Taking Care of My Inner Child

I wrote a poem recently about my inner child.

My inner child is the frightened, unsure, lonely part of me. The part who still suffers from the painful things that have happened to me. The part of me who desperately wants someone to take care of her, but doesn't really trust anyone to do it properly. She will always be there. I can choose to ignore her and let her stew in her misery, her fear. Or I can choose to help her.

Because the thing is, I am also an adult now. I am intelligent. I know where to go if I need help. I know how to find answers to my questions. I know how to drive, I know how to make food, I know how to talk to other people, I know how to get myself where I need to go. My adult self knows things. Most importantly, my adult self knows how to take care of herself and other people.

I think, too often, I give everything up to my child self. She seems to throw tantrums inside me when I get scared. Adult Me grows quiet as my inner child rages. My child self asks, "But WHAT IF? WHAT IF you can't do this? WHAT IF you can't take care of me? WHAT IF we all fail and die because you don't know ENOUGH? I am so scared..." and she dissolves into tears. Sometimes she throws herself down and sobs loudly, painfully, alone in her fear and despair.

Adult Me has often backed off. "What if the child is right? I don't know everything. What if I really can't do this? Perhaps if I'm only going to end up failing her, I shouldn't try at all. She may be hurting, but at least that pain is familiar. What if I just make it worse? I don't want to assume that I can make this better for her. I don't understand her well enough for that."

And there is the crux. I don't understand my inner child. I am afraid of disappointing her, of failing her. I'm afraid to hurt her even more, so I don't try to assume I can take care of her. I leave her in her lonely, painful world, because at least that is familiar to her. I don't want to make things worse for her.

So the question becomes, "How do I get to know her? How do I sit with her long enough to hear what she needs? How do I brace myself against her tears, her yelling, her intense fears so that I can understand her, hold her, reassure her? How do I love this child who has been afraid for so long?"

I know I'm smart enough. I am compassionate enough. I have given myself permission to do this, and now I need to find the courage. I can do it. I am capable. My inner child is worth it. She needs to be loved, and I can offer that to her.

I can take care of myself.