Did we ever stop being a child?

I’m watching a drama currently. A lady's husband is missing, and in one quiet scene she’s curled up in bed, spooning ice cream straight from the tub — that familiar trope of heartbreak. But then her daughter climbs in beside her. She scoops her up, squeezes her close like a teddy bear, and in that moment I saw something so deeply human.

She’s a grown woman. A mother. Yet the way she held her child was the same way a six-year-old clings to a teddy for safety and comfort.

I know it, because I was that six-year-old.

I still am.

At thirty-nine, I still have that teddy bear.

On nights when life feels too heavy, I pull him in and squeeze him just like I did back then.

So when do we actually stop being children? Do we ever?

I don’t think so. I believe the child in us never disappears — she’s always there. Even when we’ve traced her back through old memories, taken her hand in the loneliest chapters, and whispered comfort into the places that once felt confusing, tough, or scary. She still shows up.

Maybe that’s the point. Our inner child doesn’t vanish when she’s “healed.” She becomes our lifelong companion — still teaching us to soften, still nudging us toward vulnerability, still reminding us to pause for the things that bring comfort.

An ice cream tub in bed.

A teddy bear cuddle.

A moment of understanding.

Because really, we’re walking through life together: the adult and the child, side by side, facing the same challenges with a little more wisdom each time.

Awakening gifts us a conscious mind, but she gifts us innocence, tenderness, and truth.

Perhaps the truth is this: we don’t ever stop being children. We just learn how to keep them safe, how to love them better, and how to listen when they ask to be held.