Wounded Inner Child

My partner and I took a break two months ago – well, she took an indefinite break. I was forced into a situation I had no say in. Ultimately, if you love them and want to be together, the best thing you can do is put your ego aside and set them free, whilst getting on with your life and patiently waiting.

That’s the brief backdrop to give you context for this story; the one about this weekend.

Since the breakup, life took another interesting turn. By now, the wow factor associated with interesting turns has dried up. It’s the straight roads that are anomalous. Throwing myself into the world of singledom, highlighted and brought forth two unreconciled parts of self. My 18-month-old inner child. The one I now identify with the imagery of a scared, unsettled kid, reaching up for mummy. He’s been rampant every time I feel overwhelmed and unsupported. Not having Hannah as my anchor, and doing my best to offer her space, forced me to try and parent the kid myself. Something that I’ve worked extensively to achieve and feeling like we’re almost there – reconnected and self-soothing.

The other unreconciled part is my 14-year-old. There was/is nothing stable or grounding about this fucker – anxious, insecure, full of toxic shame and in desperate need of attention and validation. Re-entering the world of dating has probably been the main trigger for his resurrection - and boy did he take the centre stage this weekend.

It was a weekend-long extensive holotropic breathwork workshop for my psychedelic therapist training. Forty-eight esteemed mental health professionals and myself in a boarding school-like environment for three days – can you think of a better context for a 14-year-old self to surface?

He came on so quick and strong, that I barely had time to adjust – like a split personality, I waltzed into the foyer munching a box of Pizza Shapes and talking smack. My friend and course coordinator later pulled me aside and asked if I’d turned up stoned?!

The whole weekend, I was filled with urges to show off, elevate myself and act like an ass. Most of us are therapist and I was comfortable sharing some of my process – yet it did little to minimise the charge. Both kids were rampant during my breathwork induced psychedelic state – a 12 hour day composed of sitting, participating and group integration/sharing afterwards.

Public speaking was once my kryptonite – just hearing the words ‘oral presentation’ would send me into an anxious spiral for months on end, often to the point of vomiting. I’d worked really hard to be rid of my social anxiety - seeded in the shame that I purged several years ago. Public speaking and group work is now possible, I’ve done talks, podcasts – yet my body still has an automatic visceral response that I continue to slowly heal. To perform, I need to be grounded and present, also to not wait around and say my bit early – which is the opposite of how I felt after 1.5 days of wild fantasies, whilst holding the crazed 14-year-old back, coupled with lectures, psychedelic states and near constant peer group dynamics.

The final two hours of day two (10 hours in), our host asked us to form a 50-member group circle and reflect on our breathwork experience. He said we didn’t all have to share, so I relaxed and settled down, ego in check; 14-year-old calm. 1.5 hours in, with the majority of feedback shared, he changed his tune and suggested he wanted to hear from all of us. Already feeling exhausted, I didn’t have time to grab the reins and the kid’s panic flooded me – l simply couldn’t do it, I couldn’t speak. Quietly, exiting the scene, I hustled to the bathroom, tried to compose myself and returned back to the circle. Nup, I couldn’t do it - I fled a second time and hid under my covers in my room…hopefully they wouldn’t notice.

Ten minutes later I receive a text from my friend/course coordinator: ‘Where did you go?? You were the only one who didn’t speak’. Fuck! Fuck! They noticed. The 14 year old was in pieces. WE WERE SINGLED OUT, WE WERE NOTICED, WE’RE IN TROUBLE!

The next morning, after a shitty night’s sleep, I didn’t have a plan. Do I feign illness? Do I tell the truth? Nothing felt right. I hobbled downstairs and tried a few white lies on the few colleagues that enquired about my previous whereabouts. That felt awful – even I wouldn’t believe the bullshit. I was literally reliving my childhood – feeling ashamed and lying about it. So, I decided to do the opposite – triggered as I was, I told the truth – and I was witnessed and held in my vulnerability.

It was not until I got home late Sunday night- exhausted, near broken, that I felt something had shifted. It was not until now (Monday morning) that I feel this deep calm/resolution at having navigated an arduous situation and somehow feeling like I’d come up on top.

What madness. This story ends here. For now.

Inhale. Exhale.