The Joy of Restoring Relationship with Yourself
"The more work I did, the more I developed the intuition and skill to notice when those younger parts of me were present and had something to say." - Amber Jones
Have you ever wondered how investing in your relationship with yourself could bring more freedom and joy?
When I first heard of the term “inner child work,” I’ll be honest, I was skeptical. But then I learned that it’s simply going back to “reparent” yourself and engaging the little version of you to get your story straight. In other words, it’s addressing your needs that weren’t met as a child and providing yourself with an experience of healthy attachment.
As I warmed up to the idea of this method of care, I decided to give it a try. My time with licensed, trained counselors helped me navigate my childhood trauma in safe ways. The more work I did, the more I developed the intuition and skill to notice when those younger parts of me were present and had something to say.
If you’re new to the concept of inner child work and reparenting, I want to share one of my personal experiences doing this work. Keep reading below as I share one of my journal entries from last year.
If you are looking to process past childhood trauma, check out our GraceStory Resource Page, where we have recommended counselors, life coaches, books, podcasts, and more.
AUGUST 6TH, 2024
She is tucked safely in the pillow fort. Hiding. And yet, not scared. She is inviting me to come into her space. She has something to show me and looks up with expectation in her eyes. She wants me to say yes. She has been waiting for a very long time.
I had crawled in before (during a counseling session) but only got a little ways. I was scared. Unsure of what she wanted to show me. There was a tunnel that spilled out into a bright room. I didn’t know what it was before, but now I think I do.
I think it is Jesus.
I crawl into the pillow fort. There is the little girl. The little girl is me…I have to remind myself of this because it’s been a very long time since then. It’s amazing how much I’ve hated her…despised this part of me, and yet, she is welcoming, forgiving, and hopeful.
“Come in here. It’s safe inside here,” she says.
And I know she means it—knows it. Her made-up world inside the pillow fort feels safe. Protected. But I know better. I know what is outside and ahead for her. As I write, she looks at me. Confused, yet still so sure.
“I’m not confused. I know Daddy is mean. And Mommy cries a lot. I’m a big girl. I know lots of things. But I don’t have to think about those things here. Come inside, and I’ll show you. This is where I bring things I’m scared about.”
Somehow, it’s gone from a bunker to a playhouse. Not full of toys, but a place where joy lives. It’s sadly alone, yet peaceful.
“I’m not sad here!” she retorts.
That was a quick reply. It’s lonely—it must be! I know I feel alone when I hide, I thought.
“I feel alone when I’m hiding from Daddy, but this is different. I’m not hiding from Daddy here,” she says purposefully.
Then what are you doing? There are no toys. You aren’t playing. You’re just curled up, I said.
“That’s cause’ I’ve been waiting on you.” She says matter-of-factly.
And I feel sad about that. I know it’s true.
“Ya coming?” She asks innocently.
“Why you always playing it so safe? Come on!” She continues, a little perturbed at the wait.
I can’t really see details of her, but her energy, her size, she has this impatience for what’s next, an excitement for sharing discovery, an insistence that I will love “it” too…she just knows, and she is believable; her confidence—it’s not arrogance, she just knows.
“It’s this way.” She encourages me.
What’s this way?
“Freedom.” She states simply.
And so, I follow. What freedom could be on the inside of a pillow fort or through a pillow fort? And what would a 5-year-old know about freedom?
“Stop it! Stop always talking bad about me! I know things. I’m not stupid! I know things, and I’m NOT stupid,” she insisted.
A gauzy picture scene just opened up all of a sudden. I didn’t pass through or crawl anywhere. It just “opened” up in my mind. Then it went away again.
I’m aware this feels like an abrupt ending. That’s the nature of the work sometimes. You get a glimpse, and then you must wait for whatever is next in what I call "the great onion-peel layers" of processing trauma.
I’m grateful for these moments. They are proof that progress is happening. They are my motivation that it is worth doing the work, paying the dollars, and investing in myself and the legacy I’m leaving my kids.
If you’ve known something is “off” and want to explore more of your story but haven’t been sure how to start, we are here to provide you with resources! It is our greatest honor to walk those first steps with you toward living a life where you don’t just get by but thrive!
Gratefully and with so much love,
- Amber
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