Over the course of my life there has been pain and there has been joy.

There has been heartbreak and there has been fulfillment—I assume it’s like that for most people. I suppose I’m no different in the fact that regardless of the ups and downs, I’ve kept moving forward letting the past be swallowed up in time.

And maybe I’m not the only one who feels like they’ve boarded up and abandoned parts of their past and run as fast as they could anywhere other than where the pain was. And as for me, as time went on, I came to some very clever and thoughtful conclusions that justified those boards and nails I had used and my reasons for running away.  It allowed me to patch myself up and keep moving forward.

I was fine. I was doing ok. But as time kept going, I came to realize these thoughts were all lies.

I wasn’t fine and I wasn’t doing ok.

What I found is that truth, my truth, could never be fully denied. The truth would always, always resurface from the deep dark depths of my soul—and it happens regardless of how much I try to convince myself otherwise.

The lies I sought were the ones that included healing, forgiveness and acceptance. I wanted to believe that I had healed from my past mistakes and had truly forgiven myself. In those mistakes, I wanted to believe I had accepted my decisions then, but in the deep crevices of my soul lied the truth. There lied my true pain.

I could choose to face it or choose to keep denying it. I knew, however, that denying it would mean to keep lying to myself. Lying to myself no longer fit with who I had become.

So there really was only one choice to be made if I were to achieve my desire of being whole: I had to face it. I had to integrate that part of myself I had harsh judgments toward, that part of me that was still in so much pain.

In walks the Rebel, as I like to call her. She was my adolescent self that never felt understood, that strived to meet her needs of acceptance by acting out and surrounding herself with other people who were just as lost as she was.

There she found some sense of belonging, but it was never true belonging—she never felt comfortable in her own skin. So she numbed; she numbed in any way she could to escape the inexplicable pain she felt.

She was unbelievably sad, but from the outside you’d never know it. She came across tough, untouchable, with smiles for days. She had top grades, was moderately popular, and excelled in extracurricular sports. From the outside looking in, this beautiful Rebel had it all together.

But, on the inside, she was falling apart and her anguish was taken out on her family behind closed doors. She felt trapped at all times when all she really wanted was to fly. She cried only when she was alone, crumbled on her bathroom floor, her safe place with the door locked. She wanted to run away from all the things that hurt her without having the skills or strength to face them.

I shunned her—for being weak, for not having those skills and strength to deal with life on life’s terms back then.

Upon first conversation with my unacceptable Rebel, I realized I was angry. Not just a little bit angry, but furious at her. I wanted to shake her, slap her, yell and yell and yell asking her, “Why, why, why?”

“Why did you have to do those things that I live with today? Why could you just not love yourself for the beautiful and talented person you were? Why did you keep yourself from that sweet joy of self-acceptance? There was nothing wrong with you, sweet girl!  Couldn’t you see that”?

But she couldn’t see that then; she couldn’t see that at all. And the more I let my outrage out, the more I started to see what lied underneath all of that negative energy. It was her dangerously vicious self-judgment…or was it mine?

My younger innocent self didn’t have the capability of holding that pain so I started to hold it for her as she started to become more understood by the one person she so desperately needed understanding from—me.

I was shocked to see this great divide in myself, a person who was so wholeheartedly striving for authenticity, self-acceptance, self-love and belonging. How could I truly strive for these things when there was a part of me I was trying to so vehemently deny?

The short answer, I couldn’t—and thus, these conversations slowly started taking place.

The more I talked to my sweet Rebel, the more we began to join forces. The more room she had to speak, the more I felt loving kindness toward her. Slowly, my anger started to fade. My body started to feel lighter. My face looked younger.

And then something really strange happened—I started to thank her for probably saving my life by doing the things she did back then. She allowed me to survive that pain. If it wasn’t for her, I have no idea what would have happened. I cannot surely say that I would be alive to tell her story.

The further these conversations got, the more difficult it became to distinguish who was speaking.

Was it my current self or was it my Rebel? I wasn’t so sure anymore. My Rebel and I started to speak with similar language and similar feelings. There was more love taking place underneath our words. I started to feel more freedom in my body, my soul, my mind.  I started to feel different, but in a good way.

Dare I say? I started to feel a sweet happiness that I had never known.

The old me would have cursed myself for not having these conversations sooner, but my current self acted with compassion knowing that this was exactly the right time to start this part of my journey, not a minute sooner nor a minute too late. My journey had led me to this beautiful place of self-compassion, love, and acceptance that allowed me to be ready to fully integrate that part of myself that so desperately needed those things.

And it was right on time, a change had taken place. I no longer scorned this part of myself, judging her for her wrongdoings. Instead, I started to marvel at her carefree energy, her love of fun and adventure. I fell in love with her young soul wisdom, but mostly I fell in love with her beautiful heart. She represented such a strong part of my story.

I knew without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today—so I no longer cursed her for the things she did, but instead offered her unconditional understanding. I realized I didn’t have to like her way of doing things, but I also didn’t have to judge her for it either.

As I moved forward in my journey of authenticity, I knew that I was closer to not only living a whole life, but being a whole person. Being able to integrate my Rebel into my current self started to fill in some deep cracks in my soul that I carried for longer than I had realized.

Now, this very moment, I call on Rebel to come out and play. I give her the freedom to be wild and passionate, to live for the moment, to embrace life with a fresh new childlike wonderment.

And together, we live with no regrets knowing both of us need each other to be truly whole in self-love and acceptance.

We no longer exist without the other; Rebel has found her place in the world and it lives right in the center of me.

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Ed: Bryonie Wise