Robert, I'm sorry this happened. People who can't regulate themselves in positions of power are dangerous. And, it does have effects throughout our lifetime, those scars don't just leave. It was a well written story, one I wish you hadn't had to write. ❤️
This is one of those times I wish Substack had more than just a 'heart' option. It seems, well, just... wrong... to click a heart to tell you how well you wrote this heartbreaking memory thread woven into the tapestry of your life. Yes, you wrote it very well. It's a story that will stay with the reader as they process the injustice, the cruelty, the emotional wounding. So, know that I click the heart as just one way to support you, Robert — and the inner child hiding in the corner, waiting to be held... to be understood... to be seen for all the wonders bursting from his soul.
Heather, your comment stopped me in my tracks—in the best way. Thank you for really seeing the piece, and for taking the time to write something so full of grace and care.
I think sometimes we remember the painful moments too vividly—the sound, the sting, the shame—but we forget to ask: Who was I then? What was I holding? What was I doing to survive?
That’s what this piece was really about. Not just the moment itself, but the boy behind it—the one who hid in classrooms, made people laugh, stayed quiet when it counted. Writing it was my way of reaching back—not just for myself, but for anyone else who hasn’t yet stopped to hold their younger self and say, “You made it. You’re safe now.”
I’m so grateful it landed with you. That means everything.
Robert, I'm sorry this happened. People who can't regulate themselves in positions of power are dangerous. And, it does have effects throughout our lifetime, those scars don't just leave. It was a well written story, one I wish you hadn't had to write. ❤️
This is one of those times I wish Substack had more than just a 'heart' option. It seems, well, just... wrong... to click a heart to tell you how well you wrote this heartbreaking memory thread woven into the tapestry of your life. Yes, you wrote it very well. It's a story that will stay with the reader as they process the injustice, the cruelty, the emotional wounding. So, know that I click the heart as just one way to support you, Robert — and the inner child hiding in the corner, waiting to be held... to be understood... to be seen for all the wonders bursting from his soul.
Heather, your comment stopped me in my tracks—in the best way. Thank you for really seeing the piece, and for taking the time to write something so full of grace and care.
I think sometimes we remember the painful moments too vividly—the sound, the sting, the shame—but we forget to ask: Who was I then? What was I holding? What was I doing to survive?
That’s what this piece was really about. Not just the moment itself, but the boy behind it—the one who hid in classrooms, made people laugh, stayed quiet when it counted. Writing it was my way of reaching back—not just for myself, but for anyone else who hasn’t yet stopped to hold their younger self and say, “You made it. You’re safe now.”
I’m so grateful it landed with you. That means everything.
With love and thanks,
Robert
I hear you.
I see you.
My inner child and I continue to walk this path together. I reached out to her years ago.
Walking this path with her is a lifelong adventure...
holding her is a regular occurrence...
and she still needs occasional assurance that she's safe.
But this journey wouldn't be the same without her —
Indeed, I never could have undertaken it or gotten this far if not for her presence.