Here in my Vila Izabel, a lovely blue sky seems not to match the sadness invading my thoughts. At this year’s end I feel anguished, with so many saddened children, including those sheltered in adult bodies. Hurry, excess of stimuli, absence of contact and the robotization of how life is run set a thin border between emotional scarcity and the shattering of people’s humanity. Some factors of separation deserve a close look.

There is a mirrored quadrilateral, terribly attractive, that pulls a person from the gaze of others and enslaves their attention. Through it, the person frantically watches others’ movements and seeks to attract the attention that comes by commands. I saw, I liked, I shared. Feeling alive comes to depend on these commands.

To be seen, the person dresses up as what they imagine to be ideal: ideal smiles, ideal clothes, ideal bodies, ideal relationships. This perverse dynamic leads the person to another painful factor of automation.

The curse of comparison sets in. Like all violence, comparison causes painful fissures in self-image and self-esteem. It is painful to watch the insane efforts to reach these illusory levels of conformity.

The wounded inner child becomes progressively invisible, unnoticed by the owner of the adult body, locked in their pain and forced silence. The adult body goes on in automatic, fighting the pressure of time and social pressure, to be and be seen in the “right places,” with the “right people.”

And time passes at speed. Some people spend years, decades, without noticing themselves. They wither emotionally without noticing. They lose vital energy in the frenzy, in the rush. They go out little by little and, at the same time, lose little by little the capacity to think, to analyze objective reality and, as a consequence, to make reasonable decisions.

Oh dear, the sadness swells. It is time to talk about hope. Because there is hope.

We can rescue that wounded child at any time on life’s journey and recover wonder, trust and the possibility of relationship with the essence the lost child represents.

It is possible, yes, to feel the aromas, the flavors, the sensations, the delight of coming into true contact with other people, without even remembering to photograph or post. It is a true encounter, eye to eye, without the mediation of the black mirror.

The child’s reality is colored by their fantasies and by permission to experience the world in its colors, textures and movements, a valuable element of vitality.

Activated, our inner child lets us experience emotions and have the possibility of calibrating them, honoring these signals so relevant to survival and keeping the channel of empathic attunement free.

Our child, freed from fissures and emotionally nourished, makes room for us to truly see other people. Welcomed, the child makes it possible for us to welcome.

Confident, the child helps us reactivate the fragile cords of trust. The vitality of our inner child can light the flame that takes us out of indifference and to rescue so many other imprisoned children.

To nourish the decision for hope, we need to keep our inner child alive.