The Little Girl Inside of Me: The Importance of Reparenting Your Inner Child

by Morrene Hauser

About five years ago I started to feel an invisible presence beside me, almost like a small child standing by my side. I can only describe this invisible presence as a feeling, but not in a way that made me fearful. And every time I felt that presence, for some reason, my arms would ache, but it wasn’t painful. I would describe that ache as a yearning to wrap my arms around someone or something for comfort. Although it took me a while to understand what was happening, I always took note each time I felt that little presence make its appearance.

As time went on, that invisible presence beside me started to appear more often, sometimes several times a day. One thing I can say about this invisible presence is it sure was persistent. One day I decided to meditate on it to see if I could gain some clarity as to what was happening. My mind was trying to tell me something, and figured if I didn’t face it, it wouldn’t go away. I had no fear that day I sat down to meditate, only a mild curiosity as to what I might discover.

At the time I was in my mid-fifties and was on my healing journey from the abuse I suffered during my childhood, something I hadn’t been strong enough to face until later in life. Once I turned eighteen and moved out of my family home, I worked hard to forget about what happened to me and leave it in the past. Little did I know that even though I was no longer experiencing the abuse, my traumatized mind and body were continuing to react as if I were still living in the war zone of my youth. From the insomnia that started when I was seven years old to the daily migraines to my out-of-control spending habits to the large amount of alcohol I put into my body each day to my wild and promiscuous behavior, that unhealed trauma caused a lot of problems in my life.

The most painful thing I dealt with during that time was severe insomnia. Insomnia had been with me for so many years of my life that I never questioned its origin or even if it could be cured. Exhaustion, as painful as it was, had become a way of life for me, and I pushed through each day the best that I could.

Every evening I had to drink an immense amount of liquor in an effort to relax my body enough to sleep, often to the point that I blacked out. In addition to drinking, I also took various sleeping pills and muscle relaxants when I could get my hands on them. I didn’t care what I put in my body, as long as it relaxed me. Even with the large quantity of depressants and alcohol, I still struggled to get enough rest. And when I did manage to fall asleep, it wouldn’t be long before I would be violently awoken from a panic attack and terrified adrenaline running through my body. Each time I woke up, it would take a good hour or two before I felt relaxed enough to fall back to sleep. But I didn’t sleep long before I would be awoken by another terrifying panic attack. Over and over throughout the night that scene repeated itself. Three, four hours of interrupted sleep was my average, and, on a good night, maybe six. Unfortunately, the amount of depressants I had to put in my body in order to get some sleep always left me feeling tired, depressed and hung over the next day. But I knew if I didn’t take all of the depressants, I ran the risk of being awake all night. That had happened to me too many times throughout my life, and I was determined to avoid that at all costs. But as exhausted as I was, those almost constant adrenaline rushes also helped push me through my days.

And forget about taking naps. It seemed every time I tried to lay down and relax, it wouldn’t be long before that immense amount of adrenaline in my body would start screaming at me, “GET UP! YOU’RE NOT DOING ENOUGH!  GET UP! Some days it just felt like I bounced off the walls as that powerful energy flowed through my veins.

When I looked at my friends who were able to sleep, I couldn’t help but look at them with eyes of jealousy. I had no idea what it felt like to be rested.

Before I go into what I discovered that day I decided to sit down to meditate, I am going to have to go backwards in time to give you an understanding of who I am and what I have been through in life. I always knew I wasn’t wanted, a product of an accidental pregnancy, and that was a fact that my mother often reminded me of during my childhood and well into my adulthood.

“When I found out I was pregnant with you, Morrene, I just cried and cried!  I had just given birth to your brother a month before when I found out I was pregnant again. I didn’t want another baby!” My mom never tired of telling me that I wasn’t wanted. Since I grew up hearing those words, it never once occurred to me to be hurt by them. That’s just the way it was in my house, and I accepted it. But deep down, without realizing it, my mother’s cruel words caused me an immense amount of anxiety, and that only grew as the years passed.

My mother showed me in many ways that I was not wanted or loved. From the times she sexually, physically and verbally abused me to the times she neglected to keep me warm to the many times I went hungry, I overlooked it all, stubbornly refusing to believe what my mother was telling me through her words and actions. It was just unfathomable to my young mind that my mother didn’t love me. And I had no pride in my desperate attempts to get close to my mom when I was a young girl. But it seemed the more I chased after my mom for love and acceptance, a hug, a smile, a chance to sit on her lap for a cuddle, the angrier she became and the more she pushed me away.

Despite the daily abuse I suffered and the immense amount of terror I felt each time I was around my mom, I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the whole, wide world. I loved my mother to such a degree that, at times, it was a physical ache.

As the years passed and the abuse worsened, I finally started to understand what my mother had been trying to tell me through her words and actions: I wasn’t wanted nor was I loved. By the time I was in high school, I had given up on trying to please her. All those years of daily trauma I suffered at my mom’s hands had a devastating effect on my mental health and gave me a severe case of depression, anxiety and self-loathing, things that started in early childhood and haunted me throughout my life. In fact, I turned all of the years of abuse I suffered onto myself and made it my fault, as if somehow I were to blame for all that happened and that I deserved it. That self-blame filled me with another powerful negative emotion: Shame. And I carried that toxic shame long into my adulthood.

