An Exercise: Talking to Your 9-Year-Old Self
This essay explores an exercise: talking to your 9-year-old self with a trauma-informed lens. It names the protective patterns beneath what can look like personal failure, and offers a compassionate invitation to understand what happened, notice what is repeating, and practice a steadier way forward.
Understanding the Pattern
Recently, I wrote an Instagram post about what I would say to my nine year old self and shared a picture of me as a child there.
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I had been cleaning my home’s garage, sorting through a bin of old photos and scanning them when I saw that one.
That one grabbed at me because it wasn’t necessarily the “cute” ages that came before age nine.
Ages where there’s so much adorableness that, at least for me, it’s easy to feel warm and accepting of those little Annie’s.
Age nine was a time where I started to eat my feelings more and the sparkle in my eyes left, impacts of the relational trauma that I was many years into enduring by then.
So when I saw that photo I was struck both by how telltale the signs were that something was going on with that child but also because, in years past, I had previously had a really intense rejection response to seeing that photo.
In the past, I didn’t like that version of me.
She was too hard to look at.
But this time, I only felt compassion when I looked at the photo, looked at nine-year-old me.
Perhaps it’s a combination of both my own EMDR therapy and regular talk therapy deepening, maybe it’s because my mother bear instincts are growing with each year I mother my daughter…
Whatever the reason, I could look at that photo with neutrality, love and the same kind of fierce protection I feel daily for my daughter.
And so I quickly wrote a note on Instagram about what I’d go back in time and say to her.
Here’s what I said:
If I could go back in time, I’d try and hug her (but I’d ask for consent first so she could even begin to understand that that’s a thing and she deserves respect).
And then, regardless of whether she wanted a hug or not, I’d tell her that she is going to be okay. Really.
I wouldn’t lie.
I’d tell her that there are going to be many, many hard years but she’s got some good solid skills to cope with all the hard stuff.
I’d encourage her to keep plunging into academics, ultimately it will get her off the island, out of poverty, and into a life and experiences she thinks are only possible in movies.
I’d encourage her to keep disappearing into books and stories, it will help her dissociate from her reality, sure, but it will strengthen her imagination and her own writing skills (which she’ll use to build her career down the road).
I’d tell her what no one else had yet told her, that it is NOT normal and that she DOES have a right to be angry about it all.
I’d tell her that she’s NOT crazy.
She’s having appropriate responses to the situation she’s in.
And I’d give her hopeful previews.
Like someday, people will love her a lot.
Someday people won’t make fun of her clothes, her weight, who her parent is, or anything else anymore.
Bullying people won’t even be REMOTELY in her world anymore.
She’ll be in charge of who comes into her life and those who do come in will be extraordinary.
I’d tell her that someday she won’t be poor and scared anymore.
She’ll provide for herself by doing work that feels like a gift to her soul AND she’ll get to help other people who felt the way she did once upon a time.
I’d tell her that one day she’ll see the world. Places she used to collage onto her vision board she’ll get to cross off her list one by one.
I’d tell her to hang in there.
And again, I’d want her to know that she’s not crazy even though no one else is having her experience.
What would you tell your 9-year-old self if you could go back in time and talk to them?
If I could go back in time, I’d try and hug her (but I’d ask for consent first so she could even begin to understand that that’s a thing and she deserves respect).
And then, regardless of whether she wanted a hug or not, I’d tell her that she is going to be okay. Really.
I wouldn’t lie.
I’d tell her that there are going to be many, many hard years but she’s got some good solid skills to cope with all the hard stuff.
I’d encourage her to keep plunging into academics, ultimately it will get her off the island, out of poverty, and into a life and experiences she thinks are only possible in movies.
I’d encourage her to keep disappearing into books and stories, it will help her dissociate from her reality, sure, but it will strengthen her imagination and her own writing skills (which she’ll use to build her career down the road).
I’d tell her what no one else had yet told her, that it is NOT normal and that she DOES have a right to be angry about it all.
I’d tell her that she’s NOT crazy.
She’s having appropriate responses to the situation she’s in.
And I’d give her hopeful previews.
Like someday, people will love her a lot.
How It Shows Up in Real Life
Inner Child is a clinical concept discussed in this essay that helps describe how protective patterns develop and persist in relationships and daily life.
