I’ve always felt like something inside me had to die. And after all this time, I’ve finally come to find it’s been my inner child. This resilient little girl who was raised by wolves, paralyzed by trauma and fear, was told she was worthless and doomed to failure, was unable to ever be vulnerable, creative and too paranoid to ever escape or grow up. This child I vowed to protect as a child myself— I bestowed this responsibility upon my future adult self, to nurture her and care for her in safe spaces allowing her to breathe deeply. Well now I’m an adult and after four years of therapy, healthy practices, positive self talk, reinforcements and self love; therapy is over. The healing has settled in. Love has taken place. And she is allowed to die. I give myself permission to release us from this ghostly prison of traumatic hell. She deserves to pass on after all she’s endured, and at such a young age to keep us both strong, until now. I deserve to move forward towards the life I’ve always envisioned for us. It just so happens that only one of us gets to live it, while the other becomes a vague yet triumphant memory. And for that [for her] I am grateful, guilt free and no longer in debt. For being the me who emerged and unapologetically gets to live the life I have always deserved.
The me who finally sets herself free.