Inner Child Healing Excerpt from The Unbroken Horizon
In my debut novel The Unbroken Horizon, first place winner in the CIBA awards for late historical fiction, one of my main characters goes on a journey to heal her childhood wounds, In the following passage, Sarah, a 34-year-old humanitarian nurse, has just re-read journal entries from when she was thirteen. At the time, her father had just died of a sudden heart attack, and her surgeon mother decided to take a Fellowship in Paris, and cart her grieving daughter half-way across the world.
As you read it, I invite you to feel into what age (or age range) is clamoring for your attention? What beliefs was that child part developing about him/herself? What would you want the younger you to know? What new beliefs would you like to replace the old ones with?
I closed the journal, feeling a tight ache in my heart, reliving both the powerlessness and the rage. My mother loved structure and precision, hence her career as a surgeon. She couldn’t stand the messiness of emotions. Teenage drama especially got her hackles up, so I had had to swallow my indignation and go along with whatever decision she made, all the while fuming inside. I didn’t think my mother had ever been an adolescent. I imagined her born with a scalpel in her hand and a string of obsequious interns hanging on her every word.
Leaning into that time in my life and remembering my session with Patrick [her therapist], I wondered what my younger self was learning then. I reopened the journals and reread the last entry.
“Thirteen-year-old Sarah. What are you learning?” I asked, and closed my eyes.
After a second or two, the words started coming. Opening my eyes again, I grabbed my current diary, and started writing what came to me without thinking too much:
“I can’t trust anything.”
“I will lose the people I love. There’s no point in getting too attached.”
“I have to forget the past and keep moving forward, no matter the cost.”
I paused, noticing a tight lump in my chest. My breathing was shallow, and with great effort, I attempted to slow it down.
“You still live your life that way,” I berated myself. From my work with Patrick, I was starting to see the ripple effect of that belief into the next twenty-plus years of my life.
I felt overwhelmed. Could I really heal that pattern? It felt so deeply ingrained. And if I did, who would I be?
Next to the February 28 entry, I wrote a possible new belief for myself.
“What if it’s safe to trust?”
I put my hands on my heart and whispered to my thirteen-year-old self: “That’s what I want for you.”
“Yeah, right, as if!” I imagined my teenager retorting.
My legs were feeling antsy and tight again, so I decided to go for the run I’d skipped earlier. When I came back, I felt a little lighter and calmer.
© Jenny Brav





Do you have beliefs and patterns that you feel like you were born with? Is there a history (known or surmised) of trauma in your ancestral lineage?