The One Who Came Back for Her

Something painful may have happened to us, but it doesn’t have to become our identity.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it really means to heal.

So much of healing seems to ask us to hold two truths at the same time.

The first is that sometimes really shitty things happen to us.

Things we didn’t deserve. Things we didn’t choose. Things that may have happened when we were far too young to understand them, let alone protect ourselves from them.

We don’t need to minimize those experiences, put a positive spin on them, or pretend they didn’t hurt in order to heal.

But there’s another truth I’ve been learning to hold alongside that one:

What happened to me was not my fault. But my healing belongs to me now.

Not as another burden to carry.

Not because I should be “over it” by now.

Not because healing has a timeline.

And certainly not because what happened was somehow okay.

But, because I don’t want the people or experiences that hurt me to have the power to determine how I experience the rest of my life.

For me, that realization has become an act of self-love.

When the Wound Becomes the Story

As children, we don’t always have the ability to understand that the painful things happening around us aren’t because of us.

Sometimes we carry those experiences forward as shame, guilt, fear, or a quiet belief that there must have been something wrong with us.

Maybe if I had been different.

Quieter.

Better.

Easier.

More lovable.

Maybe things would have been different.

But there wasn’t something wrong with us.

We were children trying to make sense of things we weren’t equipped to understand.

And sometimes those childhood beliefs follow us into adulthood without us even realizing they’re there.

I’m not safe.

I’m not enough.

I’m too much.

People leave.

I can’t trust anyone.

Something must be wrong with me.

Those beliefs can begin to feel like truths when we’ve carried them long enough.

But what if they’re not truths?

What if they’re wounds asking to be tended to?

For a long time, I thought healing meant understanding what happened.

Why did this person do that?

Why did I react the way I did?

Why am I still affected by something that happened decades ago?

Understanding our past can be incredibly valuable.

But I’ve discovered there is a difference between understanding our past and continuing to live inside of it.

At some point, I began asking a different question.

Instead of only asking Why did this happen?

I began asking:

What does the part of me that is still hurting need from me now?

Meeting My Little Girl

Inner child work has become one of the ways I’ve explored that question.

During my own healing, I found myself connecting with a very young version of myself—a little girl who had experienced things she couldn’t possibly understand at the time.

Instead of analyzing what had happened to her, I tried something different.

I went to her.

I saw her.

And I asked her what she needed from me.

Her answer broke my heart.

Please take me with you.

Don’t leave me here.

She didn’t need me to explain the past.

She didn’t need me to figure out why everything had happened.

She needed someone to come back for her.

So in my mind, I scooped that little girl into my arms.

I told her:

I’ve got you.

You’re safe with me.

I’m taking you with me.

You never have to stay here again.

And I didn’t do this just once.

I’ve returned to her.

In different memories.

Different moments.

Different versions of the story.

I’ve talked to her.

I’ve held her.

I’ve reassured her.

I’ve asked her what she needed.

Sometimes I’ve imagined taking her somewhere beautiful and safe.

Sometimes there weren’t words at all.

I simply stayed.

And something extraordinary has happened over time.

She believes me now.

After all these years, that little girl is beginning to trust that I won’t abandon her.

She knows I’m coming back.

She knows I will listen.

She knows I’ll protect her.

And perhaps most importantly, she’s beginning to understand that she can finally rest.

Taking Loving Responsibility for Ourselves

This is where self-compassion and personal responsibility have begun to coexist for me.

Perhaps part of healing is learning to hold two truths at once:

What happened to me was not my fault.
And my healing belongs to me now.

The first truth offers compassion to the person I was then.

The second gives power back to the person I am today.

Taking responsibility for my healing doesn’t mean taking responsibility for what happened to me.

It means taking loving responsibility for myself now.

It means loving myself enough to tend to what still hurts.

Not because I should have healed it already.

Not because I’m doing something wrong if it still hurts.

But because I deserve to experience a life that is no longer quietly shaped by something I never chose in the first place.

Maybe moving beyond a victim identity isn’t about denying that we were ever victimized.

Maybe it’s about slowly loosening the shame, fear, guilt, and beliefs that became attached to what happened.

It’s being able to say:

Something painful happened to me. But what happened to me is not the entirety of who I am.

Healing Doesn’t Always Feel Like Healing

There are so many ways we can begin tending to ourselves.

Therapy.

Journaling.

Breathwork.

Movement.

Nature.

Somatic practices.

Spiritual practices.

Sometimes it’s simply learning how to sit compassionately beside ourselves instead of immediately trying to make an uncomfortable feeling disappear.

I’ve learned through my own journey that healing doesn’t always feel peaceful in the beginning.

Sometimes it asks us to gently feel what we’ve spent years trying not to feel.

It asks us to sit beside the frightened child, the brokenhearted woman, the version of ourselves who didn’t know what to do next—and instead of abandoning her, fixing her, or telling her she should be over it by now, simply say:

I’m here.

I’ve got you.

You don’t have to do this alone anymore.

On the other side of that tenderness, we often discover something unexpected:

More space.

More compassion.

More trust.

And a deeper sense of home within ourselves.

Maybe that’s what coming home to ourselves really looks like.

Not denying our wounds.

Not allowing them to define us.

But turning toward the parts of ourselves we’ve spent years running from and saying:

I see you.

I believe you.

I’m here now.

And I’m not leaving you behind.

Because healing isn’t about erasing the child you once were.

It’s about becoming the person she can finally rest with.

Before You Go…

Take one slow breath.

Notice how you’re feeling.

Place a hand over your heart.

Whatever this reflection stirred within you today, you don’t have to figure it all out right now.

Simply stay curious.

Notice.

Allow.

And perhaps ask yourself one gentle question:

What does the younger part of me need from me today?

You don’t have to force an answer.

Just listen.

And if you’d like a gentle place to continue the journey, I’d love to share a gift with you.

Coming Home to Yourself
A Seven-Day Journey of Gentle Reflections for Remembering Who You’ve Always Been.

[Receive Your Gift] - Coming soon!

A Little Love Note Before You Go

You were never meant to spend the rest of your life proving that you deserved what you needed all along.

You are allowed to become the safe place within yourself that you’ve been searching for.

And you don’t have to get there all at once.

One breath.

One moment.

One loving return at a time.

With love,

Lisa Michele