Every time I couldn’t sleep, I felt ashamed. Every time I got depressed, I felt ashamed. Every time I got a migraine, I felt ashamed. Every evening when I drank and took depressants in an effort to quiet my nervous system enough to sleep, I felt ashamed. It was a never-ending cycle.

The day I sat down to mediate and delve into why this presence kept appearing by my side, I saw something that surprised me. Suddenly an image of me when I was five to six years old popped into my head. As I sat there, I looked at the short, boyish haircut I wore at that time, something my mother insisted on, and I saw my older brother’s hand-me-down clothes on my back. I saw the sadness on my face, and I felt the same feelings of shame, humiliation and embarrassment that I felt all those years ago every time I was mistaken for a boy.

As I continued to meditate and really tap into that mini me in my head, the terror, loneliness and confusion that I felt at that age due to the ongoing abuse once again flowed through my body. This was also the time in my life that I remember feeling the loss of my mother’s love the most keenly. That poor child really had a heavy load to bear at such a young age, and as I looked at this image of me from so long ago, my heart grieved for her pain. Intuitively I knew that this precious child was reaching out for the love and comfort she had never received as a child.

Once I realized what was happening, that the little girl inside of me needed reparenting, in my mind’s eye I picked her up and put her onto my lap and hugged her tightly to my body. I felt her little arms and legs wrap around me, hanging on for dear life, desperately soaking up the love and acceptance that she so longed for. As I held her, I rested my cheek against her head, and I told her how special and loved she is. Over and over I repeated those words as I held her in my arms. At that time in my life, I knew I would have given anything to hear those words. I also told her that the abuse was not her fault and that she would make it through this.

As I sat there, I thought about the years of guilt and shame I lived with due to the ongoing abuse in my childhood and the devastation I felt over the loss of my mother’s love. I thought about how most of my life I felt unworthy of love and acceptance from others and the pain that caused me. And I knew that those scars from so long ago were finally being healed, and I couldn’t stop the tears of gratitude from flowing down my face.

Every day when I meditated, I spent a portion of that time comforting that little girl I once was. And that opened up a whole new world for me as all of the different versions of my younger self slowly started to make an appearance. From the newborn I held in my arms to the five-year-old that clung so desperately to me to the angry and rebellious teenager that was filled with pain and grief, I sat with them all offering words of comfort and love. Sometimes it felt like the chair I was sitting in was going to collapse with the weight of all those bodies from the past.

Whether I was at the grocery store, riding my horse or relaxing in front of the TV, I never knew when that little presence would appear seeking love and comfort. And each time I felt her by my side, I always took the time to comfort her.

At the time this was happening, I was writing a book about my childhood and all that I had been through. As the different versions of my younger self made their appearance during my meditations, I noticed something change in my writing: Long-repressed memories started coming to the surface. It felt like the floodgates of the first eighteen years of my life had finally opened up. Some days my fingers could hardly keep up with the flow of memories as I translated the words onto my computer keyboard.

I started to understand that all of the younger versions of me who had been silenced for so many years finally felt safe enough to come out and share the sick secrets of the past.

I knew this younger version of me had made her appearance by my side in order to help me, and I am so thankful to have been presented with this unusual modality for my healing. I would say this lasted for a good six months until slowly that little presence faded away.

It has taken me years of healing to realize I never stood a chance with my mother. From the moment she found out she was pregnant with me, I had a target on my back. I never stood a chance with this woman. Although I will always carry the scars from my past, this realization has taught me that what I suffered at my mother’s hands was really nothing personal. Anybody who would have been born to my mother would have suffered the same fate that I did. Sometimes when I am really able to step outside of what happened to me, I can look at my mother with eyes of compassion for what she must have gone through in life to become the dysfunctional person she was. But those moments are few and far between.

When I finally found the courage to face my childhood a little over eight years ago, I made a commitment to myself and the Universe that I would do everything in my power to heal myself and share my knowledge far and wide with other survivors to help ease their pain.

Through the years I have worked hard to rid myself of the negative effects of C-PTSD. From reparenting my inner child to meditation to neurofeedback to counseling to the hours and hours of healing podcasts I have listened to, to EMDR, to writing my book, I am astounded at how far I have come on my mental health journey. And all of that knowledge I have acquired over the years really helped me learn how to control my nervous system.

One of the most amazing things that I have learned is how to sleep and take naps. Although I still have to take sleep aids to get me through the night, I have never slept so soundly in my life. Fifty-three long and painful years I spent dealing with an out-of-control nervous system, and finally I have the answers I had been so desperately seeking. I also don’t feel a need to drink as often as I used to, and the migraines are not as severe as they once were. I have never felt so at peace in my life.

But as hard as I have worked to rid myself of the trauma, I realize there will never be an end point for me. Healing will be a lifelong journey.

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