I don’t think my little girl ever thought
she had strengths.
Not back then.
She was quiet.
Bullied.
Trying to fit into places
that never made room for her.
But now, she knows.
She sees how far we’ve come.
And somehow,
she helps my adult self remember
that strength doesn’t always look forward.
Sometimes it looks like pausing.
Sometimes like stepping back
so healing can catch up.
I was fifty-three
sitting in RTT hypnotherapy
when my childhood stutter came back...
my body remembering before my mind caught up.
That’s when I realized
she was still there.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
Now, she reminds me
how far we’ve come.
She tells me it’s okay
to take steps backward
when we’re healing something
we never had language for before.
She marvels at us....
at how brave we’ve been
to walk into the past
without running away.
I would thank her
for being kind anyway.
For surviving the bullying.
For staying soft
in a world that told her to be smaller.
The adult me had to show her
what we built.
What we survived.
What we healed, together.
Funny how it works.
You go back to rescue your little girl,
and one day
she stands tall
and rescues you right back.
Little girl…
I hear you now.
You don’t have to whisper anymore.
You don’t have to prove anything.
You don’t have to fight to belong.
Because I see you.
I choose you.
I carry you with me—
not as something broken…
but as something brave.
And I promise you this…
We are not going back.
We are going forward—
together.
Love you always…
little girl.