If you grew up in chaos and still carry the weight, you are not alone.
This poem is inspired by The Laundry List from Adult Children of Alcoholics/Dysfunctional Families. If you resonate with any part of it, please know—none of this was your fault, and there is nothing wrong with you. These traits are not defects. They are trauma responses. And healing is not only possible—it’s your birthright.
The List That I Lived
A Dr. Seuss-style poem for the Inner Child
I once was a child in a house full of fear,
Where bottles clinked loud and no grown-ups would hear.
The laughter was thin, the silence was thick—
And the rules of survival were cunning and quick.
I hid in the corners, I shrunk in my skin,
Afraid of authority, shame deep within.
I nodded and smiled, said “yes” with a grin,
While the Me that I was got lost deep within.
I sought out approval, I aimed to please,
But the price of that praise was my own inner peace.
When someone got angry or raised up a brow,
I’d freeze like a statue and just take the bow.
I dated a drinker, or someone obsessed—
A fixer, a clinger, a hot anxious mess.
I craved the chaotic, the twisted, the wild,
Still chasing the parent I lost as a child.
Responsibility? I had it in spades.
I carried your burdens, your messes, your shades.
I cared more for others than looking within,
Afraid I might see where the pain had begun.
If I said “no,” I’d be drowning in guilt,
As if self-respect was a house I had built
That crumbled and fell when I stood up tall—
So I bowed down low, and I gave it my all.
Excitement! Now that was a marvelous thrill!
I’d seek it like candy, like fire, like skill.
Too quiet? Too calm? That just wouldn’t do!
I needed the storm—I had no inner “blue.”
I mixed up love with pity, oh my,
Believing to save was to love by and by.
But love isn’t rescue, and rescue’s not love—
I learned that from watching the stars up above.
My feelings were buried, locked tight in a chest,
For feeling meant hurting, and hurting meant “messed.”
So I numbed and I dodged, with a smile on my face,
While my heart longed for someone, for safety, for grace.
I judged myself harshly, “Not good enough yet!”
With shame as my shadow, and truth I’d forget.
My worth was a whisper, my voice barely heard,
While inside I yearned to speak even one word.
I clung to connection like life on a rope,
Terrified love would just vanish like smoke.
Abandonment loomed like a ghost at the door—
So I begged and I bargained and held on for more.
Though I never picked up a bottle or glass,
The sickness still found me and crept in like gas.
I mimicked the madness, the drama, the fight—
A para-alcoholic, avoiding the light.
I reacted, I flinched, I forgot how to be,
For acting with purpose? That wasn’t for me.
But deep down inside was a Self full of grace,
Just waiting to step into life, take up space.
So I’m learning, unlearning, and choosing anew,
With parts that are scared, but a heart that is true.
This list once defined me, but now it’s a clue—
To healing the child and helping them bloom.
If you resonate with this and long to reconnect with your inner child—the one still carrying what wasn’t theirs to hold—I’d be honored to support you. Healing is possible, and that reunion will change your life forever.
With compassionate support,
Forest Benedict, LMFT
For more articles on political anxiety, self-connection, IFS, sexuality. religious trauma, CPTSD, codependency, healing, and embodied transformation, I invite you to follow and explore my blog and follow along for future posts.
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