The Little Girl in Me

There is a little girl in me who learned how to stay quiet.

Not because she wanted to—but because she had to.

She learned early that being “good” meant not taking up space.

That being strong meant holding tears until no one was watching.

That growing up fast was the safest way to survive.

She learned how to smile while hurting.

How to nod instead of speak.

How to cry where no one could see.

For a long time, I didn’t realize she was still there.

I thought I had outgrown her.

I thought time had healed everything.

But healing doesn’t mean forgetting—it means remembering with compassion.

The little girl in me still flinches at loud voices.

She still apologizes too much.

She still feels guilty for needing rest, love, reassurance.

She learned to be independent too early.

To self-soothe instead of being soothed.

To comfort others while her own needs stayed unspoken.

And yet—she survived.

That little girl carried me here.

She turned pain into empathy.

Silence into depth.

Loneliness into understanding.

Now, as an adult, I’m learning to do what no one taught her how to do:

Listen.

Slow down.

Feel without shame.

I’m learning to tell her:

You don’t have to be quiet anymore.

You don’t have to grow up so fast.

You don’t have to cry alone.

You are safe now.

Some days, healing looks like strength.

Other days, it looks like softness.

And sometimes, it looks like sitting with that little girl—finally letting her speak.

If you feel her too, you’re not broken.

You’re remembering.

And that’s where healing begins.