The Things She Needed to Hear

Some days, I wake up and feel like my body and mind have conspired against me. My skin is breaking out, my motivation is gone, and self-doubt creeps in like an uninvited guest. I feel gross. I have no energy. I look ugly. Why do I feel this way?

It’s almost second nature to pick apart every reflection, analyzing every inch of ourselves—from brain to body—as if we’re under a microscope. But who taught us to be like this? I can’t recall a time as a child when I felt guilty for simply existing, or when I let a bad day convince me I was somehow unworthy.

Somewhere between childhood and whatever this stage is, we lost what it means to be carefree. To move through life without weighing our value against our productivity, our appearance, or our ability to be wanted.

In my ongoing pursuit of self-improvement (or at least self-acceptance), I’ve come across the practice of healing your inner child. The idea is simple: the insecurities, shame, and self-judgment we carry aren’t things we were born with—they’re things we picked up along the way. And if we’re the ones who picked them up, maybe we can also learn to put them down.

Lately, I’ve been asking myself, what would little Charlotte think if she saw me now?

At first, I imagine the surface-level questions: Do you still wear orange? Is your favorite animal still a moose? But those aren’t the answers I’m really looking for. Instead, I picture telling her that yes, she still loves writing—only now, other people actually read her stories. I picture her lighting up when she hears that craft nights are still a thing, just like the Play-Doh Wednesdays my mom used to plan.

But she’d also notice the ways I’ve let her down. She’d wonder why I’m so quick to blame a bad mood on my body or my skin, or why I let negative thoughts have the final say. And if I really think about it, I already know what she’d tell me: why are you being so mean to me?

A few years ago, Kendall Jenner talked on a podcast with Jay Shetty about doing inner child work with her therapist. One of the exercises? Taping a childhood photo to her bathroom mirror.

The idea is that every time you look at yourself—every criticism, every insecurity—you’re really saying it to her. That younger version of you who only ever wanted to feel happy, loved, and safe.

And maybe that’s the point. We spend so much time striving, fixing, and improving, but what if the real work is unlearning? What if healing isn’t about becoming a new version of ourselves but remembering the parts we were never meant to lose? The softness, the curiosity, the ability to find joy in the smallest things.

So the next time I catch myself nitpicking my reflection or measuring my worth by my productivity, I’ll ask: Would she talk to me this way? And if the answer is no, then maybe I need to start listening to her instead.