And then you must let them lead.
Let them choose the color of the crayon. Let them jump in the puddle. Let them speak the truth you’ve been filtering through thirty layers of "appropriate." Reclaiming the Inner Child
You will feel ridiculous at first. That is the armor talking. That is the adult who built a fortress out of calendars and coffee and "I’ll sleep when I’m dead." But underneath the armor, your ribs are still a drum. Your heart is still a small, fierce thing that wants to run toward the ocean. And then you must let them lead
But that child never left. They are still there, knees scraped, holding a handful of dandelions they picked just for you. They are still waiting for you to remember that you used to dance in the rain without caring who was watching. That you used to draw outside the lines on purpose. That you used to cry when you were sad and laugh until your stomach hurt, without once apologizing for either. Let them speak the truth you’ve been filtering