04/12/2026
And it's never too late to heal your inner child. This is work I love to do. Maybe you aren't sure what even happened in your childhood to name it but your reactions and relationships seem affected by it. If these old patterns can be resolved in your body then change happens naturally. đ
I was in a terrible motor crash when I was eight. It was violent, sudden, and unforgiving. It took my legs from me. For almost a year, I couldnât walk. I lived in a wheelchair, dependent, immobile, watching the world move on without me. At that age, when your body is supposed to feel like freedom, mine became something I had to fight just to exist inside. It's a miracle that I walk today.
Back then, though, there was nothing miraculous about it. There was only the stillness, the waiting, the slow, aching reality of a life reduced to what I could reach. I thought the hardest part was the physical loss, not being able to stand, not being able to move, the frustration of being left behind while everything else kept going.
What I didnât realize then was that I never really processed the accident itself. It happened, and everything immediately became about recovery. There were hospital visits, routines, people helping me physically. I was taken care of in all the visible ways. But no one really sat with me in what had happened. No one slowed down enough to ask, What did that feel like for you? And I didnât know how to bring it up either. So I didnât. I just adjusted. I adapted. I kept going.
Years later, when I was finally back on my feet, I thought I had left it all behind me. But there was still an ache I couldnât explain. Something unresolved that would surface in quiet moments. I wasnât in pain anymore, not physically. But something in me still felt like it hadnât moved on.
It was in therapy that it began to make sense. In the middle of trying to explain a feeling I didnât fully understand, my therapist pointed me to this quote by Gabor MatĂ©. And something clicked.
Because I could finally see it.
It wasnât just the accident that shaped me. It was the silence that followed it. The way I had to carry the fear, the shock, the confusion on my own. Yes, people helped me heal physically. Yes, I was surrounded. But no one really entered that inner space with me; the part that was trying to make sense of suddenly not being able to walk, of everything changing in an instant. I was alone with it.
And thatâs what stayed.
Thatâs what I had been carrying all those years. Not just the memory of the accident, but the feeling of having to deal with it by myself. Of never quite being given the space to speak it, to feel it fully, to be met in it.
Thatâs what Gabor MatĂ© means. Itâs not just the hurt that leaves a mark â itâs the absence of someone to help you hold it. Because pain, when shared, moves. But pain, when carried alone, settles. It lingers quietly, long after the body has healed.
And maybe thatâs why it took so long to understand. Because from the outside, I had recovered. I could walk again. I was âfine.â
But healing isnât just about getting back on your feet. Sometimes, itâs about finally turning toward the part of you that went through it alone⊠and letting it be seen.
