That Little Boy Inside of Me
Part 1 of 5 — The Childhood That Shaped My Internal Monologue
“The little boy inside of me felt ashamed, unloved, and was crying for help.”
There are some things a child carries inside that the world never sees.
Sometimes it's sadness. Sometimes it's confusion. Sometimes it's a question that stays with that child long after childhood has passed.
For me, those questions began early in life.
I was abandoned as a newborn. Throughout my childhood, I lived in ten different foster homes. I was never adopted.
When I look back, I don't just see the places I lived or the people I encountered. I think about the little boy inside of me who wanted something that should never have been so difficult to find.
I wanted my mother and father.
I wanted time with them. I wanted memories with them. I wanted to feel their love, to be embraced, and to know that I mattered.
I wanted to be seen.
I wanted to be heard.
I wanted to be understood.
But there was another part of my childhood that wasn't visible to the people around me.
It was what was happening inside my mind.
Today, I call that my internal monologue.
As a child, I didn't have all the words to explain those feelings. I was trying to understand a world that didn't always make sense to me.
And sometimes, when reality became too painful, I escaped into my dreams.
I wasn't sitting there imagining what kind of adult I would become. I was a little boy trying to get through the life that was in front of him.
That distinction matters to me.
Because when people look at somebody's life years later, they often see the person standing in front of them. They don't necessarily see the child that person once was.
They don't know the questions that child carried.
They don't know what that child wished somebody would say.
And they don't know how much of that childhood may still be part of the person's internal conversations.
Over the years, I've come to think about those experiences as pieces of a puzzle.
Every experience becomes another piece.
Some pieces are easier to understand than others. Some remain scattered inside our minds. Sometimes we try to take a piece out, hoping that doing so will help us move forward, only to discover that more pieces keep being added.
And the more pieces we carry, the harder it can become to understand the picture.
I want to share something from my own words:
“The internal monolog of the pieces of the puzzle, sometimes it's like a scramble in our head.”
That's how I see it.
We may spend years trying to understand something that happened when we were young. We may carry questions about our families, our relationships, our choices, or why certain experiences affected us so deeply.
And sometimes we don't tell anybody.
We keep those conversations inside.
That is one reason I wanted to write this series.
Not because I want people to feel sorry for me.
Not because I believe my experiences are more important than anybody else's.
But because somewhere, somebody may recognize a piece of their own life in what I'm sharing.
Maybe that person grew up feeling unwanted.
Maybe they had parents who were physically present but emotionally distant.
Maybe they have spent years trying to understand something nobody ever explained to them.
Or maybe they have a completely different story, but they know what it feels like to carry questions in silence.
I don't believe every person has the same puzzle.
And I don't believe everybody finds the answers they're looking for.
But I do believe that understanding what's happening inside us can become an important part of deciding where we go next.
My childhood was only the beginning of my journey.
There were difficult years ahead. There were choices I made, experiences that changed me, and moments when I had to confront the direction my life was taking.
There was also a part of my journey that eventually led me toward forgiveness, faith, and a different understanding of my purpose.
But I don't want to rush to that ending.
Because if I told you only about the man I became, without helping you understand the little boy I once was, something important would be missing.
You would see the picture without understanding the pieces.
And that is why this story begins here.
With a little boy who wanted his mother and father.
With a child who wanted to be loved, accepted, and understood.
With questions he couldn't always express.
And with an internal monologue that would become part of a much larger journey.
As you read this five-part series, I invite you to think about your own life.
Not just the things other people know about you.
Think about the conversations you've had inside your own mind. Think about the pieces you've carried, the questions you've asked, and the experiences that helped shape who you are.
You don't have to share those thoughts with anybody.
But perhaps you can begin by listening to yourself.
Because sometimes, before we can understand the picture of our lives, we have to acknowledge the pieces that are already there.
And for me, one of those pieces was a little boy who was still waiting to feel loved.
End of Part 1 — To be continued.