Inner Child Meditation | Feel Safe, Held & Supported

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And it's for anyone whose strength has quietly become the thing that's standing between them and being cared for. So as we begin, find a position that lets your body stop working so hard to hold itself up. You can be seated in a chair or lying down on the bed of the floor. Just note that whatever is underneath you gets to do the holding for a while. Make your time to find that place that feels truly supportive. And when you're ready, let your eyes close or your gaze soften and take an inhale through your nose and let it fall back out slowly. Again, inhaling and gently exhaling, letting the breath be natural. Since you've arrived here, I want you to notice how your day has felt in your body so far. See if you can note the sensation of it more than the story from your day. Maybe your jaw has been tight since this morning, or your breath has felt shallow. Whatever you find, there's no need to fix it. Just become aware. There's no place to get to in the next 20 minutes. No insight required, and no breakthrough waiting at the end. This is a space for your body to be met, exactly where it is. Notice where you're touching whatever is beneath you, the backs of your legs, your spine, your heels, and let that contact register. Notice that it's there holding you and asking for nothing in return. If your mind starts to wander or drift to your to-do list, let it pass by or gently set the list down beside you. Everything will be there in 20 minutes and you'll be more ready for it. Right now, there's only the surface beneath you, your breath, your body, and you learning what it feels like to stop bracing for the next thing. Somewhere inside of you is a much younger version of yourself. A small person who lived in your body before you knew how to protect them. That child learned early how to read a room, make themselves smaller or quieter or even more useful so that the people around them could stay steady. Maybe there wasn't anyone steady enough to be held by at that point in your life or maybe the holding and care came with conditions. There's no need to look for the memory. The body already knows the sensation, let it rise, place a hand there and show them that you're here now and you're listening. For the next few minutes, that inner child is going to be picked up and cared for without condition. Imagine the ground beneath you widening, softening until it isn't just a floor, chair or bed anymore. Let it become something warmer than that, something with weight and presence. Kind of ground that a mother's lap once was, or should have been, or still could be. Can let it hold the full weight of you. The one underneath the version who has it all handled. The one who's been carrying everyone else's steadiness for so long that they forgot someone was supposed to carry theirs too. Feel the weight of your own body, sink deeper into whatever is holding you. Your shoulders, hips, the back of your skull. Each part arrive one at a time, the way a child finally stops squirming, once they trust the arms around them aren't going anywhere. Some part of you might resist this and that's okay. A body that spent years keeping watch doesn't hand over its post easily, even after the danger has passed. Let the resistance be here if it's there, without fighting it. You're here to leave the door open a little wider than you did yesterday. And then a little wider tomorrow, until being held stops feeling like a risk. In this place there's nothing you need to perform, or say yes to, and no competence required. This ground doesn't need you to be impressive, or easy, or always fine. It only needs you to be here, breathing, being a body that gets tired sometimes and deserves somewhere to put that tiredness. down. I want you to picture warmth, spreading from underneath you. Slow, the way heat moves through soil after a long winter. It reaches your lower back first, then your belly and spreads up through your chest, loosening whatever's been braced there. Sometimes for years, waiting for a hold or care that never quite came, or showed up and then left too soon. Let yourself imagine strong arms and hands or a simple presence if that's easier to trust. Let the arms, the hands or the presence be patient ones, with nothing to prove, and nowhere else they need to be. The kind of hands that rest on your back without checking whether you're calm yet, the kind of hands that know stillness can't be rushed into existing. They can only be offered over and over until the body finally believes it's allowed to accept it without condition. If a memory rises of arms that weren't there or were but couldn't quite reach you, let it pass through without holding on to it. You're here today to give that little one something new to remember, a different ending to an old story. And in this one, you're picked up and cared for. Allow that warmth to reach your throat. The place where so many needs went unspoken because there was no room to voice them or no one steady enough to hear them. You don't have to say anything now unless something wants to come. Sometimes the body only needs to know that speaking is allowed whenever it's ready, and that could be now or some other time. Instead, say quietly to yourself, "I am here and I have you now." Again, the way you'd say it to an actual child who needed to hear it more than once before they believed it. Notice that nothing in you had to earn this place. The ground asked nothing about what you accomplished today. Nothing about whether your life is figured out yet. It simply holds. The way earth holds the seed before there's any sign of what's growing. Allow your breath to slow to match that stillness. End out, perhaps allowing the exhale to be a little longer than the inhale. Like some things settling into a place, it's finally allowed to stay. There's a kind of strength that comes from never putting anything down, always handling everything, and you know it well. It got you through more than anyone realizes, "This is not the only kind of strength." There's another one that's quieter and comes from letting something else hold the weight for a little while, from learning to receive, and honor your sacred know so you can find out what your own body feels like when it isn't bracing. This is the place where the being begins to inform the doing, and the doing becomes sustainable because it's purposeful, and not pleasing. And that's what's happening right now. A body remembering something it always knew how to do before it had to learn how to hold everything alone. Let the ground beneath you keep doing what it's doing, being patient, and unheard, holding the weight so your muscles don't have to remember how. Somewhere underneath the noise of the day is a stillness that was always available. One, you didn't have to earn your way back to. You're in it now. Let it be simple and enough. I want you to know that you can stay in this place for as long as you need to, letting the sensation of receiving being held, register deep into your tissues, bones, muscles, your entire body. This place is here for you. Receive it. As you become ready, let your attention come back into the room around you, feeling the temperature of the air, letting a little sound in. The movement from wiggling your fingers and toes, whatever you felt here, even a tiny fraction of it, it's real and it's yours. You can return to this place whenever the day gets heavy. Recognizing what needed this kind of holding was the hard part. The earth was always willing and you're the one who had to be willing to lie down and receive. And before we go, there's one more thing I wanted to share. What softens in you today doesn't stay only yours. The steadiness you're building right here in this small, unremarkable moment, laying on the floor. Sitting on the chair, or laying on the bed, is the same steadiness that will be in the room, the next time someone you love needs to feel that they can rest too. You don't have to teach them how. You just have to keep coming back here for yourself. And they will begin to feel what regulation feels like, just by standing next to you. None of us are broken. We're just patterned. And patterns can be met, held, and slowly changed. Breath by breath. Thank you so much for being here and meditating with me today. Namaste. [Music] [Music] [Music] [Music] If this practice landed for you today, it's worth exploring deeper. When we can finally name the survival pattern we've been living inside, something in the body exhales. The what's your pattern quiz is linked in the description. It's a fun way to understand yourself better. Meet new grippy setting mist from Mabelie, New York. 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