Self Psychology

I think of the little girl I was and still am inside, how lonely and wanting she is of warmth and comfort. I think of holding her close, running my hands through her hair, and telling her that she is beautiful. I think of how hard she is trying just to stand tall. I think of how hard she tries at everything. I think of how terrified she is alone in the dark and how enraged she is at those who left her behind. I think of how badly she just wants to be noticed and how ashamed she is to ask. It's up to me to notice her and to hold her and love her. I can no longer wait for someone who's not coming home, because even when they get there, they could never hold her long enough or hard enough to ease the pain.

She's my child now. She's always been mine. I'm the one she's been waiting for. The greatest men in this world can't substitute for my love. They will always fall short. They will always fail her. I am the mother she needs.

It's a huge responsibility, to love such a real thing. Such a thing with imperfections that can't be hidden because I have a front row seat. I'm the person I've been hesitant to get close to. I want to punish her for her inadequacies. I'm afraid she won't survive. I'm afraid her hunger will engulf me. I want to show her off and use her for her talents until they're wrung dry. But she needs me to do better than that. She needs my protection.

Pieces of her are bled onto the pages here. Pieces of her glisten throughout the day in the corner of my eye. Pieces of her people love and give everything for. Pieces of her cut through the people she loves and bring up their hatred. Pieces of her tear apart the world they've built for her. She is sadness, pain, sweetness, greed, envy, longing, and anger. But I am her container. I hold all of these pieces into a whole. And she stands there waiting to be seen as her alone, naked, and real. It's painful to see her and I so often look away. Her gaze is weighty and needy. When our eyes finally meet, I see the bottomlessness of her loneliness and stillness of her courage.