7.18.22<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Talking to my inner child<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There is a little girl who sits alone in the alleyway of a crowded city. It stinks of gasoline. Plastic wrappers of discarded food sit coated with mold. Dumpsters overflow with trash unattended to. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
This little girl bears strawberry blonde hair that flows down to her shoulders. She curls up in the shadows, outside the reach of streetlights as night stretches onward. She keeps her sobs quiet as to not alert anyone walking by of her presence. Her clothes are muddied. It rained yesterday and she is still outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I see her. I was looking for her, in fact. I heard her crying from blocks away, when no one else did. I find her off a busy road, down a twisting path and near a wire fence between two cement buildings. At first, she ignores my ringing footsteps, the crunch of shoes against asphalt, the squeak of rats skittering away from a newcomer. But when she realizes the sound was growing louder, she looks up. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her face is freckled, as is mine. Tears stain her cheeks and her eyes are bloodshot. She runs her nose along the purple sleeve of her jacket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou found me,\u201d she whispers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI always do,\u201d I say back. I kneel down in front of her, the grease of trash soaking into my jeans. \u201cYou know that.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI thought you wouldn\u2019t this time,\u201d she murmurs. A tear trails down to her chin. \u201cAren\u2019t you scared?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I offer a small, tender smile. I move to sit next to her and pull her into my lap. I wrap my arms tight around this child. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d I say. \u201cI am afraid of messing things up. I am afraid of being too much. I am afraid of everything we heard growing up.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBeing too dramatic,\u201d she breathes. \u201cNot being right.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot being who I\u2019m supposed to be,\u201d I say with a nod. \u201cI know you remember the lessons well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat does she want us to be?\u201d little me asks. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOurselves.\u201d I gently comb my fingers through the child\u2019s hair. \u201cShe wants us to be ourselves.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe can love that? She can be happy with that?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes,\u201d I say. \u201cWe have to believe her when she says that.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut–\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kiss the top of the child\u2019s head. \u201cWe have to believe her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The little girl curls up into a tight ball in my lap. She buries her face in her arms. \u201cBut they didn\u2019t love us when we were ourselves.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe isn\u2019t them. You have to remember that.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s all I know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe know something else now.\u201d I squeeze her. \u201cAnd it\u2019s amazing, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s\u2026 scary.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n I nod. Again, I offer a small smile. \u201cDo you want to see it? The place she made for us?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The child lifts her head and looks back at me. Her brows knit together. \u201cSee it?\u201d she repeats. \u201cYou can take me there?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can take you there.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n She hesitates. She looks around at the alley we sit in. \u201cIt\u2019s all I know,\u201d she says again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou hate these streets,\u201d I say. \u201cYou hate how it smells. You hate how caged you feel here. You hate the walls people built to keep you in. You keep running to something else but you\u2019ve never gotten the chance to escape the city altogether.\u201d I lift her off my lap and set her down beside me. I stand, dust myself off, and hold out my hand. \u201cI can show you the way out of this wretched place. I can show you the path I take that winds through a valley and a field. I can show you the woods. I can show you the sanctuary she built for us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I watch the younger me\u2019s wide, green eyes. I watch the way her face contorts with anxiety, debating the path to choose. Will she come with me? What is this new place? She is curious, and she is afraid. A new place means new changes, means not knowing what to expect. She knows the pain here, the invalidation, the lack of safety, the way she must censor her own life in order to be remotely palpable to those around her. She knows this. She does not know the forest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou always dreamed of being safe,\u201d I whisper. \u201cAll your life, you\u2019ve dreamed of being safe. You\u2019ve dreamed of being loved for who you are. You\u2019ve dreamed of being able to be yourself in a way no one else has ever let you be.\u201d I crouch. I grasp one of her hands in both of mine and she meets my gaze. \u201cThis woman–she has made you feel safe in a way no one else has. She has made you feel loved and cherished. She has made you feel like you can be yourself, like you can laugh and tease, that you can make jokes and relax into your own dorky nature. She has given you space to talk about what hurts you, to gush about what you love, to daydream about your future with her. We can breathe fresh air when we sit with her in this sanctuary she crafted. We can be loved just for being us.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The child does not know what to say. Her eyes well up with tears. She swallows and looks down at our hands. \u201cIs she sure? Is she sure she loves us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The child closes her eyes. Then she stands, clasping my hand still. \u201cOkay,\u201d she says. \u201cThen I want to see it, and I want to see her.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n I smile. I stand as well, and, step by step, we leave the city of petrol and rot, and take a thin, dirt path to the forest. By the time I reach the trees, I am alone, and I enter the forest with a hum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHello, love,\u201d I call, pushing past brush and vines. A woman stands in a clearing ahead of me, resting on the deck around our cottage. Her crystalline eyes lift to meet mine and she smiles. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m home.\u201d I climb the steps to reach her, and when I do, I grasp her hand and kiss her gently on the lips.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" There is a little girl who sits alone in the alleyway of a crowded city. It stinks of gasoline.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"A personal piece of me helping myself relax in this new place of safety. I love it here. I love my girlfriend. And I think I'm finally starting to relax in that love.","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[5],"tags":[158,875,873,157,12,874,114,97,37],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p27tjX-CN","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2405"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2405"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2405\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2406,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2405\/revisions\/2406"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2405"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2405"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2405"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}