Inner Child work is not a new concept, but I think sometimes people see it as a bit of a “hippy” thing – not something to be taken too seriously. But given the benefits, the relevance to Dabrowski’s theory of positive disintegration (TPD), and the trauma we can carry from our complicated childhoods, it’s truly worth the time. Particularly for anyone gifted, or with overexcitabilities.

In this post, I’m going to explain how to do Inner Child work, it’s benefits and relevance to TPD, and share one of my own Inner Child dialogues with you as a case study.

How do you “Inner Child”?

There are three main components to getting in touch with your Inner Child.

First, you need to find them. Imagine yourself as a 5-7 year old child. When you do this, you need to see not just how you behaved to the outside world, but who you truly were inside at that age. I visualise mine in my head, but you might want to describe them in writing, draw them, or bring them to life in other ways. You can use research to help you do this if you need to. Review old photos of yourself, go through childhood possessions, visit your old neighbourhood, or talk to people around you about what you were like at that age.

Second, you need to have a dialogue with them. You can visualise your child sitting with you, holding your hand, or cuddling them. You can write a dialogue (like I have in this case). I have a friend who writes as her adult self with her right hand, and as her inner child with her left. Hell, you can even play it out with sock puppets if you want. Whatever helps you have a conversation with this little person. Importantly, you need to see them as their own person, and not YOU. 

Third, you will need to be prepared to self-parent. Take care of the issues your inner child brings up. Depending on what problems your little person is experiencing, or has experienced, give them what they need. You may need to hug them, love them, or forgive them. You may need to encourage them, or give them advice. Perhaps, like me, you may just need to give them the space to let out their emotions and be themselves. 

The Inner Child and Positive Disintegration

Let’s get straight into how this is relevant to Dabrowski’s theory, and some of the benefits – in furthering personal growth, dealing with disintegration, and supporting autopsychotherapy. Below are some of concepts from TPD, and how your inner child can help you with them.

• Autopsychotherapy – This type of work is a form of autopsychotherapy, which is Dabrowski’s path to “self-perfection. By examining self, amending behaviour and dealing with trauma, it’ll help you on your TPD journey.
• Socialisation – Working with your inner child allows you to explore the many ways you have been socialised in your childhood, and asked to conform to other people’s expectations. The formative years are where you start being told how to behave, learn what is right and wrong, and start to feel things like shame. It’s important to dig rubbish out at the roots, so going all the way back can really help you unravel your socialisation.
• Authenticity – Getting back to your essential, raw self, as you were as a child, can uncover your authenticity. It gives you a chance to allow your little person to be who they really were inside, away from the pressures of the external world.
• Discovering Values – Getting back in touch with your passions, areas of interest, and who was important to you, can help you realign your personal values. It’s also a good way to rediscover activities which gave you real joy and happiness, which your adult self may want to pick up again.
• Disintegrative Dynamisms – Discussing past trauma and behaviour patterns with your inner child can assist you in resolving dynamisms like ambivalence and dissatisfaction with ones self. It can also help you see other dynamisms like positive maladjustment, which you may have had at a young age but not noticed at the time.
• Developmental Potential – Sometimes as an adult we forget how much potential we have. You might be surprised how much developmental potential you have inside you, and your inner child can help you find it. You may see lots of overexcitabilities, or a strong third factor in your little person.
• Subject-Object – Viewing your little one as an external individual is a form of using what Dabrowski would call a “psychic mirror”. This is a way to see yourself objectively and can help you develop the mindset you need to start doing other forms of subject-object thinking.
• Compassion – You’d never talk to a small child in the way you negatively talk to yourself as an adult. Talking to your little person can help you speak to yourself in a more gentle and compassionate way.
• Emotional Overexcitability – Allowing your inner child to feel deeply can allow you to forgive yourself for big emotions. The journey can also give your adult self a deep sense of emotional connection that you might find beneficial and satisfying.
• Imaginative and Intellectual Overexcitability – Just doing the exercise itself might help you appreciate how strong your imagination is. When you give your inner child advice and support, you might also be surprised at how insightful you can be, and you may discover you have the power to solve problems within yourself you didn’t think possible.

The next part of this post is a dialogue I wrote in a recent session with my inner child. Once you read through it, come back and have another look at this list. See if you can spot the things I’ve noted above. There are many of them – like I said, I find this sort of work is really worth the time. 

But I’ll warn you now – Little Emma was having a really rough day…

Little Emma and Me

While I sit in my chair at my desk, she sits next to me on the floor, dressed in clothes she doesn’t like. Tights that are irritating. A thick, bulky corduroy pinafore. A stuffy, button-up white shirt, and a fuzzy maroon cardigan she finds uncomfortable and itchy. She is not happy in the clothes her mother dressed her in, but right now she is too busy crying to tug and pull at them like she normally does.

