Reminder of the child

I found myself deep in lands of confusion once again. The ghosts in my closet have come once again to haunt me, once again to taint my present. So I did the bravest thing I knew how to do, give up on my external desires to take care of that wounded child in me. 

That child that was yelled at and disrespected and hurt and betrayed. That child that has started deciding what is and what is not good for me. That child rules my heart and the adult in me has no chance against it. 

In this lands of confusion, The adult in me seems to believe that it can leave the child in the hands of somebody else; and I ask myself: Is this adult incredibly trusting? or is it just stupid? 

When the crazy experiment once again fails and I realize that I shouldn't have left that child behind, I start blaming my adult. 

"Adult, what the fuck?! Are you blind? Can't you see I needed you?! Can't you see I'm hurting? Can't you see I still need you to reassure me of my worth, be kind to me, be attentive and communicative with me?"

...in fact, when that crazy experiment once again fails I start blaming other people's adults too. It's called projection. It's a terrible defense-mechanism that I have in order to mantain peace between the adult and the child in me, the side effect is that I hurt others around me. 

So, I gave up.

I gave up on you, my sweet external desire.

I gave up on you, my friend.

I gave up on you, my fellow wounded child, for I had not the strength to carry us both. 

And incredible of me to even try. 

I'll let that be proof of the value of my heart. Maybe also the naivity of my heart; for maybe the idea of taking a bullet for someone was in fact quite premature- and once again my experiment failed.

It's the perks of wanting to run when I can't even walk. 

I believe trying to love someone unconditionally is the greatest trial for the heart. How much can you let it stretch? How much space can you make in it before it compromises with your own comfort and safety? 

I admire those who have already figured that one out, the ones who actively try to meet their child, the ones to make a fertile ground for a seed to grow. Those who have understood that the adult in you can't leave the child behind, and you can't leave it in someone else's hands completely (If you do, expect fuck-ups).

Those who have understood that projection is not a smart technique.

Those to have learnt to communicate with their inner child, and actively Listen. 

AHO!

imagination

Here I am , sick, at home, trying to find my way back.
I believe that when we get sick its a way for the body to "shed skin", as if it's trying to purge something out of it's system. It's getting rid of the old. Getting rid of beliefs about ourselves, that we are not worthy, that we are not enough, that we are useless.
I am not useless! I refuse to believe that!
I am more that enough.
I am worthy of being here, it's my birthright.

So, lying at home having been sick for almost a week now, I began to ask myself " why won't this let go of me? What haven't I seen? What haven't I listened to?..." I took a hot shower, made a cup of tea and made it as cozy and comfortable as humanly possible in my bed. I lied down in the dark, breathing, connecting to my heart. "What are you trying to tell me?"
I felt like reading, but no, that wasn't quite it.
I hugged myself and asked my heart again. My heart replied. "Ask the child in you".
What would the child in me have wanted?
What did I do as a child when I needed comfort? What did I do then to make me feel at home in my heart, and in company? What did the child in me love?
Storytelling.
The child in me loves stories.

I started crying for myself and familiar words came out of my mouth "You were much muchier before, you've lost your muchness". Not my words, Lewis Carrolls words...
I felt afraid, like Peter Pan, responsability scares the shit out of me. I do not want to grow up, I do not want to be responsible because responsability was what took the magic away from my life.
The magic left the day I started growing up. I never ever want to go back.
I never ever want to stop wandering and marvelling at life.
I never ever want to stop loving wholeheartedly and innocently as children do.
I never ever want to stop playing and lose my imagination.