In our collective love letters to our inner child, we write how we need care, not control. We need stillness, not overstimulation.

But when did our love letters become condolence cards for the younger, shameful versions of ourselves — ones we could only dignify at the altar?

We mourn, instead of mend. We offer poetry where protection is truly needed. We lit candles for the girl who never got to rest — always trying to be ‘enough’ — only to learn that womanhood means playing with the fire of the torches she carried through her burnout. She is told that wholeness, now, comes from the memories made in the sleepless nights and endless loops of self-reflection. In saying “yes” to everything.

But here’s the catch: in the pursuit of healing and self-development, we often mistake overextending ourselves, for growth. Now — older, tired, and chasing wholeness — we’ve mistaken healing for the pursuit of redemption from lost time.

But, how are we supposed to measure up to our dream self, when the impact of the time lost to become them, feels immeasurable?

When does self-nurturing turn into performing for a version of ourselves we’re still trying to win over?

We say we’re doing it for our inner child, but somewhere along the way, we turn them into a reason to keep going, not a reason to finally stop.

We do everything for our inner child, except letting them rest.

And here is where exhaustion disguises itself as “purpose”. Rest even begins to sound like a disservice to yourself, maybe even TOO suspicious of a downtime activity.

Especially for women, we are expected to “hurry” since birth, but never in time enough to stand still with ourselves. Our bodies have “biological” clocks — but more like loud, ticking time bombs tied to our chests that remind us we need to plant our milestones early, like landmines. The world reminds us, constantly, that we are vessels first and beings second. That our worth begins when someone else’s voice begins to grow inside us.

But what happens when we’ve never made time to raise the child inside us, first? What does it mean to cradle a child from your womb, when the one in your soul has never known lullabies, only labour?

At the end of the day, the path to your dream life doesn’t require abandoning yourself to chase it. True healing isn’t about making up for lost time; it’s about surrendering the pressure to redeem it. Sometimes, the most radical act of self-acceptance comes from understanding that healing is not about catching up — it’s about coming home.

To rest.