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So my next therapy homework assignment is to write a letter to myself from the perspective of my inner child.  I recently wrote to my inner child as a part of my last homework assignment, and I wasn't exactly kind, although as part of that I realized I was working through my inner critic programming.

Any tips for getting into the mindset of your inner child? Do visual aids help, spending time with past memories, self-medicating, ?

mom

When I think about my childhood before the age of 7 I can't remember much.  I don't remember anything bad.  I remember dancing to michael jackson with you and auntie (I was jumping on the couch, I think it was Thriller), learning to pee with cheerios, that time we washed ketchup off the pizza because it had olives and sent it back, when you let me drink a cooler (one of the * kinds you get from walmart) and I slipped down the stairs, one time when we picked you up from the library you worked at and you had brought me Dr. Seuss books.  Eating ichiban noodles for supper.  The one time I snuck off with a friend to go to the gas station on the corner where it had the arcade in the back room.  When we went to the "beach" behind the leisure center, you suntanned and I think I played in whatever kind of water that was.  The time you borrowed my jean jacket because you were going out on a date and you thought it looked good.  When we bought the Atari 2600.  The one time you played atari football with me on it.  When we had a cat, but I used to swing it around by its tail and that made it crazy and it scratched up the apartment carpet.  The one time you got into an argument with whoever you were dating at the time as to whether I had chicken pox or measeals.

I remember you taking me to your work at least once, working while I played around in the office.  I imagine that sucked for you.

I remember you taking me to that computer dating place off of broad st.  It's still there.  I don't know if it's open, I can't imagine it is, but the sign is still there.

I remember when we went to S's farm for the first time.  I don't remember who else was there, some other older girl maybe.  I watched Cujo at least twice.  Cujo!  A f*ing six year old.  I know it didn't bother me.  But I don't remember seeing a lot of you that weekend.  Pretty sure it was overnight.  You were probably getting f*ed now that I reflect on it.

I remember you leaving for work and S sleeping on the couch all day in our apartment (I was 5 or 6?).  I played a lot of nintendo.  I can't remember if you warned me, or if he did about waking him up.  I remember I was scared.

I played by myself a lot around then.  I had an air mattress on the floor in my own room once he moved in.  And a piano keyboard.

I remember when you dated that other guy "just to make sure".  He worked at the air force base.  I think we went to a chinese food place.  You asked me afterwards who I preferred.  I said the other guy.  Probably the last time I actually told you what I wanted.

I remember moving to a house.  It was, what, our 8th move by that time?  Didn't bother me.  We went trick or treating the day we moved.  It was lightly snowing.  I was wearing the ugly poofy blue 80s jacket that I imagine most kids had back then.  No costume.

I remember the first time S snapped on me.  Another one of those days you left me with him.  He asked if I wanted noodles & sauce for lunch.  I said sure, thinking it was the liptons stuff we had so often.  Turns out it was alphagetti.  I wasn't a big fan of tomato sauce back then.

I remember pushing it around with my fork.  He asked me what's wrong.  I said I didn't like it.  He yelled.  I remember the leaf pattern of the glass plate.  He lifted it up and smushed it in my face, much like a clown would do with a pie.  My nose hurt.  I hid under my bed, he didn't come after me.

When you got home hours later you asked where I was.  I don't remember what he said.  You came in my room, and then freaked out because you couldn't find me.  You came back in a few moments later and found me under the bed.  I don't remember if you consoled me.  I remember you yelling at him.  I don't remember what you said.

I do remember that as the last time you stood up for me.

I remember s*ing myself because I was afraid to disturb you.  It was better for me to walk around the living room in circles waiting for you to get out of the bath than to bother you with my needs.  Not sure if that was learned way before that or I was just broken after that first abuse.

I remember S told me to play outside in the sprinkler one day.  There was a spider on the sprinkler.  I sat outside and hid behind the house because it was safer than trying to get him to help me.  When he eventually found out why I wasn't playing in the sprinkler he yelled at me for being afraid of a spider.

I remember you being some sort of sick.  I took out a "cancer for kids" book from the school library.  You read it and cried.  I don't think you actually talked to me about it.  At some point you were in the hospital.  You had a diaper on.

I think I had my own key by grade 3?  It was before we moved to ***, and I was in grade 3 when we moved there.

I played by myself a lot in ***.  9th move, I was used to not keeping friends by then.  Kicking a soccer ball against the townhouse we lived in.  Learning how to use a PC he bought through work.  Playing nintendo on the TV in my room in the basement.  You guys bought me skates because I should've learned how to skate by then.  I skated by myself a lot.  Used to go as fast as I could and then slam against the wall because I couldn't stop.  No one there to teach me.

