The Sacred Act of Sitting with Our Little Selves

by Virginia Underwood

There is a moment in the healing path that doesn’t look like progress.
It looks like sitting on the floor of your spirit with a child version of yourself, eyes puffy from crying, heart cracked open like wet earth.

Today, I journeyed there.
To the place where my inner children still live—where they still ache to be heard, still carry the sting of words spoken by someone who didn’t know how to love without fear.

My Higher Self came—not with answers, not with fixes, but with presence.
She sat beside me.
We cried together.
We held the little ones.
And then… we held my mother, too.

I saw her clearly for the first time:
Not as the one who wounded me, but as a child herself—trying so hard to be good, to get it right, to love the only way she knew how.
Even when it came out cruel.
Even when it taught me to be small.

And in that moment… something softened.

Because healing isn’t always about rising.
Sometimes, it’s about lowering ourselves gently into the past…
…to offer the embrace we didn’t get.
…to say, “I see you. I’m with you. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

This is the work.
Not bypassing.
Not performing joy.
But sitting with what was never held.

Forgiveness doesn't always mean condoning.
Sometimes it just means laying down the sword, so you can finally rest.

If you’ve never sat with your little self, I invite you to.
Not to fix them.
But to be with them.
To witness.
To love.
To reclaim the parts of you still waiting to be chosen.

Because healing doesn’t always roar.
Sometimes, it just whispers… I’m still here.