Sitting at the beach with my feet sunk in the wet sand and waves catching my gaze was the perfect way to start my day. The crashing of the waves soothed and emptied my mind. I couldn’t be sure of my time spent just staring into nothingness; it could have been 5 minutes, or it could have been an hour. I wouldn’t be able to tell you.

My status of stillness was interrupted by a commotion a few steps behind me. I turned back to see the source of it. A mother was screaming at her daughter, whose head was hanging low. They were surrounded by other family members who didn’t intervene but were just an audience. The mother went on for another minute before she stormed off and left the kid in a state of shock. I walked back towards the kid and stood in front of her.

“Mumma just shouted at me,” she said sheepishly, looking at me.

“Why did she do that?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she responded, fighting back tears.

“Aww, do you want a hug?” I asked, opening my arms and moving towards her.

“NOOOOO, I DON’T WANT A HUG,” she screamed back.

I put my arms down and took a step back again and said, “That’s okay. You don’t have to hug me if you don’t want to. Do you want to go for a swim?”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

I could see a temper tantrum rising, so I changed strategy. “Okay then, I am going for a walk. Whoever wants to join me can.”

I knew she wanted to accompany me. So, I started walking ahead and didn’t look back. After a few seconds, she caught up with me. I suppressed a smile, and we were off towards the beach.

“Tell me one thing: Mumma just shouted at you. How did it make you feel?”

This was the exercise we had started recently. Discussing her feelings. She was reluctant at first, as usually the adults around her were not so keen about talking about theirs and her feelings, but she had come around to the process. It had been our little secret.

With no one else around us, she felt relaxed talking to me. “I am angry. She shouted at me for no reason.”

“Okay, so let’s process this anger. What do you feel like doing?”

“Throwing things”, she responded with his nostrils flared.

We were passing by a beach shack. It was surrounded by many tables and chairs, all facing the water. There were a couple of pillows placed on the chairs. I picked one up.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how angry are you?” I asked while passing the pillow.

“10”.

“Close your eyes and imagine your anger: now push all your anger out to this pillow, and then throw this pillow down with force. Repeat this a bunch of times until you feel better.”

She did exactly that. She channelled her anger into the pillow and threw it in the sand. Then she picked it up and repeated the process.

“Now I feel I am at a 3.”

“Great. Let’s get to zero.”

Once she reached zero, her breathing got back to normal, and she returned the pillow to me. I dusted it and placed it back on the chair, and we continued walking.

“Is there any emotion that is coming up?” I asked her affectionately.

She took a minute before she answered, “I am feeling sad,” and the tears were back.

“It’s okay to cry,” I responded encouragingly.

She burst out crying and hugged me. I held her tightly and said nothing. I let her cry it out.

After a couple of minutes, she stopped and just looked at me.

“Feeling better, kiddo?”

She simply nodded.

“How do you feel now? Is any other emotion showing up?

“I feel good. No more emotions. I feel empty.”

I smiled at her response and asked if she wanted to go into the water, as we both are water babies and love being in it. She raced me to the shore, and both of us started tossing water at each other. We laughed, played, and had a lot of fun.

On our way out, she looked at me and asked, “Why do you ask me about my emotions and then ask me to release them?”

“When we have emotions bothering us, we can’t enjoy life.”

“I don’t understand. Explain.”

“Okay, tell me, why did you want to come to the beach?”

“To be in the water, of course.”

“And why do you want to be in the water?”

“I love being in the water. It makes me happy,” she said, grinning at me.

“But when Mumma shouted at you and I invited you to go to the water, you refused. Why is that?”

She had a light bulb moment, “Ohhhhhh. Because I was angry and upset. I didn’t want to do anything. But then, I finished the emotions exercise, and I wanted to go straight to the water to play.”

It made me happy she understood this early in life, when most of us adults fail to do so even today. Most of us haven’t even learnt to identify our own emotions. Also, we tend to categorize them as good and bad. Happiness and excitement are ‘good’, and anger and jealousy are ‘bad’. We have difficulties accepting these ‘bad’ emotions. They become something we want to bury and not talk about.

We kept walking, and she grew silent. After a minute or so, she said, “I don’t think Mumma processes her emotions. I feel like I should help her.”

I became a little guarded here, as I knew she was right, but I would rather not admit that to her and speak badly of her mother.

“Mumma is an adult and has various ways of processing her emotions. She doesn’t have to do it in front of you,” I said with a straight face. I wasn’t completely convinced she bought that.

“You know you cross your arms when you lie to me.”

I was surprised by what she said. It was true. It was a defense mechanism, but I hadn’t expected her to catch it.

I held her hand and made her sit facing me on the sand.

“You are a child. You are not to take care of anyone around you. Not Mumma. Not Dad. Not anyone else. They are to take care of you, not the other way around. You are only responsible for your emotions. Let Mumma deal with hers,” I said sternly.

“She is always angry at everyone, and she is unable to work on her emotions,” she retorted.

“It’s not your problem. You are her child, and she is your mother. She will figure it out.” I responded bluntly, “You are only to focus on studying, playing, and being in touch with your emotions, as emotions are your…”

“Friends. All emotions are my friends.” She smiled as she finished my sentence and gave me the warmest hug.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“You can ask me as many questions as you want. Ask away”, I said encouragingly.

“How are you feeling? Are you sad that your mother still can’t process emotions?” She asked me kindly.

I was stunned by her question. How did she know about my mother? I never told her about mine. I didn’t give her any details about my relationship with my mother.

“Don’t you know who I am?”

And then it hit me.

“I am your inner child. You are me, and I am you.” She smiled at me and looked deep into my eyes. “It’s okay to feel your sadness. And like you said, you are still her child. She is an adult, and you can’t fix her. It’s not your responsibility. Her emotions are for her to process.”

She gave me the warmest hug. I held her, and tears rolled down my cheeks. I released all the sadness I had suppressed regarding my mother. After a while, I felt a sense of calm and solitude I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I thought I was trying to teach my inner child to process emotions, as she didn’t learn it growing up, but she ended up reminding me of another lesson. We are not responsible for other people’s emotions. All we can do is focus on ours.

When I opened my eyes, I was alone, with the waves still crashing at my feet. I felt at peace, and I felt taken care of. I knew I was going to be okay. That I am okay. The little one, my inner child, is safe within me!

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