In plain terms: In plain terms: naming inner child can help you recognize a familiar response without treating yourself as the problem.
Someday people won’t make fun of her clothes, her weight, who her parent is, or anything else anymore.
Bullying people won’t even be REMOTELY in her world anymore.
She’ll be in charge of who comes into her life and those who do come in will be extraordinary.
I’d tell her that someday she won’t be poor and scared anymore.
She’ll provide for herself by doing work that feels like a gift to her soul AND she’ll get to help other people who felt the way she did once upon a time.
I’d tell her that one day she’ll see the world. Places she used to collage onto her vision board she’ll get to cross off her list one by one.
I’d tell her to hang in there.
And again, I’d want her to know that she’s not crazy even though no one else is having her experience.
What would you tell your 9-year-old self if you could go back in time and talk to them?
That post and the responses I received from it (I got the loveliest DM’s!) made me want to turn that IG post and my experience with that photo into an exercise in my next blog post to you.
It’s an extension of an exercise I often invite my own therapy clients to do with me at appropriate times in their relational trauma recovery work: Find and choose photos from different ages growing up and then write them letters.
The goal here is to strengthen our connection to potentially rejected child parts of ourselves.
As we strengthen our connection with ourselves at all ages (even and especially the “hard to love” ages) we support our psychological integration and our relational trauma recovery work more.
So, despite the fact that I’m not with you in a therapy session together, I still wanted to give you the prompts I give my clients so that, if you’re inspired, you can do this as a supplement to your own therapy work or personal growth journey.
First of all, open up your journal or a new Google doc.
And then, select a photo of you at a younger age.
Please note: it doesn’t have to be your nine-year-old self.
It could be your six-year-old self. Your twelve-year-old self. Your sixteen-year-old self.
Whatever age calls to you at this stage in the journey.
Then, looking at the photo, notice the somatic (meaning body-based) sensations that come up in you (they may be subtle or powerful as a dump truck).
Just notice and don’t judge them.
If you feel the impulse to look away from the eyes of the child in the photo, notice that and if the exercise doesn’t feel tolerable to do with that age, with that exact photo, perhaps try another less triggering age.
After you’ve found the photo you can access some compassion for (and note, compassion might still be mixed with some judgement, and that’s okay, this exercise is about amplifying the compassion to reduce the judgement), just look at the photo for a moment.
And then think about the following questions:
What Can Begin to Change
Would this younger version of me have wanted a hug or some physical comfort of some kind?
Would this younger version of me have wanted a hug or some physical comfort of some kind?
Was this younger version of me too scared of people by then to let that be okay?
Was this younger version of me too scared of people by then to let that be okay?
If that version of me can’t tolerate physical comfort (and/or I can’t tolerate giving it to them), what verbal comfort could I offer?
If that version of me can’t tolerate physical comfort (and/or I can’t tolerate giving it to them), what verbal comfort could I offer?
When I look at this child, what is good and worthy of positive praise about them?
When I look at this child, what is good and worthy of positive praise about them?
When I look at this child, can I feel compassion and nurturing instincts?
When I look at this child, can I feel compassion and nurturing instincts?
When I look at this child, what emotions might they be feeling?
When I look at this child, what emotions might they be feeling?
What do I as an adult feel about what I imagine that child’s feelings are?
What do I as an adult feel about what I imagine that child’s feelings are?
Given what I know about what was going on for that younger child at that time, what might they need to hear from me as an adult right now?
Given what I know about what was going on for that younger child at that time, what might they need to hear from me as an adult right now?
What might this child need to hear about their physical safety?
What might this child need to hear about their physical safety?
What might this child need to hear about their emotional safety?
What might this child need to hear about their emotional safety?
What might this child need to hear about their financial safety?
What might this child need to hear about their financial safety?
What might this child need to hear about their relational safety?
What might this child need to hear about their relational safety?
What might this child need to hear about the good things that are coming their way?
Self-Compassion is a clinical concept discussed in this essay that helps describe how protective patterns develop and persist in relationships and daily life.
In plain terms: In plain terms: naming self-compassion can help you recognize a familiar response without treating yourself as the problem.
A More Compassionate Way Forward
What might this child need to hear about the good things that are coming their way?
What might this child need to hear about how she’s coping and dealing with her reality?
