Standing in the room I felt a dismal familiarity, a place I had no desire to return. I was just inside the doorway. Glancing around I saw two twin mattresses on the floor covered with a only fitted sheets. No other furniture or other items to demonstrate an ounce of love in this room.
Suddenly I noticed a figure seated under the window. A young girl with her back to me. My guess was her age was around 9 or 10. Wearing what looked like a thrift store sundress and hair that needed a good brush, I felt again that familiar dread.
“Are you okay?”
She seemed to be either lost in thought or something caught her eye outside the window. Yet as I took a closer look from where I stood the window was dark, almost painted black.
“Are you here alone?”
I took a step forward and she turned her head abruptly towards me and I gasped. As our eyes met I realized why this room was so familiar. I had been here before with my siblings. With my abusers. This girl is me.
She held my gaze and what her eyes told me with no words was to stay away. I saw both incredible sadness and repressed rage.
“I can take you from here. So nobody will hurt you anymore. Do you want to come with me?”
For a few more seconds she continued to hold my gaze and my answer was there in her pain. The destruction that these male figures and an absent mother had caused her at such a young age told me my response. She would never trust anyone again. She turned her head back to stare into the darkness. Her forever home.
This excerpt is a creative piece, albeit a dark one, of inner child work. Over the years I have embraced and fought this process as it can be quite painful and very much rewarding. There is much information available for survivors on the subject and I encourage people to explore it. If not in a therapeutic setting at least try reading a book on inner child work or reading about topic on the web.
As for my journey there have been some interesting inner child experiences. For many years, if not decades I repressed my anger. I would be one to say, “I am not an angry person.” Granted it is my temperament to not express my anger so easily but with all of the trauma I experienced and never to feel the anger from it it was merely below the surface. Many years ago I would have dreams of beating a small female child over and over again. This was a repetitive dream. Other dreams included during the height of the stalking where the setting was back in my childhood home as I wrote about in this piece.
Often I would mediate, intentionally connecting with the young or adolescent girl of my youth. This gave me many opportunities to feel the range of emotions I was unable to express during the abuse. Although I find the need to connect with her is less (depending on circumstances in my life) I am grateful for the tools to find her.