The Messy Joy of Reparenting Myself

When I think of my inner child, my memories feel blurred, like old film reels missing frames. I grew up in the province, where life was slower, skies were wider, and the world felt both comforting and small. I don’t always remember the details of my childhood, but I remember the longings.

One of them was simple: the carousel.

I first saw it on TV as a child, the painted horses moving up and down, lights twinkling, music spinning around in circles. Something in me ached to be there, to ride one of those horses, to be part of that magic. It became one of those quiet childhood dreams I tucked away, uncertain if it would ever come true.

Years later, I finally did.

It was at night, and the carousel was lit like a dream, horses painted in gold and pastels, lights chasing each other in circles, music spilling into the cool air as if it had been waiting for me.

I climbed onto one of the horses, the kind I had only seen through a screen as a child, and for a moment the world felt like it had paused not in silence, but in a kind of rejoicing. The music swelled, the lights sparkled, as if everything around me was glad that the little girl in me had finally arrived.

It lasted only a few minutes, but it was enough.

Just a few days ago, I found myself at an amusement park again, this time in the daylight. And as always, the first thing that caught my attention was the carousel. It brought me back to that night, the first time my dream came true.

I don’t have photos that capture the magic of that evening (at least not in a way I can share anonymously), so instead, I’m sharing one from this recent visit. It may not have the glow of nighttime lights, but it holds the same memory: that little girl’s longing, patiently waiting for years, finally being honored.

But most days don’t look like carousels.

Most days, reparenting myself is ordinary and messy. It’s remembering to eat when I’d rather skip. It’s giving myself permission to rest when the world tells me to keep going. It’s catching the old voices in my head that call me lazy, too much, or not enough and replacing them with gentler words: “You’re not alone. You’re precious. I’ll keep choosing you.”

And because reparenting is not something I learned overnight, I keep a gentle checklist with me not as rules to follow perfectly, but as reminders of the small, steady ways I can show up for myself every day.

My Gentle Checklist for Reparenting Myself

✅ Remind myself: “You are free now. Yourself is now your priority.”

✅ Let my feelings be felt, without judgment.

✅ Eat regular meals, even when I’d rather skip.

✅ Drink enough water.

✅ Rest when my body asks.

✅ Say no when I need to.

✅ Step away from what feels unsafe.

✅ Do something fun, just because.

✅ Celebrate small wins — even just getting through the day.

✅ Replace self-criticism with kinder words: “I’m proud of you. You’re doing enough.”

✅ Check in daily: “How are you feeling? What do you need?”

✅ Keep promises to myself, even small ones.

✅ Create a calm space to breathe and reset (mine is my mini BTS corner, surrounded by albums and merch that remind me of joy).

Some days, reparenting looks like laughter. Other days, it’s just making sure I drink water, sleep in, or lose myself in a few hours of dramas, forgiving myself for being human. It’s not always magical, but it’s always worth it.

Because joy doesn’t only live in carousels. Sometimes, it lives in the small, steady choices to care for myself.

That night, the carousel gave me magic.

These days, reparenting gives me presence.

Together, they remind me that healing is both the big, sparkling joys and the quiet, everyday ways you keep yourself alive and cared for.

Some days I give her magic, some days I give her rest.

Some days I stumble, some days I soar.

But through the joy and through the mess,

she knows now — I will not leave.

❁ ❁ ❁

And if you’re tired, if the days feel heavy, if you’ve forgotten what joy feels like — maybe this is your reminder. You don’t have to do it all at once. Just start small. Drink water. Rest. Choose kindness over criticism. Create one corner of safety that feels like yours. And when you’re ready, give your inner child a little magic, too.

You are not alone in this. You are precious. Keep choosing you. - MESSY E.

💌 Subscribe to Miss and Mess
A journal of reflections, resilience, and the quiet power of living through life’s misses and messes.
Scroll below and hit “Yes to the Mess” — and never miss a post.