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What might this child need to hear about how she’s coping and dealing with her reality?
What might this child need to hear about her experience? Is everyone around her gaslighting her for her experience? What could you say to her to validate her?
What might this child need to hear about her experience? Is everyone around her gaslighting her for her experience? What could you say to her to validate her?
What would you like this child to know about herself? About her future? About what she has and will live through?
What would you like this child to know about herself? About her future? About what she has and will live through?
What would you say to this child if you deeply loved and cared for them?
What would you say to this child if you deeply loved and cared for them?
Use these prompts to write as much or as little as you’d like.
And when you’re done writing, just sit with what you wrote and notice what’s coming up in you.
Sadness? Grief? Pride? A kind of fierce mothering energy?
What does it say to you that those emotions are coming up?
How can you take care of your adult feelings that are being stirred up by this exercise?
If your feelings feel big and hard, who can you turn to for support?
You made contact with a younger part of yourself and did a beautiful but emotionally evocative exercise.
Please try and take such good and gentle care of yourself now as an adult as you would have ideally liked that younger version of you to have been supported in doing.
And please also know that you can come back to this exercise again and again, doing it (or some version of it) with all the different child ages inside of you, but only when and as it feels good and right to do so.
And so now, if you feel so inclined, please feel free to leave me a message in the comments about what this exercise evoked for you:
What came up for you as you did this exercise? Did it feel healing on some level? Were you surprised about anything that came up? Is there any part of this exercise that you can carry forward into your adult life?
So if you feel inclined to share, please do. I’d love to hear from you and so would so others, I imagine.
We get about 25,000 website visitors a month on this little corner of the internet and you never know whose day you’re making better by sharing your experience in the comments.
So thank you in advance for sharing.
Here’s to healing relational trauma and creating thriving lives on solid foundations.
Q: What is this essay about?
A: It explores an exercise: talking to your 9-year-old self and the patterns, questions, and possibilities for healing described in the essay.
Q: Why might this pattern feel so persistent?
A: The essay explains how protective responses can become familiar over time, especially when they once helped you cope or stay connected.
Q: Can awareness really help?
A: Awareness does not erase the past, but it can create more room to notice a pattern and choose a different next step.
Q: Do I need to have a clear memory of the past to work on this?
A: No. You can pay attention to present-day reactions, needs, and relationships without proving every detail of your history.
Q: When might additional support help?
A: Therapy or another trustworthy support can offer structure and care when these patterns feel overwhelming or difficult to change alone.
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Annie Wright, LMFT
Licensed Marriage & Family Therapist · Relational Trauma Specialist · W.W. Norton Author
“Helping driven women finally feel as good as their résumé looks.”
Annie Wright is a licensed psychotherapist with 15,000+ clinical hours since 2013 and an EMDRIA Certified Therapist. She’s the founder and former CEO of Evergreen Counseling, a multimillion-dollar trauma-informed therapy center she successfully exited. She’s currently writing her first book, The Everything Years: Navigating the Pressure and Promise of Your Thirties, with W.W. Norton (2027). Her expert commentary has appeared in Psychology Today, Forbes, Business Insider, NBC News, and The Information.
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Annie Wright, LMFT
LMFT · Relational Trauma Specialist · Author, W.W. Norton 2027
Helping driven women finally feel as good as their résumé looks.
Annie Wright is an EMDR-certified licensed psychotherapist and relational trauma specialist with over 15,000 clinical hours, and she's been in practice since 2013. Trained in EMDR, psychodynamic, and somatic modalities, she is licensed in 14 U.S. jurisdictions and registered to provide telehealth in Florida (California, Colorado (telehealth only), Connecticut, the District of Columbia, Florida, Illinois, Maine, Maryland, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, Texas, Utah, Virginia, and Washington). Annie works with driven and ambitious women from relational trauma backgrounds, and everything she writes about is field-tested across thousands of clinical sessions. She is the founder and former CEO of Evergreen Counseling, a multimillion-dollar trauma-informed therapy center she built, scaled, and successfully exited, and is currently writing her first book, The Everything Years: Navigating the Pressure and Promise of Your Thirties, with W.W. Norton (2027). A regular contributor to Psychology Today, her expert commentary has appeared in USA Today, Forbes, Business Insider, Inc., NBC, and The Information.
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