An anthem for lost children · High Vibe Tribe

An anthem for lost children

I want to pause and acknowledge a very dark part of human history… a deeply vulnerable part, where so many child-souls were harmed in a world that was not in balance, where the feminine aspect within every soul was suppressed.

It is a shadowed chapter that, for my soul, carries the sense of helping others awaken as a life mission. Here I share another piece of intimate vulnerability.

I, too, experienced the darkness as a child:

https://youtu.be/9p8heFTWgeI?is=wzS2GXvdFdfGKahd

Below is a passage from my book about how I experienced childhood abuse and how I healed my inner child. Maybe it will help someone:

I couldn’t look into the black mirror without it also looking back at me. I knew that — I’ve known it for years. And somewhere, between all those ancient wounds, the image of my own soul suddenly appeared: small, five years old, still carrying that open gaze that trusts the world because it has never known anything else.

I saw her standing there, and I knew: this is not only collective. This is also mine. This has been living for years in my shadow, in my sexuality, in my childhood.

It was the moment when hands touched my skin that should never have touched it. Hands that did not carry love, but confusion. Hands that did not know what they were breaking — or perhaps did know, and still did it anyway. For that little girl, it felt like something in her light went out, as if a crack appeared in a room that should have always been safe. And no one saw it. No one heard it. It happened in silence, and in that silence she remained behind.

The rupture did not only move through her body, but through the entire family. Through generations. Some family lines carry their pain as unspoken inheritance, as walls no one ever spoke about, yet we all kept bumping into them. And so my wound became an echo in a house that had no language for this pain. The little girl carried it not because she had to be strong, but because no one knew how to see her.

And as I looked at her, I felt another layer: I was not the only girl in that house carrying this pain. My sister also lived in silence, each of us on our own island, each with our own storms. That realization made it even more intense, and at the same time something began to soften. Because I understood I was never truly alone, even if it sometimes felt that way.

Yet in that mirror, I saw her again — that five-year-old girl — and I felt how she held herself together, how she gently held her breath, how she tried to understand what could not be understood. And I felt that it was she who had carried me all those years, quietly, tirelessly, waiting until I would be big enough to come back for her.

Now I am here. I stand beside her.

I place my hands on her skin, gentle hands, warm hands, and I say what no one said then: “It is not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You were sacred. You ARE sacred. And what happened did not break your light; it only waited until you came home.”

I take my inner child by the hand. She is safe within me.

Syel’Ma Vey Na’Tuh 💜♾️💜

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