Learned to love the days he had night shifts by then.  He was gone by supper time and back late morning, then went right to bed.  Or day shifts on the weekends.  Wasn't as scared while he was gone.  I paid a lot of attention to his schedule, posted on the fridge.

When he wasn't at work or sleeping I was on guard.  I had no idea when or what would cause him to get angry, all I knew was if I was around I'd get hit, or have my hair pulled, or yelled at, or told I wasn't 'respectful' enough, or told I did something wrong.  You two ignoring/neglecting me was the _best_ case scenario.

Had a bully in ***.  I think his name started with an A?  Didn't have anyone to talk to about it.  Some kids took my side sometimes I think.

Moved to ***.  10th move.  Grade 5.  I remember asking J (neighbour kid I was friends with) if he wanted to start a "We hate our dads club" one summer afternoon.  He said he didn't hate his dad.  I was legitimately confused.

I didn't have friends over, because I was ashamed of my place in the family.  The one time I had a sleepover, (a different J) asked me at school the following Monday if my dad was an axe murderer.

Remember S pulling me downstairs by the hair on the back of my neck whenever I left the toilet seat up, or the bathroom door closed, or some s* like that.  Remember him reefing on my arm because I didn't know how to coil an extension cord around it.  I cried on my bed after that one, he sent you to check if my arm was broken.  I remember thinking "you f*ing wish".

I remember being legitimately scared for my life the days he took me out to cut down trees in the field.  I honestly thought he was going to kill me.  Chainsaw accident, easy enough.  Who would say otherwise?

I used to go right to the downstairs bathroom after every supper (after saying "may I be excused" of course), and sitting on the toilet until 6 pm, when he left for work.  No idea how you didn't clue into that.  You took me for intolerance tests?  Read the f*ing room.

Remember the one time I actually fought back.  Was upstairs in the kitchen, I think by the toaster.  He did his usual pulling the hairs on the back of my neck while telling me I failed at something.  I elbowed him as hard as I could.  I was hoping to hit that little spot between the ribs, where you get winded if someone hits you?  I was going to keep going after that.  I missed.  He backed me into the corner by the back door and just kept punching me.  I remember blocking his punches pretty well.  I think you yelled at him to stop.  One of the kids were crying.

I remember you had some pamphlets from the guidance councilor in the kitchen about connecting with your teenage child or something like that.  I remember going on a long 3 hour ride with him from *** to *** so we could 'bond'.  I didn't say a single word.  Neither did he.

I had bullies in grade 7, 8, and 10.  Just let them beat me, call me names, treat me like s*.  Not much different from home.  What was I going to do?  By then I was a husk of a person.  The only reason I wanted to kill myself was to get you in trouble.  No one cared, least of all me.

I remember him saying that he didn't want to be seen in public with me after one of my haircuts.  I remember you asking if I was gay, because he was worried about it (I imagine it wasn't so he could support me if I was).

I remember the time that I actually told someone that I was being abused, Baba.  She called you directly to talk about it.  Afterwards you asked me if I wanted you to divorce him.  I couldn't respond.

I remember lots of arguments and yelling between the two of you.  I remember the time you came into my room saying you loved me but you had to go away for awhile, tears in your eyes.  I don't think it was the first time you had done that.  By that point I didn't care.  My thought was "you signed up for this, no?".

I remember the morning I left.  B and G were up.  B said "I'm very disappointed in you".

I remember the one counselling session we had together after I left.  It was the councilor I had been talking to for a few sessions because L wanted to make sure I wasn't actually going to kill myself.  I specifically remember the councilor asking you how many times I had been physically abused.

You said "once or twice".

I broke down bawling.  Uncontrollably sobbing.  The abandonment was complete.  You were no longer my mother.

---

Now, as I'm about to turn 40, I've spent the last year or so realizing how badly S and you f*ed me up.  I've got self-esteem issues, blame myself constantly, am unable to handle conflict, ashamed of myself.  I can't make any decisions, because decisions become vulnerabilities, reasons why someone can be mad at me.  I can't stand up for myself.  I can't tell anyone what I want.  I can't even tell myself what I want, because wanting something is vulnerable.  There is no one I can ask for help, just like there was no one I could ask for help when I was younger.

The only time I feel safe is when I'm alone, just like before - the only time I felt safe was when everyone was sleeping.  I used to stay up so late, just being myself.  Playing games, listening to music, reading... had to get what little personality I had out somehow I guess.

Now I go through the motions, make sure everyone else is getting what they need, make sure no one has a reason to be upset with me or anything else, and then once everyone is unconscious I can finally live my life in lonely solitude.

How the f* I've managed to be successful at work, get married, and have kids is absolutely beyond me.

