The Morning My Inner Self Cried Out for Me

The screaming for Mommy.
The bad dreams.
The big feelings of not wanting to be alone.

And then, inside me, the opposite truth—this ache of being over-touched, overstimulated, startled awake by cries that need me again. The endless cycle of being pulled from myself just as I begin to return.

Boundaries get tested.
Parts of me crack open.
Walls I didn’t even know I built start to crumble.

And I feel it—the temptation to just give in, to give up, to disappear into the needs of everyone else. But when I do, resentment curls its way into my chest. Anger whispers. My stomach tightens. My body speaks the truth long before my voice does.

There she is—this deep inner part of me—calling out.
Letting me know:

You are worthy of your own time.
You are worthy of your own space.
I need you. I’ve always needed you.

She tells me she feels neglected. That she’s been pushed to the back burner for far too long. And if this is what it takes to get my attention—she will do it. She will keep tugging on me until I finally turn toward her.

Tears pour down my face. My cheeks burn. I hold myself, arms wrapped tight across my chest like I’m cradling something small and precious. Meditation music plays through my noise-canceling headphones, soft and ceremonial, cocooning me away from the world.

For a moment, it’s just me and her.

A vision flashes before me—
A baby being born.

She brings me all the way back to my own birth. Before my husband. Before my children. Before my family. Before all the roles and all the expectations.

There was us.
Just her and me.
A contract of body and soul to walk this world together.

Chills.

That’s how I know the channel is open.

And she speaks:

You lost your way.
You forgot me.
You ignored me.

Her voice is not angry—it is certain.
It is ancient.
It is love.

It’s time to stand up for what you need, my love.
You keep crying out for space—but you never take it.

I feel the truth of that in my bones.

She continues:

The work we’re about to do will require more space, more devotion, more release.
You must learn to let go.
To see that the stories you tell yourself are only stories.
Follow the drumming… that’s me connecting to you.

A phrase rises up like smoke through my chest:

“I forgive you—for me.
To set me free.”

My inner fire rekindles.
A spark.
Then a flame.
Adding wood slowly so it won’t suffocate under the weight of expectation.

And then she gives me the reminder I didn’t know I was waiting for:

You don’t need permission to follow what calls you.
You are still a great mother.
This path will be hard—but you’re doing the work to break the patterns that no longer serve the world we’re rebuilding.

So I breathe.
Slowly.
Intentionally.

I rest.
I soften.
I nourish.

And I return—to us.

We are infinite.
We are connected.
We are the source of Love.

In Peace, Love and Service,
Rebecca