Just Me Being Me: Parenting Your Inner Child
I'm child-free, but that doesn't mean I don't deal with the worst child of all—the one in my brain, who never grew up and is always hurt.
Just Me Being Me is literally just me being me, living my life outside my comfort zone when it happens as it happens. Since I’m a dedicated introvert, this doesn’t happen much, which makes it doubly interesting when it does.
I am doing the same thing I did last weekend—making adobo. It’s partly because now that we’ve started buying bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs, it tastes just like it should. You don’t know how often I’d doubted myself while cooking with boneless, skinless chicken. But it’s also because I need a little bit of comfort.
Falling Off the Wagon and Getting Caught
Yesterday, I went to a follow-up appointment with my primary care doctor and got weighed after months of not knowing my weight. I’d gained seven pounds when I visited Manila last year and didn’t want to exercise because it was too cold. But I’ve fallen off the wagon before and knew I’d return to taking care of myself eventually.
The nurse didn’t blink when she said I was 155 pounds. That’s 10 pounds heavier than the last time I was at that office! I felt terrible and was expecting my doctor—a Filipina—to be harsh with me. She wasn’t. Instead, we talked about how Ozempic is still helping me and how most of her patients tend to fall off the wagon during the holidays. She ordered an A1C test and a complete blood panel and told me we’d discuss the results next time.
I got my blood drawn by the same nurse, who comforted me as she took three vials. Then, Raf took me to Soru Ramen for lunch to cheer me up. I couldn’t finish my ramen, so half of my bowl is in the fridge. I took my Long Bath of the week Friday night and didn’t have dinner. I was gentle with my inner child, putting myself first and listening to my shadow.
Comfort Is Not Always Kindness
This morning, Raf and I fought because he expressed concern when I preheated the oven to make myself cookies for breakfast. It didn’t sound concerned to me—it sounded like someone taking away what little comfort I could give myself just because he could. I know he’s just worried, but I live with diabetes, not him. I make cookie dough to freeze in the fridge because I care about what I eat and want to know exactly how much sugar is in my treats. I get where Raf is coming from, but my inner child came out, and I was so upset. He was being kind but not comforting like he was yesterday. I retreated to my home office and hid under my weighted blanket.
But as a parent to my inner child, I could not let myself spend the weekend this way—so I provided comfort another way, one that Raf and I would both agree on. I made adobo for lunch while having oatmeal for breakfast. My inner child never had a kind and supportive parent—my mother was kind but not supportive, and my father was supportive but not kind. It is my responsibility to be both for myself. Today, I will let my inner child off the hook and do my chores tomorrow. She can rest and internalize that nothing is her fault—people are just concerned and want to help, and while she can feel her feelings, that doesn’t mean other people can’t feel and verbalize theirs. And she can have some adobo.
How Do You Parent Your Inner Child?
Let’s talk about this. I’ve seen so many resources on parenting children but not inner children. I feel like this is different from shadow work in that the goal is to recognize and understand unhealthy behaviors learned in childhood and provide comfort and kindness while unlearning these behaviors. I think my inner child has a lot of practice in seeking comfort—that’s why I like cute stuffed toys, shows that are easy to watch, and sugar. I need more practice controlling the pace at which she consumes what comforts her without feeling like a bad parent. After all, I wouldn’t want to give my inner child a complex on top of my complex. Let me know if you’ve met your inner child and how you interact with them!
Photo by Hugues de BUYER-MIMEURE on Unsplash
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