The Words We Inherit: On Self-Talk, Shame, and Reparenting the Inner Child

There are moments when we surprise ourselves.

A compliment lands — kind, sincere — and we brush it off with a dismissive laugh:

“Oh no, it’s just an old dress I found at a thrift store.”

We spill something on the kitchen floor, and suddenly harsh words rise from somewhere deep, old, familiar:

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.”

That sting, that tightness in the chest, the quick anger — not at the world, but at ourselves.

Even as we do the work — even as we strive to be conscious, gentle, loving parents to our children — we sometimes forget to extend that same compassion inward.

We may never curse at a child for dropping a glass. Instead, we model calm:

“It’s okay, let’s clean it up together. What would you do differently next time?”

And yet, when we break something, we curse. We grimace. We punish ourselves.

Why do we treat ourselves in ways we would never treat a child?

The truth is, many of us inherited our self-talk.

We echo the voices of our parents, caregivers, teachers — not only in the stories we consciously remember, but in the subtle, quiet commentary running through our minds every day.

Even when we reject the obvious patterns, even when we’ve done so much work to break the cycles, these traces linger.

And they show up in the most intimate place of all: how we talk to ourselves.

I’ve come to see this as one of the last frontiers of reparenting.

In my own healing — as a physician, as a mother, as a psychodermatologist working with patients whose skin tells its own emotional story — I’ve noticed that no matter how much I offer love and gentleness to others, there are still times I meet myself with blame. With shame. With impatience.

And here’s what I realized, during a deep meditation one day, trying to connect with my inner child:

He wouldn’t come.

He stayed hidden. Silent. Watching.

And I understood: he still didn’t trust me.

Not because I hadn’t tried. Not because I hadn’t shown up. But because even in all my efforts, I still shamed him in small ways. I still used harsh words. I still rejected the parts of him that were messy, loud, imperfect.

How could he feel safe?

This isn’t a call to blame ourselves for not healing fast enough. This isn’t about perfection.

This is about awareness.

Mindfulness — and, more recently for me, ACT therapy and shadow work — has offered a way to see the space between stimulus and response.

To catch the moment when the old phrase wants to slip out — “I’m such a mess” — and gently pause.

To breathe.

To choose a different word. Or no word at all.

Because these inherited phrases are not just thoughts.

They’re spells we cast on ourselves, again and again.

And the good news? We can learn new incantations.

We can speak to ourselves the way we do to the children we love. The way we wish we had been spoken to.

Kindly. Softly. Firmly, when needed, but never cruelly.

So the next time a compliment comes, try this: receive it fully. Say thank you. Let it land.

And the next time you spill something, try this too: place your hand on your heart. Say, “It’s okay, love. Let’s clean this up.”

It’s not about pretending the mess didn’t happen. It’s about tending to it with presence.

Because when we change how we speak to ourselves, we do something radical.

We let the inner child know: I am here. And I’m learning to love you out loud.