
“I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.”
“I’m listening now.”
“I believe you.”
I won’t pretend it was easy. It still isn’t. It feels unnatural sometimes to comfort a version of yourself that the world convinced you to ignore.
But here's the thing: You don’t have to feel silly about healing.
You were never overreacting.
Your pain was real. Your fear was valid. Your silence was survival.
But survival isn't living.
Reconnecting with my inner child isn’t about finger painting or building pillow forts (though, those help). It’s about acknowledging that the younger me is still in there, and she needs more than dismissals and denial.
She needs truth.
She needs softness.
She needs me.
So if you feel silly at the thought of hugging your inner child, let me remind you:
You already have been carrying her all along. She’s just been waiting for you to stop apologizing for your pain long enough to hear her out.
And now that you're here?
Don’t let her go quiet again.
