Breaking the Cycle: Loving Through the Rage

By Virginia Underwood

I never imagined that the key to healing would look like sitting with my own inner child while she screamed at me.

But here I am.

Lately, it’s been raw. I’ve felt old patterns rise like ghosts—self-loathing, rage, the sharp sting of not being good enough. The voice inside me, the one I used to believe, whispered again: “You failed. You ruined everything. You’re unlovable. You don’t deserve to exist.”

I know now that voice belongs to the little girl inside me—the one who only wanted love, safety, and someone who wouldn’t leave when she messed up. She learned early that love was conditional. That failure meant rejection. That perfection might buy affection… but only for a moment.

So when things feel uncertain, she shows up. Loud. Panicked. Sometimes vicious. Not because she hates me—but because she’s terrified. She wants to protect me the only way she knows: by attacking first, before the world does.

I used to believe her. I used to become her.

But not anymore.

Now, I stay. I listen. I remind her that I’m not going anywhere.

And here’s the deeper truth:
This is how I broke the cycle.

When my own children shouted, “I hate you! You’re stupid! I wish you were dead!”
I didn’t retaliate. I didn’t collapse.
I looked into their pain, and I said:
“I love you. Nothing will ever stop me from loving you.”

In that moment, I became the mother I never had.
The one who stays.
The one who loves without condition.
The one who shows a child: “You are worthy—even when you're hurting.”

That’s how the legacy shifts.

I know how damaging words can be.
The night before my mother died, we had a fight. We told each other we hated each other.
And then she was gone.

There was no time to make it right. No space to take the words back. I was just a kid—and the guilt buried itself deep in my bones. For years, I believed love could be snatched away at any moment. That one wrong word could cost you everything.

Maybe that’s why I punished myself for so long. Why I kept chasing perfection. Why rage became a twisted form of grief I didn’t know how to express.

But now I know: those final words don’t define our love.
They were spoken from pain, not truth.
And the little girl inside me—who still believes she ruined everything—is learning that she didn’t.

She never did.

Healing isn’t always soft. Sometimes it looks like sitting in the middle of a storm, breathing through the ache of every time love was denied. But each time we choose compassion over control, presence over punishment, we lay down new roots.

This is the work of re-parenting.
This is the work of soul alchemy.
And this is how we reclaim ourselves.

So if you're in the thick of it—if you're hearing the voices of the past screaming through your body—pause. Breathe. Speak to that younger self gently.

Tell them:
“You don’t have to be perfect to be loved. I see you. I’m here. I will never leave you.”

You are not failing.
You are healing.

And healing like this?
It changes everything.

Journaling Prompt:

Think back to a time when you felt unloved, unseen, or rejected as a child. What did you need to hear in that moment that no one said?

Now, write a letter to that younger version of yourself.
Speak to them with the love, patience, and tenderness you give to others.
Let them know they are safe now.
Let them know you will never leave them again.