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Imagine a world where every child could articulate their deepest desires and confusions.

Imagine every adult healing enough to show up courageously and vulnerably, skilled in expressing their truest selves.

How effortlessly could our lives flow? How safe and trustworthy could our world become?

I wonder how my overall narrative could have shifted had my husband and I been capable of such a grounded exchange.

What if, instead of taking a gun to his head after sending a hateful text wishing me a lifetime of suffering, emailing friends and family with equal rage and resentment, and leaving behind people who loved him and children who needed him, his caption had revealed:

“I’m so f*cking pissed at the things not working in my life that I can’t think straight. Nothing makes sense.

I hate not finding a career path I’m passionate about. I don’t know my purpose. There’s never enough money, and I feel like I’m failing. I hate that my wife pressures me to live on her timeline and from an agenda that’s all in her head. I don’t think I’ve ever felt good enough—for anyone, especially myself.

The compounding stress of adulting, supporting a family, and keeping up with life’s demands exacerbates and stokes this dangerous, all-consuming fire of not-enoughness. I just want the downward spiral to stop. I just want someone to see me, to hear me. And to tell me it’s going to be okay.

I need someone to say, ‘Let’s pause. Let’s figure this out together. We’ll make it right.’ Can someone help me gain my footing?”

And what if, instead of stewing in resentful victimhood or withdrawing in frustration, I received those words with neutrality and compassion and responded with:

“I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way. I know life can feel overwhelming, and it’s hard to catch our breath. I feel exactly the same way.

Yes, let’s pause. I’m here to figure this out with you, one step at a time. How can I support you so we can work together and find purpose again?”

In that moment, both voices echoing: “I see you. I hear you. I love you. I’m here.”

But instead, unresolved childhood wounds spoke through adult actions, and manifested as blame, criticism, and disengagement:

“You’re selfish. You never listen. You’re a terrible parent. I don’t want to be near you. Don’t touch me. You don’t give a shit about me. I hate you.”

Words that created isolation, stonewalling, and loneliness.

Final words that can never be taken back.

Nine years later, I curiously ponder this multiverse dialogue. I can only hypothesize what my late husband’s caption would have read. I merely pull from reflections and healing experiences that I continue to work through.

When I sit in quiet contemplation and accountability, my inner caption reads like this:

“My whole life I’ve rarely, maybe never, felt seen or acknowledged for who I am. Because of that I don’t often know who I am. I learned early that if I adapted to what my family and external environment wanted or needed me to be, I earned love. I felt seen. I mastered the chameleon guise.

This is the deep wound that still cries out for reassurance. Without that external validation, sometimes I feel like I disappear. I die. I know that isn’t rational.

I fully understand that it’s not fair to anyone else—my kids, my friends, my family, my potential lover and future partner—to tend to that wound. It is my sole responsibility to stand in my identity and worth, and I am learning. I just want to disclaim that, along the way, I may stumble and default back to what I reflexively know. I would appreciate any compassion and patience as I choose to evolve. And I intend to do it regardless of anyone by my side.

I offer my personal caption to prevent actions getting lost in translation. Nothing I do is toward anyone. It’s never personal. Grounding into my identity after floating around for so long is challenging. But I know I’ll land soon.”

As adults, we often assume that what happened in childhood, good and bad, stayed there. Like photos in an album, moments of our youth are captured in snippets but so often detached from who we are today. We grew up. We grew out of that stage. We moved away from that hometown and successfully distanced ourselves from dysfunction, the way we promised ourselves we would. Most of that childhood stuff holds no bearing on life today…or so we rationalize.

Until breakdowns start happening in relationships and marriages, or at work, or while parenting. Maybe our physical health unexpectedly declines or our mental health hits a wall. We notice that current life scenes are being directed by the narratives once written but dismissed a long time ago.

The disconnect within, however far back it goes, shows up as the disconnect around.

Wounds left raw turn relationships into competitions of “right” versus “wrong,” and pit ego against ego. And those childhood wounds don’t go away until they are seen and heard distinctly.

At their barest bones, when we are lashing out, withdrawing from, or tantruming in our adult bodies within our grown-up lives, the captions hidden in the genuine cries of our forgotten inner child read:

“I just want to be loved. Play with me. Laugh with me. Hold me until I feel safe.

Help me understand my big feelings. Protect me from scary situations. See me for who I truly am—not the person you wish I was, or wish I wasn’t. Tell me everything will be okay. Love me for me.”

Too often, we build walls and create energetic blocks in the name of righteous self-preservation, instead of expressing what we truly wish we could say. I envision a powerfully transformed world where our hearts can speak with authenticity, and the words we say are received with openness and curiosity.

How safe and trustworthy could our world be if we all dared to let our captions tell the truth? If we chose connection over competition, compassion over blame, and love over fear?

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