SS, Amber...these little things I'm noticing are primitive compared to the staggering dialogue you're having, but I really notice what I notice, some days...
it stilll strikes me as odd that it takes seeing myself as two people to do this - one as the observer and one as the child needing compassion. Who cares. The point is that providing that necessary compassion.
SS, I wonder if that has anything to do with something I've concluded...that Nmothers, or maybe Ns in general, are very threatened by their daughters' creativity? I'm not sure at all about this, because Nmom used to "praise" me voluninously...for piano, drawing, and LOOKING NICE. But at the same time, the praise felt smothering. "Oh come speak French for the ladies...oh doesn't she look like a young Jackie-O!" I felt like a mannequin. I would feel the opposite of creative, squelched and exploited (not that I knew these were the feelings then)...I remember it was as though she sucked out my imagination and borrowed it, to parade for the neighbors. It was not the same as respecting my creativity, in a weird way it was the opposite. It was vampirish. Errggh.
I digress. What I mean about creativity (in response to your quote above) is that I suddenly had the thought that the way your parents treated you would have just smashed imagination, because pure adrenalin from fear or pure steady heartbreak is such an enormous drain on a child's psyche that daydreaming, the core of imagination, is dangerous. If you're on high alert all the time, how could you develop the daydreaming capacity that literally loving your inner child in literal scenes requires?
(You have it now, in spades, I am certain. And always did. I think that's part of what's fomenting in you.)
For me, the first time I actually spoke, as in mentally/emotionally directed a comforting compassionate monologue, to my inner child, it was an act of imagination as much as compassion. I needed to visualize her so vividly and in such detail that I literally "saw" her. The sad eyes, the smooth skin, the dark hair, the utter sincerity and innocence of her face. Once I imagainatively SAW my little self, I did once have an amazing experience of embracing her and loving her, so clearly that I felt the weight of her 5 y/o arms around my neck. (I think I described it here.)
And Amber, your maturity as an artist is absolutely phenomenal to me.
Maybe when creativity/imagination are resented by Nparents, in their children, at some point in life, will explode with it.
love ya both,
Hops