Revenge of the Inner Child

Let me tell you about the time my inner child showed up as the girl from The Ring. (It's a horror movie. Don't Google it.) She was terrifying. She was angry. She was not cute. She did not want to play. As she was coming towards me, inside, all I wanted to do was run.

I remembered a teacher once telling me that nothing in our inner world has authentic power of its own unless we are afraid of it. How, when we meet what appear to be inner monsters, the invitation is not to run.

I took a calming breath and steadied myself. I called on all my courage and calm as I held my ground. "I see you," I said, from my uncertain heart, "and I'm not going anywhere."

Younger parts of us, what western psychology and personal development call "inner children," carry wounds from the past, until we work with them to heal. When traumatic events happen, early in life, the most innocent and creative parts of us are the most wounded.

These young parts often make meaning from what happened by assuming distorted beliefs about themselves and the world. Beliefs like, "I'm not good enough," “The world is dangerous,” or "No one will ever love me."

If no one comes to soothe them and they are left on their own, these younger parts of us remain unsupported and overwhelmed. They are often emotionally distraught and terrified, and their intensity is too much for the rest of our system to cope with.

To protect the rest of our system from the ongoing impact of their intensity, we usually push these hurt, younger parts out of awareness, so we don’t have to feel their anguish.

Other parts of our inner world, perhaps high-achievers or intellectual critics, are enlisted in the effort to keep the wounded parts away and out of awareness.

In Internal Family Systems (IFS), one of the primary modalities of my trauma healing work with PTSD, CPTSD, anxiety, and panic/OCD symptoms, we call the wounded parts "exiles" because of what happened to them in our inner world. We call the high-functioning parts of us, who are trying to manage and control them, "protectors" because of how they commit to protecting the rest of our system from the intense emotions and painful beliefs of the exiles.

These younger, wounded parts of us stay hidden in their suffering and frozen in time, until we help the whole system to heal.

When we do, the original qualities of our younger parts — their playfulness, creativity, and wonder at life — inevitably return as the exiles come home. The gifts we had, all those years ago, remain miraculously intact, waiting for us to care enough to receive them.

Which brings me back to my younger part, who decided to get my attention by showing up as the girl from The Ring. (Again, if you don't know what I'm talking about — it's scary. Don't Google it.)

I knew she was me, but a starving, abandoned version of me who had somehow found a way to reach me. She desperately needed me to see just how forsaken and alone she was, and what my unwillingness to tend to her had created.

The moment I stopped reacting with fear, I felt guilty and ashamed for my lack of attention towards her. I could feel the impact of all the times I'd ignored this part of me and her inner pain, because I didn't want to go there.

But there was my younger part, this horribly neglected little girl, lurching towards me with her pain and her needs. It took everything in me to stand and face her, and not to turn, run, and never look back.

Instead, I relaxed my body, breathed into my heart, and opened my arms to receive her. "I am so sorry," I told her, as she came nearer. "I am sorry for leaving you. I love you. Please forgive me."

Somehow, my heart softened. I realized how much my ongoing neglect had added to her pain. "I see you. I'm here for you," I continued, "I'm not going to leave you again."

I could tell she didn't trust me, but it was enough that I was there.

As she approached, my little girl transformed into the little girl from the poster of Les Misérables, with her rags and her haunting, needy eyes. (I know, I have a very vivid inner world aided by imagination.)

I leaned in with relief and held her. And held her. As she sobbed, I could feel her exhaustion and relief in my body, as she let me hold her in my arms.

But she wasn't all smiles and play. She still held a tremendous amount of pain and a deep ache of abandonment she feared would never go away.

Thus began an ongoing relationship of connection and care, where I commit to showing up for her when she needs me. I commit to helping her and giving her the care and connection she always needed. She continued to transform and now, she looks like me when I was younger.

Parts in our inner world are not what they seem. What appears to be frightening is often a bid to direct our attention inwards and attend to long-held griefs, terrors, and betrayals.

The wounds from the past only recede when they receive the care and connection that they need to heal.

If we remain hard-hearted and determined to ignore the pain, expecting it to fade with time, I have news:

 It doesn't.

Instead, we unknowingly carry the burdens of the past in our system, until we heal.

But when we heal, much like in the ancient fairy tales (which Carl Jung theorized were maps of our inner world anyway), what seem like monstrous parts of us transform into the qualities we've been missing and mourning the loss of, all this time.

It's not unusual for younger, wounded parts of us to show up with anger and aggression. I’ve seen some wear armor and carry weapons, or cry mournfully from a deep dungeon of repression and despair.

When we do find them, in our inner world, our younger parts are often not as happy to see us as we expect.

Like distraught and lonely children sent to a horrid boarding school against their will, they may greet us with dismissal, anger, mistrust, and sometimes outright violence. (It happens but remember — they can't hurt us unless we're afraid of them.)

As I keep saying, our inner parts are not what they seem. When we meet them with commitment and connection, they begin to experience the care they've been yearning for all this time. That care is fundamentally transformational. Try it and see for yourself.

(Or connect with me and we’ll explore what this work could look like for you.)

As the adults in the inner relationship, it's on us to lead relational repair. We often need to make amends and build trust, over time.

When we do, these parts learn to rely on us and our leadership again — that courageous, compassionate leadership that emerges naturally from presence and centering our conscious awareness.

Relationship building with these younger, wounded parts is worth it. When these parts feel safe to come home, they bring their magic, innocence, and playfulness back with them. The truth is, we need them as much as they need us.

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