Psychologists have long spoken of the concept of an inner child. A quick search on Amazon shows over 10,000 books about the inner child, including the following topics:
- Recovering your inner child
- Healing your inner child
- Bonding with your inner child
- Nurturing your inner child
- Parenting your inner child
This inner child is a big deal, apparently! At the very least, he/she is a cash cow for those who are into pop psychology.
According to psychologists, you can reparent your inner child. So, I decided to try to get reacquainted with “Jenny”. I’ve named her Jenny because that is the name everyone called me when I was a child. I stopped going by Jenny when a group of my 5th-grade peers looked the name up in the dictionary.
A Jenny is a female donkey. 5th graders are not kind about that sort of information. I was traumatized.
Of course, I thought my life would get better if I could only heal and nurture Jenny.
But the bitch took over and now my adult life is suffering!
Before Jenny took over my life, I enjoyed a wide variety of healthy foods. I ate vegetables and fruit. I limited my intake of fat and denied myself sweet treats.
Jenny does not like bunny food.
For Jenny, a healthy dinner is Fruity Pebbles with milk. Nutritionists say that meals should be colorful. “What’s more colorful than Fruity Pebbles?” , she asks.
She’s not wrong. My adult side, Ms. Pike, cannot argue with such logic. However, Ms. Pike’s jeans no longer fit. I’m going to end up being one of those people who wear pajama pants in public.
My inner child loves to laugh. And while laughter itself is a good thing, there are situations in which laughter is frowned upon.
Funerals are an obvious example. No matter how much the minister sounds like Gomer Pyle, you cannot laugh without making yourself a social pariah.
Jenny doesn’t give a shit.
Nor does she care that there are not supposed to be any stupid questions. She laughs out loud at her perception of moronic.
She can’t stifle her giggles and I’m the one who gets glared at during the meeting!
Once my inner child’s giggles get started, Ms. Pike cannot get them stopped. It doesn’t help that she has a dirty mind.
Anything that could have an innuendo attached to it is fair game for laughter. For example, my company uses an application called BlueJeans for conference calls.
I’m sorry, but when that gets abbreviated, my face turns red and I have to look down to cover my smile. I try — I really try — to contain my immaturity. But it’s a BJ app. It’s funny. And I can’t help it.
When my husband tells me he’s going to mount a television or screw a board, I can’t stop Jenny’s peals of laughter!
And don’t get me started on Disney toys. It’s very difficult to be stern with your kids fighting over a toy when one of them says, “MOM! She took my Woody!” Ms. Pike, of course, is very disappointed in their behavior. Jenny, on the other hand, is laughing too hard to dole out any discipline.
It’s all Jenny’s fault. She’s the one who’s immature. Not me!
I hate it when Jenny puts my makeup on for me . There are days when I’m getting ready for work and haven’t had coffee yet. That’s when Jenny takes over.
She doesn’t do eyeliner very well.
When Jenny does the eyeliner, it ends up looking like the readout from an EKG.
One eyebrow is generally drawn on like Spock from Star Trek. I look confused all day.
Confused people do not get promotions.
The worst trait is that my inner child is a pyromaniac. She enjoys playing with matches in my body.
Jenny lights a match and puts it somewhere in my head. All of a sudden, I turn bright red and start sweating. I look like a cartoon character who swallowed a mouthful of hot sauce.
I no longer want to get in touch with my inner child. I’d like to pretend I don’t even know her.
How can I expect to have friendships or get ahead in a career with Jenny taking over my life?
The psychologists making money off of inner children can go to hell.
Jenny said that. She really is a female donkey.