It is October 1999. I am attending my very first psycho-spiritual personal growth workshop ever — Reparenting the Child Within.
The first exercise on this unforgettable weekend is an assessment of our childhood experiences and the extent of our childhood woundedness. The results glaringly point out one thing — how extremely wounded I am as a child.
I am dumbfounded. I can’t believe what I discover from the assessment results.
The workshop is a combination of lectures, dyad sharing, regression exercises, reflections, group sharing and processing, listening to and being inspired by personal stories of those who have started the process of healing their wounded inner child, journaling, quiet time, self-reflection.
All these not only bring to my awareness how extremely wounded I am as a child. At quite such a mature age of 36, I realize that I am, in fact, a product of abuse. That I was raised in an abusive environment. That I am actually an abused child. At practically all levels.
I am shocked! I can’t make sense of it.
Up until this most revealing moment, I thought that everything that I went through during my childhood and everything that I experienced and witnessed in my family is “normal.” Acceptable. That everyone else had similar experiences. It isn’t a big deal. A non-issue. Or so I thought. I didn’t even know what constituted “abuse” until this workshop.
Or so I thought. I didn’t even know what constituted “abuse” until this workshop.
I didn’t even know what constituted “abuse” until this workshop.
It most certainly is an aha moment. And it will only be the start of a lifelong series of aha moments. All my perceptions and misperceptions start to radically shift.
All my perceptions and misperceptions start to radically shift.
For the first time, my little Nadine is allowed to speak. To scream. To express herself. Freely. In whatever way she wants to. Whatever way she knows how.
The workshop creates a very safe space for my little Nadine to voice out all her feelings and emotions. No holds barred — except no hurting of one’s self.
It feels different. Pleasantly, refreshingly, welcomingly, and joyously different. 🙂
Whatever she wants to say is important enough to be heard.
And for the very first time, my little Nadine feels that she matters. Truly matters.
- Nurturing the Inner Child: How I Paid Homage To the Divine Child
- The Synchronistic Events That Led Me To My Inner Child
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