There was a time when my inner child was seen as something that needed to be managed. Monitored. Watched carefully — not out of cruelty, but concern. The message wasn’t spoken harshly, but it was implied: “If you’re not careful, this part of you could hurt someone.”

One of my therapists reflected this energy. A kind of fathering presence. He’d challenge me, point out patterns, and often bring things back to the future — to how I’d show up in the world. In many ways, I admired that. I still do. It gave me structure. Accountability. A sense that what I did mattered — that my impact on others mattered. I needed that for a long time.

But something shifted recently.

With another therapist, things began to feel different. There was no sense of needing to keep the inner child in check. Instead, it felt like the question was: “What does he want to say?” Not out of indulgence, but out of trust — trust that he had something important to express. Something that deserved to be heard, not silenced.

That energy was different. It felt like being mothered — in the way I never was.

And in that room, for the first time, I found myself sharing things I’d never told anyone. Not because I had planned to, but because it finally felt safe to. There was no agenda. No redirection. Just space. Just presence.

It hit me: The wounded parts of me never needed to be “handled.” They needed to be held.

I think I stayed with my previous therapist longer than I should have. Not out of fear, but loyalty. Gratitude. And also because I wasn’t ready to let those parts of me surface — the parts that felt unlovable, shameful, or “too much.” With him, I always felt like I had to keep those parts under control.

Now, I’m beginning to realise: the more I build a relationship with those parts — the more I sit beside them rather than try to outsmart them — the less they hijack my life.

Maybe that’s the difference.

One therapist helped me keep the child from taking the wheel. The other is helping me build a relationship with him — so he doesn’t need to.

And now I feel ready for both. One feels more like a supervisor, someone to support the way I show up for others. The other feels like a therapist in the truest sense — someone holding space for the parts I’ve kept hidden. Together, they reflect the balance I’m learning to carry inside myself.

This isn’t about choosing one path or the other. It’s about letting the child inside me be seen — not as a threat, but as a truth-teller. And learning that I don’t need to earn safety anymore. I just need to stay present.

Because I’m not dangerous when I’m in right relationship with myself. And neither is he.