When My Inner Child Answered Before I Was Ready

This morning, I wrote with my non-dominant hand to connect with my inner child. I did not expect anything dramatic and asked:

“What does it feel like not to be chosen?”

The answer was not verbal. Instead, I saw a scene.

I was seven years old and sitting on the floor in front of my mother, feeling scared and in pain as she brushed my tangled hair. My father, sitting across from me, grew angry because I was crying: “If you don’t stop that crying, I will give you something to cry about!” I tried to hold back my tears. Then something shifted. The brush moved more gently, her touch softened, and I became quiet.

What surprised me most was that, during a guided meditation, I approached her, knelt beside her, and reached out my hand. She did not want to leave with me; she wanted to stay with the one who had become gentle.

Afterward, I grounded myself and allowed my adult self to observe what had surfaced.

What I saw explained more to me than years of analysis ever had. This was the moment the pattern took shape.

As a child, I learned something specific, not intellectually but physically: Safety arrived after fear. Kindness followed threat. Relief came only once I made myself smaller.

Being “chosen” did not mean I was safe from harm; it meant I was spared only after enduring it.

That was the turning point.

This is why I could experience harshness and contempt from one person, chaos and overwhelm from another, yet still hold on to moments of tenderness as evidence of love.

This was not about blame; it was about sequence.

Why I’ve Overlooked Red Flags

As I reflected on this realization, something else became clear.

This is why, in adult relationships, I have overlooked red flags when they were accompanied by moments of kindness. Inconsistency feels acceptable if it leads to closeness. My body relaxes not in the absence of threat, but when the threat subsides.

I did not stay because I didn’t recognize danger; I stayed because my body had learned to wait for relief.

Realizing this did not bring shame; it brought understanding.

Choosing Safety Before Understanding

This realization felt different because I had just done something new.

I stepped back from someone I cared about, not because I fully understood my response, but because my body was exhausted. I was exhausted by idealization, inconsistency, and waiting.

When I stepped back, I experienced the pain of abandonment, but for the first time, I did not rush to fix it. Instead, I stayed with the pain without abandoning myself and kept reminding my inner child of something firm and straightforward:

“I will choose safety for us without asking you to endure first.”

That promise wasn’t just an idea; I put it into practice.

What I Know Now

I was not wrong to be drawn to kindness after chaos.

That pattern once helped me survive, but now, it doesn’t get to decide for me.

I can experience tenderness without waiting for fear, recognize calm without needing contrast, and choose safety even without knowing the full story.

Most importantly, I now understand what alignment feels like. That understanding didn’t come from loss; it came from listening.

There’s something else I see now:

Years ago, when my daughter had a big knot in her hair, she named it Frank. The name made me laugh. Instead of rushing or getting angry like my parents did, I sat with her and gently combed it out.

There was no threat in the room, no urgency, and no need for her to quiet herself to be treated with care. I did not think of it as healing at the time. I was being a mother.

Now I see that my body already knew what gentleness looked like, long before I understood why it mattered so much.

If this feels familiar, it might help to ask not what you understand, but what your body is asking you to protect.