I hate the child version of myself.  My road to healing is supposed to have some level of compassion and acceptance for the kid inside me, the one who floats in the timeline where I was abandoned along the way.  I just hate everything he represents.  I'm ashamed of him, I'm disgusted by him, I don't want to accept him.  You didn't.  Why should I?

I'm glad you were born
You are a good person
I love who you are
I am always on your side
You can come to me whenever you're feeling hurt
You do not have to be perfect to be deserving of love and attention
I am always glad to see you
You can make mistakes
You can ask for help
I am proud of you

Say one of those things to me.  One f*ing thing.  One thing, and mean it.

You never have.

You never wanted me.  I was a burden, a mouth to feed, a reminder of your s*ty behaviour, the thing blocking you from a full life and romantic love.  Despite my every attempt to make sure I wasn't in your way, that I helped you as much as possible, even if that help was just so that he didn't yell at us, the simple fact of my existence would never go away.

Why the f* did you think you could raise a kid at 17?

---

You used to say 'I don't know what we did!  Tell us what we should have done different!'  Here's some science book quotes that spell out the s* you both did to me.

"Fear and shame condition him to refrain from asking for attention, from expressing himself in ways that draw attention.  Before long, he learns to refrain from seeking any kind of help or connection at all."

"Traumatic emotional neglect occurs when a child does not have a single caretaker to whom he can turn in times of need or danger. [...] Emotional neglect makes children feel worthless, unlovable and excruciatingly empty."

"...you then grew up feeling that no one likes you.  No one ever listened to you or seemed to want you around.  No one had empathy for you, showed you warmth, or invited closeness.  No one cared about what you thought, felt, did, wanted or dreamed of.  You learned early that, no matter how hurt, alienated, or terrified you were, turning to a parent would do nothing more than exacerbate your experience of rejection"

"He cleverly forfeits all needs that might inconvenience his parents.  He stops having preferences and opinions that might anger them.  Boundaries of every kind are surrendered to mollify his parents, who repudiate their duty of caring for him."

"This child escapes his fear by slipping more and more deeply into dissociation.  He learns to let his parents' verbal and emotional abuse "go in one ear and out the other."

^ remember this one?  Where you could yell and say whatever the * you wanted and I just sat there, unresponsive, "grunting" when required, staring at the floor?  You used to mock me for being unable to communicate.

I still do this.  Thanks.

"their parents taught them that talking was dangerous and that their words were indictments that would inevitably prove them guilty of being unworthy"

"understand that fear of being attacked for lapses in ingratiation causes them to forfeit their boundaries, rights, and needs."

^ 'he doesn't respect me'.  Any little slip up, any small thing I forgot, anything at all and S was the first to highlight how I deserved to be punished for a lack of respect.

"Many fawns survived by _constantly_ focusing their awareness on their parents to figure out what was needed to appease them.  Some became almost psychic in their ability to read their parents moods and expectations.  This then helped them to figure out the best response to neutralize parental danger."

"When perfectionist striving fails to win welcoming from [your parents] the inner critic becomes increasingly hostile and caustic.  It festers into a virulent inner voice that increasingly manifests self-hate, self-disgust and self-abandonment.  The inner critic blames you incessantly for shortcomings that it imagines to be the cause of [your parents'] rejection."

Not a very creative title... it'll do though.

I left home when I was 17.  It had (finally) got to a point where enough was enough.  I decided either I was going to leave, or I was going to die.  Luckily I chose the first option.  I had a relative nearby that I was able to walk to.  Probably took me a solid two hours trekking through fields and back yards - I knew if my stepfather found me, I'd have been physically dragged back home, so I avoided any roads.

My aunt put me through some counselling then, mostly to make sure I still had an interest in continuing to live.  My last session was with my mom in the room.  I remember the counsellor asking, "how many times has he abused him?"  She turned to the counsellor with a straight face and said "once or twice?"

I broke down bawling immediately, mid-session.  It was blatant, face-saving lie.  I think that was when I realized how abandoned I had been by my mother, which felt even worse than the abuse.  I left that meeting with a note in hand saying I was legally emancipated, and a will to never spend another second of mental energy on my parents again.

---

So, 22 years later, my wife asks me through tears why whenever she needs support from me I 'turn off'.  I'm barely able to respond.  We have had conversations about how I felt like I was living a joyless life, how I spend every day going through the motions waiting for everyone to leave me alone so I can be with myself.  She suggests that I see a therapist (she has been seeing her own for anxiety and anger reasons).  I find one who's summary seems to make sense and we start the process.

