Learning to sit with pain—whether physical or emotional—is a profound challenge. Emotional pain can be especially difficult to endure because, unlike physical pain, it’s easier to try and escape from it.
Today, I sat by the dining room window, hoping the clouds would part and let the sun stream in. I long for the external brightness to lift my spirits, just as I hope the inner cloud of depression will clear, offering me insight and hope. But for now, my challenge is to sit with my internal darkness and pain, simply observing whatever arises, making no judgments. I witness the pained child within me, a part of myself that surfaces, triggered and demanding attention.
Sitting with your wounded inner child requires bravery. It means allowing yourself to feel the pain that lives under the surface without rushing to react, watching as your mind scrambles for relief, and resisting the urge to escape the turmoil. Often, we unconsciously act out in ways meant to protect that child or fulfill her unmet needs. But to bear compassionate witness to this pain, without needing to respond, takes courage. It halts the narrative that keeps us bound to old patterns.
A wise teacher once told me, “Every action is a cry for love or an act of love.” As I observe my inner child, I see her cry for love, manifested in various behaviors—seeking attention, proving self-worth, or even stirring up conflict just to be noticed. When we scratch beneath the surface, we often find that these actions, however misguided, are simply cries for love.
My goal is to transform this wounded child’s cry for love into an act of love. As Saint Francis of Assisi said, “It is in giving that we receive.” A true act of love, however, is given without expectation of anything in return. By simply observing the wounded child and offering her the love she needs, we begin the journey of turning her cries into acts of love.
Listening to the many different parts of oneself and learning to love the whole self may be the first true act of love. Being present in each moment, respecting and relishing what arises, and noticing that sensations always change and shift in awareness, brings a deeper understanding. Through this awareness, we gradually dis-identify with the pain and realize that the self is greater than the suffering. At the same time, we can still send love to the parts of ourselves that have been wounded.
As I explore this, the sun momentarily peeks out from behind the clouds, offering a brief but welcome warmth. Happiness and distress will always come and go, like winter and summer seasons. In this moment, I savor a bowl of pomegranates mixed with raspberries, cacao nibs, and walnuts—small windows of joy. Whether it’s the sun, the dance of flavors and textures in my mouth, or the carved heart-shaped wooden spoon my daughter lovingly gifted me, I find grace in these small things. Each morning, I eat with this spoon, as if taking in spoonfuls of her love.
By being present with both internal pain and moments of external beauty, I am able to see grace—even as the sun retreats once more behind the clouds.
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