The young girl is hunched over, with her knees up, hiding her face in them. Her arms are wrapped around her head. In her fuzzy cardigan, she looks like a cute little ball of fluff. But her sobs are audible, and the dark hair poking out the top of her arms is a mess. Shoeless, her white, old fashioned tights have started to come loose around her feet, and I know somewhere inside she is torn between wanting to pull them back up and wanting to rip them off altogether.

She starts muttering from her knees “I hate being dressed like this. Why can’t I just wear what I want? I’m so itchy. These clothes are sucky. I look so stupid. I feel stupid.”

“If you had the choice, what would you wear?” I ask her.

Her head pops up a bit, and I can now see her teary little eyes as she says “Jeans. With pockets! And a t-shirt with Star Wars on it. And a big, baggy, warmy sweatshirt. One with a teddy bear on the front, and a hood. And sneakers! Cool ones! Why can’t I wear that? I want pants. I hate dresses. I hate having to sit like a lady in them… why can’t girls just sit how they want? Why do we have to sit a certain way? Boys don’t.”

“You don’t like being a girl?”

“I do like being a girl!” Her whole tear streaked face now emerges in her earnesty “But I don’t like all the stupid rules you have to obey when you’re a girl! They’re so dumb. Why do boys get to do all the fun stuff, and wear all the cool things?”

I try and remind her of some of the typical girl things I know she truly enjoys “What about rainbows and kittens and flowers? You like that stuff too, don’t you?”

“Sure I do! But why can’t I have both? Why can’t I have kittens and flowers and lightsabers and robots? I like all sorts of things. But that’s not why I really hate my clothes. It’s coz they’re stupid and uncomfortable and boring and I can’t play in them.” Her knees finally drop, so she is now cross-legged as she examines herself, scowling at her own attire.

“What do you want to do, that you can’t in a dress?”

She slaps he hands on her knees, and her little face lights up with a strange yearning “I want to climb a treeeeee! I want to play in mud, and pick flowers and collect rocks. And then maybe paint some stuff! I want to be dirty and loud and fun. But I can’t – all I can do now is sit still and be quiet. And be itchy. Mum doesn’t like me playing or being dirty, and I hate it. Mum just wants to dress me up like a pretty doll. Sit still. Be a good girl. But dolls are useless. They don’t DO anything. I want to be like a transformer or legos.”

“How so?” I’m mildly puzzled.

“I want to be more than one thing at a time, and I want to move.” she explains, and I now find myself impressed with her analogy. It’s clever for her age “I want to be all of the things! I want to change and be interesting and be all sorts of colours. I feel all sorts of things inside, but I can’t be them on the outside.” Her small brow wrinkles slightly.

“What do you mean?” I have a feeling I know where she might be headed with this line of thought, but I want to let her talk and get there on her own.

“I feel angry and sad and happy all at the same time. I hate being still. I hate being quiet. Sometimes I like the quiet, but not all the time. I feel stuff, but I can’t say it. I can’t let it on the outside or else I get in trouble.” She’s genuinely scowling now.

“How does that make you feel? When the adults say you can’t be who you are inside?” I ask.

“I hate it.” Her little face grows disconcertingly dark “I don’t matter to them. They don’t care. They keep saying “children should be seen and not heard”, but I have all these things I’m feeling and there’s nowhere for them to go. I want to talk about them, but no one wants to listen. There’s so many things I have to do just because they say I have to, but I don’t want to do any of them. I want to do my own things. And if I just…” Tears start to fall again…

“What?” I prompt her.

“If I just did what I feel, I’d be in so much trouble!” She looks at me almost pleadingly, her eyes now full with tears. But she does not overtly cry. It’s like she won’t. Or can’t. Yet…

“Why? What is it you want to do?”

Her stream of thought comes fast, and she blurts out words in rapid succession “I want to cry, and scream, and have a tantrum, and run around and shout and laugh and burp, and be loud and messy. I want to play like other kids, and colour things, and make messy craft stuff because that’s what makes me feel better when I’m sad. I don’t want to sit in church, or at the dinner table…” she draws a huge, shuddering breath before continuing “… sit there and say nothing and do nothing, while all the adults talk about all the adult stuff. Even when I try and go away in my head and daydream, they notice and tell me to stop. There’s too many things in my head, but it all stays inside. And no one cares that I’m hurting right now. No one asks how I am, or tells me it’s OK to hurt. All they care about is that I be good because the adults are having a hard time. It’s not fair. I hurt too…” She’s breathing heavily now.

