I Confronted My Inner Child—and Everything Changed

We carry our past like invisible luggage—heavy, worn, and often forgotten. But what if the person who needs your attention the most isn’t a stranger or even someone from the outside world? What if it’s the child you used to be, waiting quietly within you, still hurting, still hoping?
This is the story of how I came face to face with my inner child—and how that moment shattered everything I thought I knew about healing, self-worth, and personal growth.


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For years, I thought I was doing just fine.

I had a decent job, a circle of friends, a life that looked “okay” on the outside. I paid my bills, showed up to events, smiled in photos, and posted quotes about gratitude on my story. But inside, there was always this strange ache I couldn’t name. A subtle, gnawing sadness that came and went without warning. I thought it was just stress. Or maybe just how life was supposed to feel once you became an adult.

I didn’t know I was carrying around a version of myself that had been silently screaming for years.

It all started one late evening, after a long and frustrating day. I was scrolling on my phone, half-listening to a podcast in the background when a phrase caught my ear: “Healing begins when you meet your inner child.” Something about those words made me pause. I’d heard of inner child work before, but always brushed it off as too abstract. Too emotional. Too… soft. But I was tired of feeling like a robot in my own life.

That night, I tried something I’d never done before: I sat in silence with myself. No music. No distractions. Just me, my thoughts, and a question that felt almost silly:

“Where are you?”

At first, nothing happened. My mind wandered. I thought about emails I hadn’t answered, laundry I hadn’t folded. But then, unexpectedly, a memory surfaced—one I hadn’t thought about in years.

I saw myself at seven years old. Sitting at the bottom of the staircase in our old house. Knees pulled to my chest. Clutching a crumpled notebook, tears streaming down my face. My dad had just called my drawing "a waste of time" and told me to focus on something “useful.” That little me didn’t understand. He just wanted to be seen. To be proud of something. To be told it was good.

In that moment, I felt it—grief, sharp and deep. I started crying, and I didn’t stop for a while. I wasn’t just mourning a drawing or a harsh comment. I was grieving all the parts of myself I had silenced over the years. All the little versions of me that were told to sit down, be quiet, grow up.

I realized I had built my entire adult identity on top of unhealed wounds. I chased achievements for validation. I avoided conflict to stay liked. I made myself small in relationships because I feared being “too much.” And every time I ignored my own needs, I was abandoning that little kid inside me all over again.

That night, I did something I never thought I’d do.

I closed my eyes and imagined sitting beside that younger version of myself. I told him everything he needed to hear:

“I’m so sorry they made you feel invisible.”
“You were never a burden.”
“You are creative. You are worthy. You are enough.”

It wasn’t a magic fix, but it was a beginning. And beginnings are powerful.

Since that night, I’ve made it a practice to check in with my inner child regularly. Sometimes, it’s a journal entry. Sometimes, it’s a quiet walk where I simply ask, “How are you feeling?” There are days he feels scared, especially when I’m taking risks or speaking up for myself. And I’ve learned not to push that fear away, but to hold it gently and respond with love.

I began noticing how many of my “adult” struggles were just echoes of unresolved childhood pain. My fear of being judged wasn’t about coworkers—it was about being laughed at in school. My anxiety around relationships wasn’t about my partner—it was about not feeling safe to express emotions as a kid. Connecting these dots didn’t just give me clarity—it gave me freedom.

Healing my inner child changed the way I live:

I no longer perform for approval—I express myself authentically.

I no longer suppress emotions—I give myself space to feel them.

I no longer see vulnerability as weakness—I see it as a return to truth.


I even started drawing again. At first, my hand trembled. That inner critic, shaped by years of shame, still whispered doubts. But I kept going. I bought crayons, colored pencils, messy markers. I let that little version of me play again, and for the first time in forever—I felt joy that wasn’t tied to productivity or praise. Just joy for its own sake.

This journey hasn’t been easy. Sometimes healing feels like breaking. But the beautiful thing is—you’re not breaking apart. You’re breaking open. Opening to the parts of you that have been buried beneath expectations, fear, and time.

If you’ve ever felt lost, disconnected, or like something’s missing—you’re not broken. You’re probably just overdue for a conversation with the version of you that still believes in magic. Still trusts easily. Still hurts deeply. Still hopes.

So let me say this, to your inner child:

I see you. I hear you. You are enough. You always were.


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Final Thoughts:
The day I confronted my inner child was the day everything shifted. Not because the world changed—but because I did.