Being the Safe Adult

In order to help our little girls feel safe

and begin to heal the wounds of the past,

they need a place where they can feel their feelings.

And they need a safe person.

That person is you. That person is me.

When you look back at your childhood,

what was missing?

What did that little girl need

that she didn’t receive?

Is she still looking for it?

Or did she tuck those needs away so deeply

that she no longer knows they’re there?

I had safe family members in my life.

My grandparents loved me dearly.

But they didn’t live in my house.

So for the majority of my childhood,

my needs weren’t met.

So I learned not to expect much.

I learned to take care of others

while ignoring myself.

Today, I am still discovering unmet needs.

I can’t change what happened to her.

But I can change what happens now.

I can remind her that her feelings aren’t too much

and her needs aren’t a burden.

She needed someone who wouldn’t leave her alone

with her fear.

And today,

that someone is me (and you).

The Little Girl Who Ran the Show

 What happens when you have a very frightened, stubborn little girl living inside you?

And how much control has she really had?

I don’t think I ever realized that so much of my need for control came from her.

From a little girl who was raised to be afraid.

She learned early that if she could anticipate what might happen, stay careful, and try to control her surroundings, maybe she could stay safe.

So she grew up believing control was protection.

And I carried that belief into adulthood.

I didn’t see the frightened child underneath it.

I just knew I needed things to go a certain way.

But today, I’m seeing it differently. 

I no longer want fear making my decisions.

That little girl has been running the show for a very long time.

And I understand why.

She was trying to keep us safe.

But she doesn’t have to do that job anymore.

I can comfort her.

I can love her.

But I don’t have to hand her the steering wheel.

Today, I surrender control.

And perhaps this is what freedom begins to look like:

letting my frightened little girl come along for the ride—

but no longer letting her run the show.

Getting My Will Out of the Way

 In order to release the deep wounds of childhood

and the conditioning that was spoon-fed to us from a very young age,

we have to surrender it.

We have to get our will out of the way.

And that isn’t easy for me.

So I asked myself:

How do I surrender when I’m afraid of physical pain?

Because that’s exactly what I want to release.

The fear.

The fear that began long ago with threats and punishment.

The fear of not feeling safe.

Today, that old fear can attach itself to my body.

And I can feel myself wanting to control it.

To protect myself from what might come next.

But perhaps surrender means something different.

Maybe it means saying,

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

I don’t know what my body will feel.

And I don’t have to know.

I can surrender the fear.

Not perfectly.

Maybe a hundred times a day.

And if that’s what it takes,

then that’s what I’ll do.

Every time fear rises,

I can surrender it again.

Every time my mind tries to take control,

I can let go again.

Every time my little girl becomes afraid,

I can remind her:

We don’t have to live in the past anymore.

This isn’t about forcing the fear to disappear.

It’s about no longer allowing it to lead me.

I’ve spent enough of my life carrying what happened yesterday into today.

It’s time to loosen my grip.

It’s time to let go of the past.

And perhaps surrender is how I finally begin.

The Only Answer I Have Left

 Even though I carry an unbelievable amount of pain in my body every day, I have finally come to accept—or at least I’m beginning to accept—that there are no answers outside of me.

I’ve searched.

I’ve researched.

I’ve looked everywhere for something that might help me understand what is happening and how to make it better.

And time after time, I have come up empty-handed.

Doctors have called me a mystery.

I have been given possibilities, treatments, and suggestions, but never the answer I have been searching for.

So what am I left with? What is the answer?

Give it all to God.

Surrender the endless searching.

The endless trying.

The endless hoping that the next answer will finally be the answer.

I’ve made the decision to stop looking.

To simply be with the pain.

Not because I like it.

Not because I’ve given up.

But because fighting against something I cannot control has exhausted me.

Maybe surrender isn’t giving up.

Maybe it’s finally putting down the weight I’ve been carrying.

I know myself well enough to know that surrender doesn’t come easily.

I’m a fighter.

A seeker.

I will keep looking until there is nowhere left to look.

But perhaps we sometimes have to reach a very low bottom before we’re willing to let go.

Maybe that’s where I’m heading.

And perhaps, strangely enough,

maybe that’s where the healing begins.