a conversation i needed at five

conversations with my younger self: age 5

hey, 5-year-old me. it’s nice to see you in your room again. i know exactly what you’re feeling right now. i remember how scared you were of the world around you, how you felt safe in your bed because it felt like a giant hug for your small body.

i remember how scared you were every time you had to go to sleep, a fear that turned into terror once the lights seeping through your door disappeared and your parents’ murmurs turned into whispers. i want you to know i’m right here beside you. i can see your eyes playing ping-pong with your walls, looking to see if any shadows change.

i remember that very room. i remember the drawings you taped to your wall after school, and the cheap brick sets spread across your floor—your family couldn’t afford Legos, but you still found joy in the pieces you had. i remember the carpet with the little roads printed on it, and how you used your mountain of toy cars to create movies only you could see.

i remember how you felt safe from the terrors of the world in your room, but sometimes, those terrors made their way to your world anyway. and i want you to know that’s okay. it’s okay to be scared of something reaching from under your bed and grabbing your ankle. it’s okay for mental alarms to go off when the lights go out and you’re unsure if what you see around you is real. it’s okay to feel loneliness that seems bigger than the house you live in. all of that is just your mind filling in what no one has explained to you yet. you aren’t overreacting. you are just trying to understand the world, with no map.

you won’t know me for a long time, but i’ve known you for your whole life. you won’t always feel this scared. as you grow into the mold that God created you to be, you’ll learn where the real monsters are, and where they aren’t. you may not feel like it, but there’s a bravery growing in you that is admirable, bravery to overcome anything that may stand in your way. bravery that will take you beyond any place you could have dreamed of.

you deserved gentle arms around you. you deserved someone there beside you as your curtains softly came to a close. you shouldn’t have had to face the dark alone. but i’m here now. it’s okay to lean toward me. i am here to stroke your hair and hold you safely in my arms.

one day, you’ll learn how to comfort yourself the way you need someone to comfort you now. some days, you’ll be that comfort for someone else. i promise to never leave you alone in the dark. after all, i understand you better than anyone ever could — we’re the same person, just living in different stages of our life.

you’re safe with me now. this is only the beginning of our conversations. there’s more i want to tell you.