Someone said, “We mature with damage not with age.”
There is a different (inner) devil at every stage.
Today I am inviting some of them for tea.
These frightened parts of me!
I have kept them hidden, I have denied,
Disowned and shamed them several times.
For I could not do what I was supposed to.
For I could not become what was expected of me.
These are my inner children wanting to be- free. So, today I let some of them be! (seen).
For that kid in me is sometimes three,
It demands all the attention she missed on.
She frets, and doesn’t know how to express and who to explain what is her pain?
The world is lonely and dark and mundane.
Where is everyone?
How do they all function?
What is the ‘normal’?
Who do I question? There is no one near except fear. She is expected to be quite. A “Good child”. Tired of all this, little one cries.
Sometimes, this inner child of mine,
Is thirteen. Feeling the pain of growing up and changes in adolescence.
The world is scary, strange and unsafe.
She hides behind her pride.
Lets loose the inner rebel. She formulates a survival guide. Strong face. Just a disguise. Yet a safe disguise!
Sometimes this inner child is nine. Desiring a new bicycle and a pair of running shoes. Why do people ridicule?
Why can’t I fight back? Break the norm.
Break their bones!
I will be a Don!
Dare they strike!
I will kill. I will fight…!
Some voice mimics, the dialog from the social script of ‘that mean aunt’ in every family, who is always critical, of literally everything!
“Oh my little child, but you are a girl… You will not survive. Uh, accept that it’s your plight. For those boys are big and you are just nine! Surrender! For if God wanted you to be successful you would not have been a girl’!”
My child at nine decided to hide(“the girl”) till whenever possible. Frills and frocks were discarded for rough jeans. Long curls gone just like the story ‘Maggie Cuts her Hair’. She’d defy. I am no less. I am a Tom-‘boy’! Fighting on the street. Bruised legs and feet, it did not pain. It was a matter of prestige! The scars were the pride, of my inner child.
However, these lessons are wrongly learnt it was a survival guide.
It felt safe to defy,
To be angry rebel or to hide.
For long, I let my coping mechanism be my comfort zone.
As that was what could possibly be done!
It’s an un-learning time.
With you, I work, to reconcile.
Today in my forties, I acknowledge this pain,
My inner children, you are not shamed!
Now, I won’t let you suffer again.
I won’t deny, in me, you may confide.
For, we are the same.
Let go of these fears.
You are safe, as I am here!
For you, I will always be here!
Musings - An Endeavour to writing 