To the girl who felt everything...
Her portal is my portal.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and I’m back in my childhood bedroom. Who was I before the world taught me to question myself?
The pink walls surround me, full of mirrors, positive affirmations, and photos of Mario that I’d ripped out of the latest WordUp! Magazine. A purple accent wall, with R-Y-E-N painted in big pink letters. Glitter added inside the ‘E’ because, although I hated correcting people’s pronunciation of those two syllables, and how often they pointed out my ‘boy’ name or the different spelling, I found the courage early on to embrace it anyway.
The meaning of ‘Ryen’ via nameberry.com
Journals and diaries everywhere. Grabbing one to write out a moment from my day. Craving a safe space to land even then.
Deciding between Aaliyah’s I Care 4 U or Ashanti’s self-titled album for my CD player. Whichever one I chose, I’d skip to “Try Again” or “Always on Time,” then replay those over and over, singing my heart out.
On most days, my younger self was extremely sensitive, introverted, observant, and quiet. And on other days, depending on the safety created, she’d relax, she’d be chatty and loud, obsessed with hanging outside or talking on the house phone.
When I felt, I felt. My feelings were big, and I didn’t know what to do with them. Instead of preferring to be consoled by a hug, afraid the touch might force me to feel even more, I’d rather hear, “You’re doing such a great job,” instead.
Performing. Even. Then.
Ryen with her older cousins, Charde` and Markita ‘96
I was quiet for sure, but mostly curious. Always curious.
Whenever I had an inkling I wanted to try something, I would. My curiosity led me to my next mini adventure. Looking back on it, what a luxury that was. Cheerleading, ballet, pottery, modeling, practicing doing hair on those big doll heads. Finding the courage to sit outside Giant with my Brownie troop asking, “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?” Trying a new gimp pattern, playing the flute, or even sewing a blanket for my baby sister.
Ryen at a Ballet class ‘98
As the oldest, I absolutely loved being the leader or in charge. Playing pretend with Barbies or playing school. Either way, “Ryen, stop being so bossy,” was heard often.
My younger self always looked forward to being with my cousins for dinner at my grandmother’s house. We’d rewatch the same movies, recite the same jokes. Bursting in laughter as if we were experiencing it for the first time. As much as I enjoyed being in control, I always looked forward to that point during the evening, when my older cousin, Charde`, would teach us a short dance routine. Guiding us through each 8-count until we perfected her vision. I honestly think she created those dances on the spot. But we’d learn it, and then we’d perform in front of my mom and aunts. A level of confidence that seemed to warp from outside of me, energizing me in the best way.
Some weekends were for decompressing. My mom, brother, and I would have a date to Blockbuster for us to pick out a movie, then to grab takeout for dinner. Some movie nights were for the whole family. Some were for us to get a movie that only we cared about and watch on our own. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on Passport to Paris or Our Lips Are Sealed. Even if I’d seen it before, if I was watching alone, the comfort of knowing this movie was safe felt good to me.
Then some weekends were for connecting. My mom would finally say “yes” when I’d ask if one of my girlfriends or cousins could sleep over. I’d plan out our night with games and activities, excited to yap the night away.
Quiet first, then chatty.
Observant but silly.
Curious while anxious.
Craving adventure and scared of her shadow.
Fearful yet fearless.
I always feared something would happen to my family or me. The thought alone would immediately make me sob. Anytime I’d walk into a room where the local news was on, I would cry.
Ryen at Sesame Place, scared of… Ernie? ‘96
Before anyone taught me nervous system regulation, I knew this feeling, or at least my body did, before I had language. And so, I’d let my body feel it and just…cry.
I knew I needed something in the midst of those big feelings—my mother’s arms, a comfort toy, or going to watch Power Rangers with my brother.
Ryen and her brother, Jay ‘98
Even while fearful, so many big moments of my life stemmed from following my curiosity and being fearless. In 5th grade, I walked down the hall and saw a poster that said “How to thrive after your parents’ divorce? Counseling sessions after school.” I grabbed the flyer immediately, curious. I took it home to my mom that evening, asking if I could go. She met me with resistance at first. She’d reinforce that she and my dad divorced before I could remember and assured me I was “fine.”
But from the persistent worry and the way tension spiraled through my body, I knew I wasn’t. Even though my father was present during birthdays, holidays, and when needed, I still grieved him.
I begged to go to that counseling class. There was something deep inside of me that felt that my parents’ divorce was a huge part of my story. I trusted myself. I wasn’t crazy. I was ready to feel out loud, even though the people around me tried their best to skip past it.
After one counseling session, though the seed was planted, I never went back. Perhaps I wasn’t ready to feel like I thought I was.
Years passed, but the same girl who acted on her instincts and yearned for safety never left.
In March 2020, I had the same urge, the same curiosity. I knew what I was feeling needed to be released, or at least explored, so I walked into my therapist’s office on a sunny Thursday afternoon with nothing but a strong pull and my comfort water bottle.
I sat on the sofa and cried. I didn’t know what exactly was released at that moment. The facade that I was okay. The perfectionism that followed me my whole life. The fear of wanting to be seen but not knowing what I was hiding from.
I needed that seat in her office. That space. After an hour of trying to make words through my sobbing, I headed out, the sun shining on my face as I walked to my car. That was hard, but I knew the hardest part was over. I was curious what would happen if I kept coming back. This would be the first and last in-person meeting before the world shut down and we switched to virtual sessions.
And to this day, I’ve had bi-weekly appointments ever since.
I’d always been this way. Curious about the outer world as well as my own inner one, while simultaneously being someone who needed to feel safe first. Willing to walk toward the hard thing because something in me knew it mattered. Deeply.
So, I take another deep breath, gently placing my hand over my heart, allowing the memories of my childhood to comfort me. The deep breath is doing exactly what it’s supposed to do. Reminding me I’m present. Reminding me I’m safe in my body.
I may not have all the answers the way I thought I would, but I know what I needed.
I needed to feel safe.
I needed to feel seen.
I needed space to feel, to explore, to be curious.
Ryen and her comfort toy :)
What can I do today that allows me to live for her?
To honor the girl who felt everything.
Who followed her curiosity even when she didn’t understand it.
Who trusted her instincts before the world taught her to question them.
I’ve always been curious, and I’ve always needed safety, but I was always looking for safety outside of myself. I send my younger self a big hug, and I give her exactly what she needs, exactly what I need.
For me to see her.
For me to see me.
To know me, to love me.
May I always be reminded that I don’t have to search for safety outside myself.
Her portal is my portal.
And remembering her is the only way back to me.
Princess Ry ‘99
If this resonated, Creating Your Chapter Harmony is a 12-month guided self-care workbook designed to help you remember who you are.