Rescuing My Little Girl

 I don’t think I have ever felt so close to my little girl.

Not simply because I remember her.

But because I can feel what she carried.

I can feel the loneliness she lived with, even when other people were around.

I can feel how trapped she felt inside a home that never truly felt safe.

I can feel the weight of shame that became part of how she saw herself.

I can even understand why there were times she longed for the pain to end, because no child should have to carry that much fear alone.

For so many years, she tucked those feelings neatly away.

She hid them so well that even I couldn’t fully see them.

Now they are in plain view.

One by one, she has gently uncovered the places that hurt the most.

Sometimes I try to comfort her with words.

I tell her she is safe.

I tell her she is loved.

I tell her that she never deserved what happened.

But words don’t always reach a frightened child.

Perhaps trust isn’t built through reassurance alone.

Perhaps it is built by staying.

By not turning away.

By not becoming impatient when healing takes longer than I hoped.

So I will stay close to her.

I will keep reminding her that she doesn’t have to carry this burden by herself anymore.

I will hold hope for her on the days she cannot hold it for herself.

And one day, I believe she will discover what she has been searching for all along.

Not simply relief from fear.

But the deep, quiet freedom that comes from finally knowing she is safe.