My therapist makes me think about the little girl in me all the time. It took me 30 some years to admit that she even existed. I didn't want to be "stunted" by my abuse history. I wanted to be normal.
The little girl in me is the part that comes out when I am afraid. She is a fierce protector. She has a notch in her belt for each of the brothers she saved from the filth of that woman. She has a notch in her belt for every time she laid herself down next to evil to prevent someone else from having to know that pain.
Now it is time for her to get back up. It is time for her to walk away from the dark corners she's been hiding in. It's time for her to grow up.
I've wept tears for her. There is part of me that can't imagine living without that little fierce creature within me. But it is not fair to trap her in a fear-filled 7 year old mind. I welcome her in to my own anxiety fraught brain. I imagine holding her close and the slow, tentative whimper that comes before the torrent of tears she always held in. I imagine her beating her little fists against my chest. I imagine her heart breaking right there in my arms. I know love is poor stitching for a broken heart. But it does close wounds.
I want her to know that I love her, bruises and brokenness and filth and terror and all. I want her to know it's okay to feel that way when someone does that to you. I want her to know it's not her fault.
I think she's starting to hear me when I say these things. And slowly, tentatively, she is walking toward healing.
|Prompt: The Little Girl in You|