My Five-Year-Old Self
According to Ian, I have a five-year-old version of myself running around inside me calling the shots, causing all sorts of havoc and craziness, and if I don’t start paying attention to her I’m never going to mature into the grown-up adult I hope some day to become.
She is a typical five-year-old. She can be cranky and whiny and sensitive and emotional like most five-year-olds. But, mostly she’s just scared. She harbors a deep distrust because she failed to achieve escape velocity from a less than perfect childhood. And a lot of things that happened to her in her adult life just piled on.
I don’t think she likes me very much because she is sad much of the time and she wants me to be sad, too. Feeling good feels bad to her. She thinks she doesn’t deserve happiness or she’s convinced that it isn’t going to last so why feel the good feelings at all. She’s pretty numb.
Ian wants me to embrace my five-year old, re-parent her, but it feels silly. Silly is code for uncomfortable and painful and, well, silly. I’m supposed to talk to her compassionately, give her a pep talk, tell her I’ll take care of her, make sure she feels safe, take her out for ice cream. But, to date, I haven’t been able to do it at least to Ian’s therapeutic satisfaction. He says I’m talking to her intellectually which puts distance between me and her which is kind of funny because, truthfully, she’s as close as my breath. I’m sure my ongoing resistance must frustrate Ian to no end although he doesn’t show it. He’s seen it work, heal, but he also admits that I’m not the only one he sees who “circles this therapy as if it’s a live rattlesnake.”
It is called inner child work and the idea is to xxxxxx. People make fun of it because it sounds so psycho babble.
So instead of talking to her I’ve written her a letter. When I suggested this to Ian he said, “Deal,” so fast it startled me. So here goes.
Dear Heart,
We’ve been together a long time, you and me, and although it feels disconcerting to talk to you as if you’re a separate person, I must admit that sometimes it does feel like we’re two different people. This is when I catch myself and recognize you in the moment. Usually when I’ve lost it with Taliesin, or I’m feeling pressured because at these times we’re over the top crazy. At other times, I am totally you, afraid and alone with my feelings and thoughts, but I don’t always recognize or acknowledge that you’re right here with me.
And that is what it has mainly been for us. Feeling lost and alone and abandoned and unloved. Not feeling good about ourselves and reluctant to ask for what we need and for what we want. Always tending to other people and putting others first. Always thinking about the past and that one brief period with Kim, in the beginning, when we felt so loved, so protected, so taken care of, so safe. We haven’t felt that way for a long time.
It’s understandable that you want to go back to the past or just be with him now. I understand why you carry all these hurts and why you try to cover them up, but can’t.
I hear you. I see you. I feel your pain. You are me.
Inner child work was developed by Dr. John Bradshaw in the 1990s who popularized it with several best-selling books (see resource page for titles and links) and on radio and television during that period. It makes sense. We all carry the ups and downs of our childhoods inside ourselves and filter the rest of our lives through that lens. What better way to heal ourselves than to clear the debris that gets in our way. I’m still working on it.