a little kid

I have been doing ‘inner exploration’ since my mid 30’s.  I have learned much about my life patterns and the source. I have been able to change some of my behaviors that were imbued long ago.

The one area of exploration I was allergic to was what is called ‘inner child work.’

Didn’t want to touch it with a 10-foot pole! No way. Too weak. Too vulnerable.

I am not going there.

Therefore, I placed my formation story about childhood in an old box, tied with a ribbon of secrecy and buried it. It was called, I was raised by Nature. It sufficed for over 70 years.

The story was partially true. I grew up surrounded by beauty, my uncle’s dairy farm and his daughters. I spent hours outdoors, in the woods and with the farm animals.

It was a childhood bordering on bucolic. From the outside.

This will not be a story about childhood abuse! It will not lay blame at the feet of my father and mother. I understand some of who they were and why.

This winter, in my days of rest and reflection, I stumbled into a familiar emotion. Depression. I knew how to deal with this. I would isolate myself, until, like a sodden, grey blanket, it lifted.

I thought of it as the balance to my happiness. Yin/Yang.

But this week, I descended into the familiar feeling again. I tried binge reading as a distraction. It didn’t work. I began to realize it wasn’t going to.

My old friend was waiting for me to wake up. I had to look into the source.

I sat down and wrote about my history with Gifts.

It is an odd doorway into myself, but my stress about giving presents just because it is a holiday has always troubled me. The internal pressure is almost unbearable, but I had just made it through another obligatory gift season and could relax.

As I tried to remember the presents I received as a kid, I couldn’t remember any. Yes, a dress for school. Sneakers for summer. Practical things a parent would buy anyway. We were not poor, just frugal.

But, as I continued to write, I could recall few childhood memories at all!

This memory search brought me face to face with how I learned to survive in a practical, but feelingless world.

I know I shut down. I went numb. I went outside.

I believe I was born a highly sensitive kid. I felt everything, especially what was unspoken in the family. It came through my body as sensations. When I inquired about what wasn’t being said, I was told “Oh it’s nothing – everything is fine.” To my child’s mind, it was a lie. My mother and father were lying to me. To ask more questions was like ‘poking the bear’- not a good idea.

As I contemplated this barren experience of life in my family, a piece of music* came on and I began to sob – for that little kid – who was me. I have never cried for her before.

I knew I had to bring her into my body, my heart, embrace and comfort her.

It seemed impossible.

I fell asleep.

Upon awakening, I realized she already lived in me. I had named it ‘depression’ and kept it wrapped in shame and secrecy. I couldn’t explain it as I didn’t understand where it came from. The Source. I had a happy childhood!

It didn’t make sense, until now.

In doing so, I left behind a sensitive, sad, lonely little kid with a broken heart. I hope, by writing this story, I have taken a step into accepting her as a part of me, right alongside the other parts I do show to the world.

*The music is called” Angels Will Eventually Sing.” I trust that I will also.