When Childhood Wounds Return

wounds

By Anonymous

It all happened so quickly. It hit me like a ton of bricks. One minute I was fine and the next minute I was uncontrollably sad. I couldn’t explain to you how or why, even if I wanted to. Tears were coming out of me without warning, without announcement.

It was one of those experiences that take you outside of yourself, outside of your body. I would breathe for a minute and think I am fine, only to be met by tears a minute later. It couldn’t be controlled or lessened by me or by anyone.

I have come to learn that it is in these profoundly painful moments that I learn the most.

This pain didn’t go away after an hour—it was a lingering one, staying with me for over a day. It screamed all sorts of things to me.

You aren’t good enough,” “You did something wrong,” “You aren’t loved,” are some of the things that this pain tells me.

The trickiest part about it is that you don’t know it’s a childhood wound coming up when it’s happening. I, for example, thought I was insane or hormonal. I didn’t allow myself to feel, without judgment. I judged myself before anybody could even judge me. Also, the pain told me “You are terrible,” so I felt even more terrible as a result of feeling it and listening to it.

The thing about childhood wounds is that maybe they never make a clean-break. Some of them hit us so hard, so deep in our souls, that there will be remnants of them for as long as we live. I think that’s true for me.

My battle is this: not trying to excavate my inner wounded child, but rather trying to co-exist with her.It’s not an easy battle, to say the least. She still speaks really loud sometimes. She feels pain wholly and excruciatingly. She is terrified of being left behind, of being abandoned. She is afraid and helpless.

I am not. I am not helpless, nor paralyzed by my fear. I am not my inner child.

When we work together, for the benefit of me, I learn how to use discernment with my inner child. There are some things that I will listen to, parts of what she feels that are valid, intuitions and gut-feelings that I respect.

I have to love her to live with her. She needs to be heard—some days louder than others. Today, I listened to her. She cried and cried and cried. She felt rejected, less than, and abandoned. She was profoundly sad about something. She was afraid.

And I listened.

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