The therapist quickly was able to identify that I have had trauma in my childhood, and it could explain a lot of what was going on.  This upsets me.  I had made a promise to myself to leave all of that behind!  I'm successful in my career, I got married, I have wonderful children, I have a nice house!  I am living life in spite of what happened to me!

We dive into it.  Internal Family Systems, being with my emotions, identifying that I do, in fact, have needs (even if I have huge problems identifying them).  I start reading... Healing the Child Within... Healing the Shame that Binds You... and eventually C-PTSD by Pete Walker.  Each book makes more and more sense, makes me feel more seen and makes me understand where all of this may be coming from.

---

My most recent assignment from my therapist was to find a photo of myself as a young child, and to start journaling.  First point was to write a letter to my parents (that I won't send).  Get some of that anger out there I imagine, maybe help identify my developmental trauma so we can work on it.  I had told her that I wanted to start "grieving my childhood losses" as Mr. Walker put it, but I was having a lot of trouble identifying what I had lost, never mind grieving it.  She said, "you can't grieve a loss you don't miss", which makes a lot of sense.

I've become so good at taking care of myself that I don't really feel like I am missing anything, but at the same time I read and hear about 'healing from relationships' and 'communicating your needs', and all these other foreign concepts.  I don't realize that I'm missing these things, because they've literally never been presented as things I could have.  My life, from a young age, was making sure everyone and everything else was good, because if it wasn't I would get in trouble (yelled at, insulted, hit, mocked, demeaned, etc.)  I only truly was able to be myself once everyone was sleeping.  I often stayed up past midnight alone in my room, because that was 'safe me time'.

The other thing I realized shortly after this last session was that I hate my inner child.  The thought of caring about younger me is just an offensive concept in my mind.  I know, from an intellectual point of view, that it's likely just my inner critic working on over drive or various 'protectors' (IFS) trying to keep all that part of my life hidden and away.  But despite all that just the thought of caring about that kid, the one who couldn't say two words to stick up for himself, the one who took every hit without crying, the one who barely had any friends, the one who worked in servitude out of fear, I just can't bring myself to do it. 

(Ever since I came to this conclusion I've had 'heart concerns'?  A tightness in the chest making breathing more noticeable and giving a heavy heart beat.  One day I was considering going to the hospital about it, and then I realized I could basically make it start by thinking about my inner child.  Definitely psychosomatic.  Even happening now.)

Anyways, I've written the letters to my mother and stepfather.  To my surprise the one to my mother was actually much more aggressive.  I'd consider posting them on here but they've got a _lot_ of swearwords in them.  I may consider writing a letter to my younger self as well.  Might help to get that all down on paper.

Glad to be able to join the community here!  Almost 40-year-old male in Canada.  I've been on a therapy journey since January of 2022, which started when my wife pushed me into talking to someone about my inability to handle conflict or confrontation - it had been coming up a lot in our relationship, and I had been feeling disconnected, unable to really enjoy myself around my kids or wife, and mostly just going through the motions.

My therapist had started helping me dig into my past where I had some issues with abuse from my stepfather and neglect from my mother that I had mostly trained myself to ignore ever since I left home, but were clearly affecting me in ways I wasn't acknowledging.  We did some internal family systems work, and I eventually went through a bunch of books, landing on Pete Walker's C-PTSD book which really resonated with me.  As I'm sure you're all aware, one of the recommendations from that book is to find a group therapy/community you can work with.  I had reached out to a few local groups but no one seemed to be meeting regularly (if at all), eventually found the /r/cptsd subreddit, and then found the link to this site from there.

If I were to describe the ways I'm affected and stuff I'm trying to work on, it would include an ever-present fawn response, where I basically give up myself and my needs to ensure that there's nothing wrong for anyone else so that no one can get upset with me.  While this makes me a great employee and a good-enough father and husband, it generally leaves me feeling drained and unfulfilled, and makes it near impossible to engage with my loved ones in a meaningful fashion.  I've got brief moments every now and then where I feel truly present, but they're pretty rare and almost exclusively when I'm so exhausted that I have no choice but to surrender my fawn response.  If/when my fawn response doesn't work and someone (generally my wife) gets upset with me, my fallback is freezing so that I'm basically mute until I can physically escape the conflict (and often for a few hours after that).

My therapist has asked me a few times to identify my needs, and I draw a blank every time.  I've been so used to serving others to avoid conflict and tending to my own minimalistic needs that it's near impossible for me to conceptualize that it's healthy for people to need things from other people.

Anyways, I'm grateful to have a chance to join the group here.  I've been lurking a bit waiting for my account to be verified, and I really like the concept of a recovery journal (as well as the support you're all giving each other - it's great!) so I might start there... if anyone else has any tips don't hesitate to let me know!