The Inner Child Who Waited

When I was young, in one school, in one class, I was the one everyone gathered around. Teachers liked me, classmates liked me, whatever I did, someone responded. Back then I thought that was how the world worked. I thought it was because I was good enough.

Then I transferred. A different school, a different class. No transition, no warning, no wrong done. I just suddenly became a different kind of existence. Even breathing was wrong. Whatever I said, someone laughed. Whatever I did, someone picked at. Slowly, I started to wonder if there had been something wrong with me all along. From being lifted by everyone to being torn apart by everyone, with no buffer in between—just a short holiday.

This kind of thing is not easy at any age. It is, by itself, an extreme experience. But when it happens in your teens, you haven't yet formed any sense of who you are. Your entire understanding of "who I am" is built on how others see you. When those others go from lifting you to stepping on you in a short span of time, the only conclusion you can reach is: the problem is me. I changed. I'm not good enough. I didn't try hard enough. I'm not worth it.

I carried that conclusion for many years.

Later I understood some things. Being lifted back then—that was because the environment itself was good, the people were clean. It had little to do with how outstanding I was. Being torn down—that was those people projecting what they couldn't face in themselves onto me. My existence made them uncomfortable because they saw something in me they didn't want to face. Put plainly, it had little to do with me.

But understanding it doesn't undo what already happened. If a person has been through the rollercoaster of external feedback in a short period, it becomes very hard to place their worth on external evaluation again. Not that they don't want to—they can't. That thing is broken. You can't trust it anymore.

I didn't keep trying to prove myself outward. Not because I didn't want to, but because it felt pointless. Those evaluations, good or bad, were like a joke. The thing you chase with everything you have can turn on you at any moment. You do nothing, and you go from being held up to being stepped on. So what's the point of proving anything? To whom?

But the cost was, I stopped believing. Not in myself, not in others, not in any evaluation. Didn't believe the good, didn't believe the bad. I felt hollowed out, left with only a dull numbness. Not pain, not peace—just nothing taken seriously anymore. That state lasted for many years.

But that was only the surface. Underneath, there was a soul too hurt to feel anything anymore. The most careless surface held the most scared and caring heart. The not-caring was never real. It was a cover. A way to stop the pain from reaching anything that could still break.

For a while, I thought this was freedom. No longer affected by what others said, no longer rising and falling with external feedback—it sounded like I had figured something out. But it wasn't. That wasn't freedom. It was just being numbed by injury. A complete shutdown. Turning off the feelings, turning off the caring, closing every entrance that could be hurt again.

Later, I don't know when it started, those things slowly came back. I began to care about things again, to feel something for people again, to allow myself to be moved again. The thing I hadn't dared to try for so long came back, bit by bit. The process was slow and clumsy, like learning a skill I had long forgotten.

During this period, I experienced some ups and some downs. I was liked, ignored, hated, or whatevered—not in a dramatic way, but in a calm and normal way. Not a drama. Just ordinary life. Although, most of the time, I tended to hold back all expectation and feeling toward any one person, any environment, any situation. It doesn't mean I was unkind or completely cold. I was still soft, still responsive, but without the concept of getting anything back, or expecting people and situations to treat me the same way. I dared not expect. Somehow, as time passed, one way or another, the human feeling slowly, slowly came back.

After that came years of searching. Searching for who I actually was. I observed how the outside world defined me, collected it, paid attention to it. Not exactly grasping, but definitely caring about that mirror of feedback. Because gradually, I found that many times I could see the reflection I wanted to see in that mirror. It was a kind of confirmation, a sense of existence. But the problem is, if you become attached to the mirror itself, you have to accept that the mirror will break eventually. And after it breaks, you still have to find and grow yourself, independently.

Also after this, one day, in a very ordinary conversation, I suddenly understood something. Something I had somehow failed to see for so many years.

The root cause of what I went through back then was jealousy. The jealousy of certain people in that environment.

It was that simple. Absurdly simple.

Others hurting me, trampling me—that's one thing. But what was truly hard to accept was that I had joined them. I had actually doubted myself, actually believed it was my problem, actually spent years reflecting on a mistake that never existed. Others not believing in me—fine. But I didn't believe in myself either. That was the deepest wound.

In that moment, there was no anger, no relief. Just: oh. So that's what it was. Truth always brings relief, even when it comes to waste. Those years weren't wasted. I just took a long way around to get here.

Many more years passed after that. Many. I kept walking, kept watching, kept learning, kept searching for that unclear self. Trying to control a life that kept suddenly turning.

Then, at some stage, one day, it all came at once. A period when every external result seemed to work against me. Betrayals, failures, frustrations, rotten relationships—you name it. Years of effort, several chains connected to it, all shattered at once. Betrayed on all sides, failed on all sides. I can't find a word for it, unless "completely defeated" counts as one.

Then the mirror broke.

The specific events don't matter. What matters is that at that time, I couldn't hold onto anything. And in that place of having nothing, I saw her. My inner child. Saying "saw" might sound strange, but it was just an image.

She looked at me. She said: I don't want them. I only want you. Every time you walk toward them, you're walking away from me. I just need you to take my hand. Choose me. Not their approval, not the world's winning or losing.

After that, life didn't immediately get better. It was still the same. But a very long story seemed, for the first time, to find a place to land.

Not an ending. Just finally no longer drifting.

And no matter what happens outside, the heart will not be rained on again.