A Lifetime of Distractions

 The little girl I am sitting with today is not new.

She has been with me my entire life.

Although I began doing inner child work more than thirty years ago, I never reached this hidden place inside of me. I found many wounded parts. I uncovered layers of grief and loss. I learned compassion for the child I had been.

But this part remained tucked away, patiently waiting.

Looking back, I can see something about myself with remarkable clarity.

I became a master of distraction.

Relationships.

Raising my children.

Building a career.

Helping others heal.

Always another responsibility.

Always another purpose.

Always another reason to keep moving.

I wasn’t consciously running from my pain.

I didn’t even know what I was avoiding.

The distractions were not intentional. They were simply how I survived.

It wasn’t until about eight years ago that I began to witness the deeper trauma that had quietly shaped my life. Little by little, the walls that had protected me began to soften.

Since then, life has invited me into a different kind of surrender.

One by one, I have let go of the distractions.

The attachments.

The identities.

The beliefs.

Everything that stood between me and the truth.

What once felt like loss, I now understand as an invitation.

Today there are very few places left to hide.

There are no distractions loud enough to drown out her voice.

There is only the two of us.

She carries the fear.

I bring the willingness to stay.

It is not comfortable.

Some days it feels unbearable.

Every instinct still whispers to look away, to become busy, to find something—anything—that will carry me somewhere else.

But I know now that healing does not live in distraction.

It lives in presence.

The only way I can free this little girl is not by running from her pain, but by sitting beside her until she knows she is no longer alone.

I cannot heal by going around the wound.

I can only heal by walking gently through it.