I’ll bet many of us remember – not details but the fact – that as small children we were largely cut off from our parents, and maybe from friends and family to a lesser degree. I don’t mean, of course, that we didn’t talk to them or we lived in our own fortress. I mean we were in an inner world populated by feeling and fantasy and some thoughts. Maybe it had a grey sky and breezes of anxiety – like air, always there, but less substantial than the living beings of our fantasies, feelings and thoughts. Probably only a few children had regular conversations with their parents and others – teachers, aunts or uncles – of sharing their inner life. I don’t include friends there, because I include those mostly as comfortable beings for those of us who still lived in our inner child-place.
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* For the sake of completeness, we include the child who absorbs the parent's narcissism, replacing the self. This seems the opposite of the inner-set-adrift child, but in fact her organic "I" is even more deeply buried.