When My Inner Child Takes the Wheel

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It usually starts small. A shift in someone’s tone. A message that goes unread. A pause too long between replies. And suddenly, I’m spiraling. My chest tightens. I feel like I’ve done something wrong, though I can’t name what. The rational part of me knows it’s probably nothing—but the child inside me? She’s already panicking.

“I don’t just feel hurt. I feel abandoned.

Not annoyed—unlovable.

Not confused—terrified.”

It’s like being eleven years old, standing at the door with my heart racing, waiting for the sound of her footsteps. I would hold my breath, straining to hear any sign of her coming back, not knowing if I’d be met with anger or silence. I didn’t know what to expect, only that I had to be ready for anything.

I thought I had buried that version of myself—the one who spent every day in a state of hyper-awareness, bracing for what might come next. But as I’ve grown, I’ve realized my inner child is still there—hidden behind the masks I wear to protect myself, still scanning for danger, even when I’m safe.