The Little Child in Me Wants a Mama.

Sharing a glimpse of a personal journey

I knew I was feeling pressured. Even though the sensations were familiar, there was a quiet awareness of suffering within me.

I need to make it happen.

It can only be done by me. There is nobody else, no one who can help me at the end of the day.

It has to be me. Only me.

There is no one I can rely on, no one who truly has my back.

The weight of this belief, carried on my shoulders for so long, felt crushing, and so heavy that my body began to collapse under it.

---

I set aside time and space to sit quietly, turning my attention inward to the pain held in my body. Gently, I call for the little child, inviting her to come forward, unsure if she will.

I see a little girl. She looks unhappy.

Soon, she breaks down. Her sobbing deepens as I watch her with compassion. I want to scoop her up, to hold her tightly, to do something to ease her pain.

What would help?

The answer surprises me.

“I want a mama. Not the one I have, but a real one - a mama who holds me and takes care of me when I need her. A mama I can turn to when I’m sad. A mama I can let my guard down with, someone I can trust to care for me. I need a mama.”

I begin to sob with her.

I know. Of course we want a mama. Who wouldn’t?

I hold her, and we cry together.

---

The memory comes back to me later.

I was probably in high school, sick with a bad flu, lying in bed for days. From my room, I could hear the sounds of life continuing. The clatter of dishes, dinner being prepared, voices, my mom cleaning the kitchen.

I lay there, holding my breath at times, listening.

Waiting.

I told myself she would come to check on me, maybe after she finished cleaning, before going to bed. So I waited for that moment.

But it never came.

She didn’t come to check on me. I was left alone.

I remember the initial shock, followed by a deep sense of disappointment and abandonment. I’m sure I received the basics; food, medicine, what was necessary.

And yet, what I learned in that moment, lying alone with a fever, stayed with me.

There is no one to turn to when I’m in need.

I am on my own.

---

When I take these beliefs as truth, especially in moments of vulnerability, the loneliness deepens. Fear grows. And layered on top of it comes shame, a quiet sense of inadequacy, since I try to make sense of it by taking it personally, believing the story that it’s my fault that I have no one.

All the moments in my life when I was held, supported, and connected seem no match for this old, deeply rooted belief.

I feel sad for how it came to be.

How a small child learned there was no one for her.

How she grew up carrying that belief, sometimes even searching for proof to confirm it.

How lonely she must have been.

And how brave she is to come forward now with such honesty, such a clear longing.

---

I won’t leave you alone.

Let’s give the universe a chance to come in. Let it hold us.

The truth is, we are still here.

We couldn’t have made it this far without being held in ways we may not have fully seen or understood.

Maybe, now, we can begin to let ourselves be carried.