I finally met the inner teenager who has been sabotaging me for decades
"Please don't expect me to be whole," she said
Years before TIME Magazine wrote about the psychotherapy framework of the inner child,
taught me how to find mine. My little mini-me was angry and passive-aggressive. She had what the boomers who raised me would probably call a “smart mouth.”Technically, I’d already met her around the year 2018, when I was elbows-deep in the novel-writing process about a female anti-hero named Grace who runs away from home. Not surprisingly, the anti-hero I based my novel on was my own inner teenage rebel who never actually ran away but who blasted country music at top volume and sped along backroads in Harford County, Maryland, pretending she dared to turn the steering wheel west and never look back. Two years later, someone approved that teenager for a credit card with a $20,000 limit. One of the first things the 19-year-old did was charge a road trip to Canada. She drove north, passed through border control and bought booze. She smoked cigarettes. She kissed strangers in sports bars and woke up fuzzy on the details. She escaped. She felt alive. In hindsight, she was in grief.
For years, I assumed this teenager was responsible for the compulsive destructive behavior we call “self-sabotage.” After all, she possessed a rebellious streak. She was smart — sometimes smarter than me — and she had motive. But actually, I think that version of me always knew how to wrangle in her wild rebelliousness — at least well enough to earn A’s and B’s in most of her sophomore college classes. She also knew how to sweet talk her way into and out of most anything. She didn’t really need self-sabotage because actually, she was always pretty capable. She was the one who got me out of the house and helped me soldier on when life at home was in shambles. And she was the one who knew how to act like I had my sh*t together. When friends’ parents popped by my house for a normal visit, she was the one who hid them from the drunk who lived in the basement. When that drunk awoke, red-faced and looking for a receptacle for his self-hatred, she descended the wooden steps into his unfinished, concrete lair and recited the self-help idioms she’d picked up watching Oprah and Dr. Phil after school.
My inner teenager always believed she could help that the basement troll. She thought it was her duty. She held the flame of hope inside her chest, never letting it shine too brightly and blind him, which she knew would cause him to scatter and ruin the fleeting moment of connection she craved.
When my teenage self’s highly attuned, people-pleasing, empathy-for-the-sake-of-survival tactics failed, she grew frustrated. Once, she took her chance at swinging at the drunk. Just once. She balled her fist up and lunged, feeling knuckle contact skull as she squeezed close her eyes. She nicked the corner of his temple with the car key she held in her hand — the car key that came to symbolize her freedom and the freedom she stole from him as he raged, embarrassed that he was too inebriated to drive and that his teenaged daughter was the one who reprimanded him. The scratch barely drew blood, but it added a shallow scar next to the scar he’d had since the 60s, the one he always showed her when she could tell he needed a witness for his suffering. It was the scar his mother left with her wedding rings. “She’d reach over, and WHAM,” he’d say. He demonstrated with his own backhand against his daughter’s head, but carefully, reenacting the scene in slow motion.
Anyway, I always thought this inner teenager was the reason I still haven’t nailed most of the “adult” milestones people normally reach by now. I just turned 35. I’m still single, still figuring out my career (yes, I’ve had success, but my workaholism has become something of an obsession), still living alone in a 200 square-foot studio. Life is getting bigger and more beautiful, yes, but something in me has always wanted to scream when things get too good. For years, I assumed it was because of her, my inner teenage rebel.
But it’s not. A few weeks ago, I met my real saboteur. She came to me after a good cry and a meditation. She’s the fourth inner child that I’ve met. She’s just a year or two younger than my inner know-it-all. Remember that dingy basement I mentioned? Well, that is where she lives. And when I asked her if she wanted to talk to me, I was moved to tears by what she said.
Here it is:
I’m afraid that I wasted your life by fighting so hard to fix people who were committed to misunderstanding me. I’m ashamed and embarrassed that I wasted our good years on flailing about dramatically and being blind to abuse. I’m sorry that I recreated the same desperate reality over and over again. I can’t believe the damage I have done.
I am the part of you who sees flaws. I yearn desperately for a fantasy that does not exist. I need you to accept that about me, and stop trusting me with things I’m not made to do. I need you to be my discernment. I am indiscriminate. I am bleeding satin soaked in mud. I am a million swipes of your credit card. I am love that has turned in on itself. I am a cheek pressed to dirty wood. I am a child who has timed her sleep schedule to a monster’s, a pree-teen who began menstruating on the same day her dad turned 40 in a pool of his own spit. I am she who washes the pillowcase, whose stuffed animals dry rot in the attic. I am your corrupted core. I am warped plastic. I am a hair-triggered servent with a cord stretched around your neck. My posture is shriveled, my knees perpetually in my chest. I exist as a fraction. Please don’t expect me to be whole.
Now, I realize this may sound super intense. But first of all, I understand more deeply where my poetic impulse comes from. So thank you, inner saboteur, for that. How beautiful and stunning.
I also appreciate that she gave me very clear instructions: I need you to be my discernment, she said. Done. No questions asked. She could not be clearer. And I’m game. I’m here to be the discernment and the adult in the room from now until ever more. I’m in charge now. To me, that’s what the process of recovery and emotional sobriety offer.
As I mentioned, this week I turn 35. To celebrate my birthday, I’m going to share an exercise I’ve been doing to meet these inner parts of myself. I call it Family Meeting.
How to Hold a Family Meeting:
Gather Supplies and Set Up:
Start with two different colored pens (you might need more later).
Grab a notebook with plenty of blank pages.
Sit in a quiet space where you can focus.
Start Writing:
Begin with your present-day self. Use one pen color to express your thoughts, questions, or concerns.
Direct these questions to your future self — the wiser, more evolved version of you.
Wait for a Response:
Pause after you write and listen for an intuitive response from your future self.
When ready, use the second pen color to write as your future self, answering the questions or offering guidance.
Dialogue and Reflect:
Continue this dialogue back and forth as needed, allowing the conversation to flow naturally.
Be Gentle and Patient:
Honor whatever comes up, even if it's unexpected or uncomfortable. It's a process of self-discovery and connection.
Meet Your Inner Children:
Over time, as you practice this process, get curious and start asking your inner children within yourself if they would like to meet. Some might be precocious and sociable! Others might be more timid. Treat them each with compassion and patience. Let each inner child choose a different pen color.
Start your conversations one-on-one. When ready, bring them into the family meeting. Eventually, you can start your days by calling them to the table, asking how they feel, or if they have anything to share with the family.
Call on Your Future Self to Guide:
Let your older, wiser self help you learn to nurture and guide your inner children, the same way that healthy grandparents help new parents transition into the role. You are now filling the role of your own loving parent. Be patient with their needs, and offer support with compassion and love.
As you start to see yourself as the head of the household, you'll gradually feel less controlled by your inner children. You’ll develop a healthy relationship with each part of yourself.
Repeat this practice whenever you need to check in with your inner parts. Over time, you’ll cultivate some major inner peace and connection.
Thank you for reading,
🩵 Megan
Happy Birthday to you and all of your selves. May the new year be filled with all of your heart's desires...and may we continue to be inspired and healed by your insightful writing❤️