A friend said this to me one day, explaining a therapy technique she had learned in counselling for trauma.
“Think of the child version of yourself, and imagine how you would treat them. What would you say? What would you do?”
This concept, as simple as it seems, blew me away.
When my friend explained this technique to me, she was referring to dealing with moments of heightened emotion, but the idea resonated with me so much I began thinking about it all the time.
How would I treat the child version of myself in this situation? What would I do or say?
As someone who works with children, this was easy for me to envision because I deal with children’s emotions on a daily basis in my job. So I already knew: I’d listen, acknowledge, validate Little Me’s feelings. I’d let them talk about what was on their mind. I’d show them care and respect, regardless of how small the problem seemed, because really that’s all anybody wants, isn’t it? For someone to hear them, see them?
It occurred to me then, that my reactions to my adult self were so far removed from how I would treat the preschool version of myself. There was no empathy, no consideration, no kindness. For someone who prides themselves on being kind and respectful in their work, I was surprised to realise how much I lacked these qualities behind closed doors when it was just myself, alone.
I began to practise kindness to myself in basic ways, and I realised how little self-love was in my life. I suspect that’s a common theme amongst adults, particularly those who have suffered trauma; where you might have unlimited empathy for others, you have a completely different set of rules for yourself.
Picturing a child version of me forced me to realise what I was doing. I wouldn’t hold anyone else to the standards I hold myself to, and I would never dream of treating the child-me the way I treat adult me. Even basic acts, like ignoring my own hunger or tiredness cues, were things I would never allow to happen to another person, but seemed okay when it happened to me. When I realised how downright nasty I could be to myself, I was shocked. To the outside world, I presented the veneer of functioning and well-adjusted adult, but I had so little regard for myself.
Picturing ‘little me’ changed my whole perspective. It taught me the very basic act of self-care. It taught me that I’m worthy.
It made me realise how much I probably needed empathetic adults in my life when I was younger; I know I’m not alone in that.
I could talk about what got me here, the things that happened in my life to make me feel less deserving of respect or kindness or than those around me, but I won’t.
I just want to ask: How would you treat the child version of yourself?
