Healing is truly eternal. After all these years of working on myself, I start to believe I’m good. That the work is done, and I can rest now.
Then something, an old wound, a memory, a moment—reminds me of how lost I’ve been.
How lost I still feel, often.

It’s like I’m always moving toward a goalpost, but I don’t know where it begins, where it ends, or where it’s even going.
Have I always felt this way?
Has life always felt this aimless?
Like I’m roaming the world while everyone else seems to have a clear direction.

Recently, I came to the realization that in a narcissistic family dynamic, I am the lost child archetype.

Quiet. Introverted. Withdrawn into my own world.
With a deep desire for connection, yet terrified of closeness, because closeness often came with conflict.
I learned early on that the best way to avoid the wrath and drama of a chaotic household was to disappear.
To become invisible.

And when you disappear long enough, people stop looking for you.
You fade into the background, not because you want to, but because it feels safer there.
You’re praised for being “easy,” “unproblematic,” even though inside, you’re carrying, what feels like the weight of the world.
But really, you just learned how to stay quiet, how to shrink yourself, how to not upset anyone.
You thought that if you were low-maintenance enough, maybe, just maybe, you’d finally feel safe. Or loved.

I’ve often said out loud, to myself or to others: I’ve just felt so lost for so long.
And it’s true.
I don’t know what it is I’ve been looking for.
It’s like this aimlessness seeps into my thoughts and feelings, it follows me.
I isolate often. Because isolation is where I feel safest.
But I’ve realized: that safety came at a cost.

Closeness hurts.
Because somewhere deep down, I still brace myself for the blow.
The misunderstanding, the rejection, the conflict.

I have desperately wanted someone to understand me.
But my lack of emotional regulation didn’t allow me to attach in a healthy way.
I went from being hyper-independent to codependent, and that ride is not my idea of fun. So I’ve stopped trying altogether.

And yet… even as the lost child, I’ve found beauty in the role.
My aloneness gives me imagination. It gives me creativity.
It become the bridge Ive built to survive despair.
I’ve come a long way, from a lost child to a woman slowly finding herself.

I recently read a book on narcissistic abuse that Ive realized:
There’s actually a name for what I’ve felt.
A name for what I’ve spoken aloud my whole life but never had the language for.

I love my family. I love the parents who raised me.
But it feels freeing, brave, even, to speak the truth of how they hurt me too.
I can love them and still be honest.
Because keeping quiet only keeps me trapped in the belief that my thoughts, experiences, and voice don’t matter.

I didn’t deserve that silence.
I didn’t deserve to be overlooked, bullied or made to feel like my feelings were “too much” or “not enough.”
I was just a child, full of wonder, softness, and light.
I should have been protected. Held. Celebrated.

The worst part is realizing I’ve been stuck in a pattern, attracting the same kinds of people, over and over.

Sometimes, I start to wonder: Maybe I’m just not meant to be around people.

Each time hoping it’ll be different. Each time feeling more defeated when it’s not.
Maybe solitude is safer.

I read somewhere that insecurity is, at its core, the absence of safety.
And for a long time, I didn’t feel safe anywhere, not even in my own skin.

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With the grace of God—who has never left my side and constantly shows me love, I’m starting to feel safe now.
Safe in being me.
Safe in taking up space.
Safe in using my voice.
Safe in being seen.

I don’t have to hide anymore.

I’m learning to slowly let people in.
Even though sometimes I still wish I could live in a little world made only of me, my dogs, and my books…

But, I know I have to live.
Live and love people.
And trust, just a little, that not everyone will hurt me.
That not everyone will ask me to be someone other than myself.

So if you’ve ever felt like the lost child in your family… maybe this helps you too.

You don’t have to earn love by disappearing.
You don’t have to be quiet to be safe.
You are allowed to take up space.
And you are deeply, inherently worthy.

Somedays are easier to believe than others, but it is still inherently true.

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I hope you leave a little more inspired.

XOXO,
Blanca

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