Oh, the Inner Child…
Oh, the inner child, it doesn’t stop showing up, no matter how much resilience we’ve built. At least, that’s been my experience.
For me, it shows up at the gym. You’d think that would be one of the most adult, put-together parts of my life; a place where grown-ups go to sweat out stress, build strength, and then high-five each other with protein shakes. My gym is actually an incredibly inclusive space: full of different shapes, sizes, genders, and ages, all building community. And yet… my inner child has a meltdown every time.
I’ve tried going to the community events, but the voice pipes up: You don’t belong. They’ll reject you. What you just said sounded stupid. And in workout classes? Forget it. I’m uncoordinated, distracted (mostly trying not to pass out), and overstimulated by the music and lights. I feel small, vulnerable, and just a little helpless.
After having a baby and walking through a series of tragedies, I leaned heavily on my old standby coping skill: food. My most reliable self-soothing tool. And I gained a lot of weight. Now I live in this body I sometimes don’t recognize, struggling to accept it, adapt to it, and change it. Which feels confusing because in other areas of life I feel like a total badass; work, relationships, parenting. But in this space, I feel like a teenager again, wanting a parent to swoop in and save me.
My inner child says: You’re going to be rejected. You can’t lose this weight. You’ll always be unworthy.
So I’ve sought answers through my husband, through fitness coaches, through AI, through endless programs that promise to “fix” me. And yes, I’ve made progress. But I’ve realized what I really need are two strong “inner parents.”
First, the nurturing parent: the one who accepts me exactly as I am today, cheers me on, and helps me take a break without guilt. Then, the accountable parent: the one who teaches discipline, helps me follow through, and reminds me that giving in to cravings doesn’t have to derail my bigger vision. (Because seven slices of pizza on a Friday night is… a lot. Two slices and some greens? Still delicious, and no shame spiral required.)
I teach self-parenting in therapy all the time, but let me break it down here:
Authoritarian self-parenting sounds like a drill sergeant. Do it right, no excuses. If you fail, you’re worthless. Harsh, rigid, and not very motivating.
Permissive self-parenting is like the “fun” parent who never says no. Sure, eat the whole cake. Skip that thing you promised yourself. You’ll get it tomorrow. This feels good in the moment, but long term it does not help.
Authoritative self-parenting (the gold standard) is the balance. It’s warm and nurturing, but it also sets boundaries. I love you. I believe in you. And I also know you can handle following through on this commitment.
That’s the sweet spot. That’s where healing happens. And that’s what my inner child actually craves: the reassurance of love and belonging, paired with the structure of boundaries and discipline.
So even though my 42-year-old self knows better, sometimes I still feel like 13-year-old me: scared, bullied, rejected, hiding behind food. The difference is, back then I didn’t have the support to work through it. Today I do. And today, I get to keep practicing self-parenting; acceptance in one hand and accountability in the other.
Because maybe the gym isn’t just a place to build muscle. Maybe it’s where I’m learning to parent my inner child, one burpee and one kettlebell swing away from accidentally launching it across the room
Reflection Questions for You
When does your inner child show up the loudest?
Which “self-parent” do you lean on more: the nurturing one or the accountable one?
What is one way you could bring more balance between acceptance and discipline this week?
Your Turn
I’d love to hear from you. Where does your inner child show up in your life, and how do you practice self-parenting when it does? Share your story in the comments. I have a feeling we’re not alone in this.