“Why do you hurt?” I ask as gently as I can.

Jumping to her feet, her little hands balled into fists, she yells “BECAUSE MY DAD LEFT! He left for another family! Another family with other kids!” She starts pacing, looking at the floor in her agitation. Now I can’t tell if she’s talking to me, or to herself as she continues on “Why does he want to live with them? Wasn’t I good enough? Why does he want them instead? HE doesn’t care. Mum doesn’t care either! She wants me to herself, but it feels like she just wants me because she doesn’t want Dad to have me. And all anyone else cares about is Mum! “Be good for your mother! She’s going through a rough time!” Well guess what? I’m going through the same thing, and no one asks me how I am! No one ever talks to me about it!”

I’m a little shocked, as the implications of this fully dawn on me “Your Dad left, and no one asked you if you’re alright? Sat you down to talk about how you’re coping?” 

“NO! NO ONE CARES!” She stops pacing for a moment to look at me. The anguish on her face is painful to witness. She returns to her route up and down the floor, now gesticulating wildly with her hands “It’s like they think I don’t feel complicated things, but I do! They think I don’t know what’s going on, but I do! I feel things and they’re so big! And I don’t know what to do with them! The adults should know what to do with their feelings! They’re adults! Why don’t they help me? I’m just a kid! Why do I have to be good for my Mum while she’s sad, and no one is good for me when I’m sad? I don’t understand! Why don’t they think I need looking after too? I don’t understand why they think I wouldn’t be sad! And I don’t understand why I’m not allowed to cry or get upset!”

“But you do cry, don’t you?”

Without looking at me or deviating from her pacing, her voice rises, and becomes increasingly distressed “Yes, but I have to do it at night!!! Alone! When I go to bed!! All I have is my stuffed toys to cuddle, but I want a person to cuddle me!! I hide way, way under the blankets and I cry quiet, so Mum doesn’t hear me, because I’m not suppose to upset her! Why is Mum so much more important than me, that I have to change my behaviour, so that she’s OK, even when I’m not? If Mum doesn’t love Dad anymore, why does it matter to her that he’s gone? I still love him!! Why did he leave me here?? I miss him so much!!”

It’s painful to watch her pull at her hair. I can feel the tension mounting, and I know she is about to explode. I don’t interrupt and let her go. I have a feeling she has been wanting to say all this for a long time.

The imminent explosion occurs. She lifts her little face to the ceiling and starts genuinely screaming in anger “WHY CAN’T I BE SAD?? WHY CAN’T I BE ANGRY?? WHY DOESN’T ANYONE CARE ABOUT HOW I FEEL?? WHY DO I HAVE TO BEHAVE?? IT ISN’T FAIR!!!! I SEE OTHER KIDS HAVE TANTRUMS ALL THE TIME!! DUMB KIDS IN THE SUPERMARKET CRYING ON THE FLOOR IN PUBLIC, BECAUSE THEY CAN’T GET A CHOCOLATE THEY WANT!! A STUPID CHOCOLATE BAR!!!! THEIR MUMS DON’T GET THEM IN TROUBLE FOR IT!! THEY GET AWAY WITH IT!!! OTHER KIDS PLAY IN THE MUD, AND THEIR PARENTS DON’T CARE!! OTHER KIDS CRY, AND THEY GET HUGS, AND PEOPLE ASK THEM WHAT’S WRONG AND LISTEN TO THEM!!!”

All that anger in such a tiny body…

She starts to shake as the angry yelling turns into an anguished howl “AND I KNOW I’M DIFFERENT TO THOSE KIDS, AND I FEEL THINGS AND THINK THINGS THEY DON’T!! THE ADULTS DON’T THINK I UNDERSTAND BIG STUFF, BUT I DO!!!!!! I SEE MORE THAN THEY KNOW!!! BUT OTHER KIDS GETS TO SCREAM OVER A CHOCOLATE BAR, AND I CAN’T EVEN SCREAM ONCE ABOUT THE FACT MY DAD LEFT ME AND MY HEART FEELS LIKE IT’S GOING TO EXPLODE!!!!!”

The pacing stops when the weeping starts. She turns abruptly and walks to the corner of the room. Standing in the corner, she buries her little face in her hands, and sobs uncontrollably. She has clearly never had the space to let all her emotions out like this, so I give her the time to sit in her feelings. I need time at any rate, because now I’m crying too.

