I have a friend who has done a lot of work on her “inner child.” She spends time really thinking about that little girl and trying to address some of the issues of her life by coming to terms with her past. While I respect her process, I have never really thought about the little girl who still lives within me. I would tell you, if you asked, that my childhood was okay, that it was clear that our parents loved us and we had the gift of close, extended family.

And, by and large, that is true. But over the course of recent days, I have had some time to reflect and journal about my plans for the coming year and beyond. I’ve focused on clarifying goals and finding a way to stop procrastinating. How many years can I say to myself “this is the year” and, yet, still not make progress on the “big picture” that I want to see for myself?

And as I began to give myself yet another meaningless pep talk or insincere deadline, I had a moment of clarity that does, I hope, have the potential to change the game for me. I realized that the root of this issue of dragging my feet is a deep seated fear of making myself vulnerable and being seen as a failure. It is less about failing, per se, and more about what others might say or do. The refrain has a lot of “what makes her think that” and “she isn’t good enough to” and similar destructive tropes.

Where does this stem from, I wondered. I have taken professional risks, I have succeeded and I have been more confident than fearful. But when it comes to putting myself forward, to stepping outside the role I play to do something more personal, that fear is whispering (or shouting) in my ear full time.

I came, somewhat reluctantly, to the memory of that little girl and her childhood. While our home was stable, my father was volatile and often angry, especially with Mom. He would blow up and then not speak for days. I was the go between, the message carrier, and deeply embraced the role of “Miss Fix It” from a very early age. I learned to value calm and to avoid doing anything that might “rock the boat.” And I learned that keeping the peace was of primary importance. It was up to me, I thought, to do all the “right things” and meet expectations. If I did that, life would be smoother.

So I stuck to the path and did what I thought I was supposed to do. I went to college and crammed four years into three, in an effort to save my dad another year of tuition. I married right after graduation and tried to do all that I understood, even without being told, that was expected.

I realize now that much of my anxiety, my unwillingness and uneasiness with personal risk comes from a lifetime of those “make it all okay” behaviors. And I realize that I have to get past that to explore my potential and to do so without fear.

So I will spend some time this year thinking about the little girl I was, the little girl who still lives within me. And I will hope to open her world, and mine, to all the possibilities of living, truly, with a full heart.