Nigel

We often become the harshest judges of ourselves, replaying old mistakes and sentencing ourselves to invisible punishments. In The Criminal in Me (Part 3), I share my journey of showing up for myself—no longer as the accused, but as someone who finally deserves compassion.

The past never really rests—it lingers, haunts, and whispers from that endless hallway in our minds. I spent years hiding behind strength, silencing the child in me who once dreamed freely and felt deeply. But healing doesn’t come from erasing those parts—it comes from connection. From allowing the child and the adult to finally sit together in peace. And maybe, just maybe, that’s where the real healing begins.

I can’t remember the exact day it began, only the silence that followed—heavy, cold, filled with shame and guilt I couldn’t name. Little by little, the child in me disappeared. Vulnerability felt like weakness, so I hid behind masks everyone praised. Inside, though, joy faded, and the verdict was always the same: guilty of being too soft, too much. Yet healing, I’ve learned, isn’t forgetting—it’s remembering, grieving, and daring to believe that child may still exist.

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