After a while, the crying subsides, and she starts talking again, face still in her hands “Why can’t I just be me? Why doesn’t anyone want me the way I am? Why do I have to pretend to be things I’m not, just so people will love me? I mean, they don’t love me that much anyway. This is all so stupid – I do everything they want, and be everything they want, and I hardly be me, and I behave, and they still don’t love me. They say they do, but I don’t feel it, because they don’t care about how I think or feel. All they want is a doll who behaves. They parade me around when they want to make themselves feel better. Brag about how good I am in school to their neighbours and stuff. “Isn’t she a good girl? A clever girl! Always smiling! So pretty in her dress!” But then when they’re done showing me off like a doll, I get shoved away in the toy box again.”

A thought occurs to me, and I ask a question that I know in some ways is unreasonable “Have you ever tried being yourself with the adults?”

She takes her face out of her hands, and looks at me with an exasperated expression, like I should already know the answer to this “Yes! They call me tomboy and unladylike and say “little girls don’t…” and “young ladies aren’t supposed to…” and “CHILDREN SHOULD BE SEEN AND NOT HEARD!” And “BE A GOOD GIRL!”. Whatever I am, it’s always bad. I can’t be sad. I can’t be angry. I can’t be loud or messy. If I be me, they saying I’m misbehaving. I’m not good enough. I’m never enough. No one likes me the way I really am…”

“I like you. I think you’re pretty cool.” I’m not placating her. I’m being completely honest.

Gobsmacked, she stammers “You… You do?…”

I’m actually impressed with this child, and I know it’s important that I tell her as much “Sure, kid! You’ve got passion and you’re creative, and I like the fact you want to be messy and loud and have fun. You’d be so bold and funny if they ever let you out of the toy box. I like the fact you see things other kids don’t. I love how insanely smart you are. I like the fact you’re interested in lots of different things, and you don’t give two shits whether people say they’re for boys or girls. And I love the fact that you feel big things, and you love hard. And do you know what else?”

“What?” she asks, in a timid mix of anticipation and disbelief. I can tell no one has told her things like this before.

“I love the fact you have control.”

Now, she’s really perplexed “I don’t feel in control…”

It’s a realisation which struck me as she talked. Something I picked up while I observed her pace and storm. It’s good to be able to solidify this new thought in my mind as I explain myself to her “Yes, but from everything you’ve just told me, you have huge amounts of emotional control. You are hurting so bad right now, and yet you still manage to be good. Still manage to get excellent grades at school. You’re not causing trouble. You’re not failing. You’re aware of how your actions impact other people, and you’ve figured out things like fairness, and that you should be allowed to be yourself. You’ve started to see how things are, as well as how things ought to be. Sounds pretty smart and in control to me. And you’re strong… your emotions are so very powerful. I’m not sure you understand yet how special you are to feel so deeply, but also be able to hold it in at the same time.”

“I guess…” the glimmer of a smile starts to play at the corners of her small mouth.

“And do you know what else I think?” I raise a cheeky eyebrow in challenge to her.

“What?” She’s starting to blush.

“I think the only reason those adults don’t ask about how you’re going is because they’re scared. They’re scared of what you might say. What you might ask. The things you might observe and comment about, because you are already questioning the way the world works. You’re already seeing the way the world doesn’t work. Questioning their rules and their stereotypes. They’re scared they don’t have answers for you. Maybe they’re even a little scared you might call them out on their behaviour, and point out their flaws, or make them uncomfortable with the truth. Just because they’re adults, it doesn’t mean that they actually know what they’re doing. I don’t think any of them felt as strongly as you do when they were kids, so they have no idea what it’s like. And… I think they assume that because you’re smart, you’ll get through this OK. I know that’s not a fair assumption, but they see how clever you are.”

“But what if I don’t get through it? What if it hurts forever?” Her little eyes are wide and fearful.

I smile at her as I say “I know that’s a very real possibility. And even if you get through it in the short term, I can’t guarantee the pain won’t ever come back again at any point. But I tell you what – I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll look after you myself, OK? It may take me a long time. I might not know how to do it at first. But I’ll get there one day. Whether or not you get through this, kid, I’ll love you myself. Because you’re worth it.”

Suddenly beaming, she runs to my chair and hugs me. From my chest I hear her say “You promise?”

I pull her away gently so I can look her in the eye as I make my promise to her. She deserves that much “Yeah I do. I need this as much as you do. I need to see you become the real you. And you know what? We’re gonna start right now. Let’s get you out of those dumb, itchy clothes, and into some jeans.”

“Really?” She giggles, and her face lights up with mischievous glee.

I rise from my seat, and take her by the hand as I say “Of course! I like jeans too. And hoodies. And Star Wars t-shirts. And sneakers. Let’s go have a look in my closet now, and I bet we’ll find lots of things you like…”