I thought, since I started the thread, that I should kick things off.
I call my inner child Little Bee. Her name is organic. It had been growing for some time, but it wasn't until I watched it settle on my arm like the bee she is that I knew why it was so.
We're really only just getting to know one another, and it is a bittersweet process.
Several months ago I had a profound experience at a Tori gig. Tori was singing
The Beekeeper, and as she played I started thinking about what that song means. About the idea of losing our mothers, and the extraordinary pain and grief I feel, regularly, at the loss it is to have a living mother who is, really, not a mother to me at all. I started thinking about how as women, we
all lose our mothers at some point. And as I sat there I suddenly felt all of this sympathy leave me for all the women in the audience who still had to walk this path. Indeed, I felt sympathy for Tori, too. Then, when I looked back at the stage, although
Tori was still playing, it wasn't her that I saw at the piano. It was this small child, no more than 8 or 9, sitting on the piano stool and straining to reach the pedals. And it was incredible. It was both Tori, and me, and every other little girl who needs a mother.
About two weeks later I told Hilary, my therapist, about this experience. She said to me "is there anything you would like to say to her (my as yet unnamed inner child)?" I said to Hilary "I do love her you know", and Hilary replied "well, why don't you tell
her?" But I was frozen. I just couldn't find the words. In the end Hilary told me to let her take the lead, saying that children are very good at breaking the ice. So I did...
And it was extraordinary. I was suddenly back in the Apollo, where the Tori gig had been, and I was on the stage with this little girl, sitting at the piano. She said to me "I'd like to play something" and I watched as she played, tears streaming down my face. Then, when she had finished she said "Now I'd like to show you something", and led me from the piano to the back of the stage. She had a game set up, an old game I used to play as a child, and I sat with her and we played. And I cried so hard. Good tears just spilling out all over my cheeks. I was crying so much I couldn't even tell Hilary what was happening...
Little Bee stayed with me for a while after the session. We went and bought some chocolate and sat by the fountain outside the hospital where I have therapy and chatted a little. She was afraid of letting anyone know about our meeting, but I managed to reassure her that there was nothing to be afraid or ashamed of.
Anyway, that was all some months ago, and since then Little Bee had been pretty quiet. Until last week.
During Thursday's therapy session, I suddenly realised that I could see her again. She was standing alone in the middle of a crowded shopping centre, while hundreds and hundreds of adults rushed past her. I told Hilary what I had seen, and she suggested I go to her. But I couldn't move. I got as far as the little pocket of silence among the hoards of frantic adults, but that was it. I knew, somewhere, that all I had to do was reach out and open my arms, or even, move over to Little Bee. But there was a coldness in the moment, and I knew that any movement wouldn't be genuine, that it would be forced. And so, instead, I watched as Little Bee stared, angrily back. It was a hard hard moment.
And it's been hard since. We may have made a start those months ago, but we have so much work to do. I realised last week that I probably have done Little Bee more harm than anyone, and that is a desperately uncomfortable realisation.
So, today, I want to say something to Little Bee:
Dear Little Bee,
I am sorry. I am sorry for not letting you speak. I am sorry for calling you pathetic and for belittling your pain. I am sorry that I have spent so long looking for something, or someone else, that I've not been there for you. I am sorry that while others were betraying you and letting you down, I didn't defend you, and that instead I abandoned you too. And I am sorry, so sorry, that I haven't loved you.
I know that I don't feel all of this yet, and that some of these feel like empty words. But please know that I am working as hard as I can to make them come true.
I do love you.

Ruthie
Edited by tealight rookie, 17 October 2005 - 07:04 AM.