Inner Child Trauma – Death

I remember…..the day I died.

My uncle and aunt called to visit, were they sent by God! Some Messengers/visitors call at the precise timing of tragedies to prove to the human race that miracles really do happen?

It was a warm sunny afternoon and I was playing in the back garden, I saw a frog, fell into the water and….well life was strange.

Then pandemonium ensued.
The doorbell rang and my parents greeted their extended family. They came through the kitchen where They observed through the window where I lay, face down and lifeless, my body shaped like a cross, in two feet of water.

At age three, I drowned. I was fascinated by a frog? Something I had an irrational fear of, throughout my life. My father ran out the back door and scooped me out of the pond, raced into the kitchen and began CPR. My mother was screaming in panic, she eventually fainted from shock. The clock stopped and time stood still. Tears of grief and despair began to fill the kitchen, where my family congregated and commiserated their grief and loss. My father, tired and beaten from continuous chest compressions, desperate to get life flowing back into the tiny child, that lay lifeless across his arms. Tears spilled over his eyelids and coursed their way down his cheeks. Droplets of powerful emotions through the water splashed on my face. He shed tears of defeat, the agony of loss consumed through his body, he pleaded with God for help as he held me in despair. Everybody stood silent. I watched from the side, from above my body, from the floor, in my short two feet stature, my consciousness expanded and I became everything and nothing simultaneously. My consciousness allowed me to move around instantly. As a child, I don’t think I really understood that it was me who my father was panicking and furiously compressing my chest  I don’t think I realised at the time that I was above my body, watching from above.

Shock…disbelief….pain…the room was tense.

Then…..a glimmer …..a ray of life…. among the tears of despair, my uncle whispered the first glimmer of hope, ‘she’s moving, she’s moving.’
I began spluttering and vomiting a stomach full of pond water.

I was back…. I was alive.

Traumatised!…Shaken!.. Alive?

The relief washed through the room and all those in the presence felt the overwhelming sense of pressure, release itself and expand into pure gratitude and joy. The blissful, agonising tears were transmuted into tears of joy. The miracle had consumed the room.

Everybody thanked God, silently, internally and verbally.

What was once a agonising bleed from a blow to the heart became a bittersweet blessing, the bleeding heart was transmuted into the greatest response of gratitude.  I was lucky, very lucky, to be alive. 

I was only three years old, yet this experience shaped and formed much of my life’s complexes, phobias, fear conditioning and neurosis. The only thing that isn’t clear, is where my hearing impairment began, was it from my difficult birth or from this death rebirth? Nonetheless –  The sounds of silence was my new playground.

I have three gorgeous, amazing sisters, but I still grew up feeling a believing I was an outsider, different, the black sheep of the family. Not because I wasn’t loved, but because I was totally different to my sisters. (They also teased me about it too!)  I had brown eyes, they all had blue. I have brown hair, they all have blonde. I was a very inquisitive child and was always questioning my obvious differences and wanting to know why. I grew up comparing myself, wondering why I was different. I felt different but couldn’t understand why? Then when I examined and analysed this inner wound. I realised that it had nothing to do with my hair or eyes or anything else….it was because this trauma, that I recorded to memory, it imprinted into me and taught me that somehow, I wasn’t good enough.  I wasn’t good enough to save…my father stopped CPR due to exhaustion..not because I wasn’t loved or wanted….I had to relive, and explore this trauma in depth, to reveal and release many of the neurosis and psychological programmes that held me back from realising my full potential. I am different, but still the same. Ultimately.


A complex phobia formed in my psyche from my childhood to create chaos, turmoil and destruction in my life when I became an adult. So many traumas were born out of this one event. It took lots of tears and courage, to overcome the panic and anxiety, to revisit, and analyse. It was a complex trauma that I needed to heal.

Ironically, I now remember all the traumatic events that occurred after this, having my MMR vaccination, having blood taken for a hospital stay, the hospital abandonment, the suffocation and forced pressure to hold me down, sexual assault, inner ear surgery….by the time I was eight years old, my fragile self had shut down, so many traumas lived so deeply within me, screaming to be set free.

My explorative child was slowly silenced, this tragic event, the beginning of a culmination of traumas accumulated during my childhood years. I struggled with having baths or my hair being washed. Swimming with school was absolute torture, stepping into the pool was truly terrifying and took me years to overcome. These irrational fears and phobias formed the blueprint of my psyche that guided me to respond with submissive and compliant reactions. I grew up afraid and now I understand why.

People honour and give credit to their mother. The woman who carries and births the new life. As a mother I do agree that there is no greater strength than that of the woman. However, without my father, I would not exist today. In more ways than procreation. Life is pumped through the heart, my father restarted mine. My father gave the gift of life, back to me. Therefore, I believe the honour and gratitude for my life and all that I am, is because of my father. The man whom I feared and admired in equal measure.

I love you dad. And thank you, for saving my life.

A couple of years later, during our bonding years, he taught me how to fish!

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