My Inner Child

Good Morning (or night or afternoon, wherever you are, whenever you read this)! This post / email is for those who want something fun to read. Hope you stick until the end!

Let me just say this and get done with it: I am an absolute child on the inside.

Everyone has a side of them they keep to themselves. I probably have one too many. Among them, my inner child is one that prevails (I think) within me. Satisfying it is easy, at the price of my own physical body and pure exhaustion. But when I submit to my inner child, I become said child, and I enjoy the guilty pleasures of life.

There’s probably many people in my life that realizes that I have this side of me. They either don’t take the time to realize this, they ignore it, or notice it but not mention it to me. I don’t believe that people think I can take something seriously. Which, not to lie, I probably can’t if I let my inner child take control, but I can, if only I had both time and space to reflect and nod along with the seriousness. I sound like someone that can’t think in the moment—which is an absolute understatement. I blank in the moment.

Here’s an example of dealing with my inner child: it’s a situation with my bed, and how I was told by the internet that, well, doing stuff on the bed is a bad habit. So, as a solution, I tell myself that my stuffed bear (I sleep with one. Deal with it) is hogging the bed in the day. I made a whole story in my head about how the bear needs to recuperate after dealing with me for the whole entire night. I tuck it into bed and 99% of the time, I am able to leave the bed alone. And make it look like I at least tried to make my bed. It’s also probably how you would deal with a kid who won’t make their bed and who will eat food on the bed.

I also procrastinate a lot because of my inner child, get crazy and creative with my inner child, and have some time in my day where I feel like acting like a complete and total child. And sometimes, I do act like a complete and total child. I cling to the person closest to me (that I am close and safe around), and I will talk in the most childish voice ever, for no reason at all. Maybe a psychologist will be able to tell me what the heck is wrong with me, but hey. Everyone has an inner child. I just admit that such a thing exists. If you jumped up and down because you were excited for something, that is probably your inner child that didn’t die off while you were maturing.

My inner child is also very curious. It asks the stupidest, most random questions. Combine that with my possible ADHD, and you’ve got a rainfall of questions that makes no sense nor have any correlations whatsoever. If my mouth would open, I would probably be questioning why there is such a thing as numbers, why people invented such a thing as reading (I’m slightly dyslexic), and why on earth humans still remain breathing when other animals are much better choice for mother earth’s health and well-being. I have too many questions, and when I finally get some time alone, it strangely either goes complete silent or completely amok, I have no way of processing what it wants me to think.

There was a character in a story that I wrote. I related to that character a lot. Their mouth flapped and people found them annoying. They questioned everything in the world, may have had more than a couple of mental problems that are up to the experts to actually decipher (I think some of it was rooted with their anxiety, not that I’m an expert), and they acted like a complete child, despite how they were supposed to be an adult. I related a lot. I imagine that that would be me, if only I didn’t have social anxiety, I opened my mouth more often, and people actually listened to me. Basically, writing is a form of way that my inner child communicates with the world. Anything that goes into writing can’t harm most people, and people won’t see my inner child as weird and harm my little child. Well, they probably still do, but at least I have somewhere I can keep it safe. And it takes time to write. I get to think about what my inner child actually wants to say, even as it stutters along sentences, get mixed with different words and languages, and plays dead when it comes to some opinions.

My inner child is at the center of myself. Like an actual child, I find myself taking care of it and try to keep it satisfied. Sometimes, I shut it down to do some actual work. But my inner child is very helpful too. The questions leads to insights I would have never thought of, and like a child, it’s not afraid to fail and have people laugh. Instead, my inner child ignores social criticism, and thinks up of the most outrageous ideas that I have too little attention to actually capture and put it on paper, much less articulate. It’s creative, and it enjoys when I achieve things. Even now, as I’m writing this (because I’ve been procrastinating hard on this), it’s cheering me on. If you find some rants or unfiltered words in my newsletters, that’s my inner child combining strengths with my dyslexia right there. If what I right doesn’t make any sense, that’s just my dyslexia. It makes sense in my head until I read it over again.

My inner child is a precious little thing that I love, despite others rejecting their’s. It’s devilish at times, and an angel other times. It’s like a child, and I like satisfying it, even if it means that I binge a series I don’t necessarily care for. It also gets me into trouble at times, but that’s cool.

Maybe in the future, I’ll be able to turn on and off my inner child, consult it properly, and actually filter out the junk in my head and reach it’s thoughts and ideas. For now, my inner child is just one of the noises in my head.

Thanks for sticking this long, and I hope you have a great week! 😁 

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