Who Were You Before You Were Edited?

“Remember what brought you joy before you learned to question it. There are pieces of who you truly are reflected in those memories—not because you are meant to return to who you were, but because you are being invited to remember what has always been true for you.”     —The Akashic Records

There is a part of you that remembers who you were before the world had so many opinions about who you should be.

As children, we often moved toward what delighted us without needing to understand why.

We were drawn to certain places, experiences, people, animals, ideas, stories, colors, sounds, and possibilities simply because something within us responded. We did not need to justify the joy. We did not ask whether it was productive or practical, whether we were good at it, or whether it might someday become something useful. We simply knew, I love this.

Then the world began to teach us.

We learned what was considered important and what was not. We learned what was practical, appropriate, responsible, valuable, successful, and realistic. We learned what other people believed we were good at and what they thought we should do with those abilities. We learned the expectations of our families, schools, communities, workplaces, cultures, and relationships.

The Akashic Records have often described these acquired beliefs and expectations as blankets that are placed over us throughout our lives. Some are placed there with love. Some are meant to protect us. Some help us live and function in the world. Others were never ours to begin with.

Over time, however, there can be so many blankets that we forget what is underneath them.

Yet the Records would remind us that what is underneath has never disappeared.

The essence of who you are did not cease to exist when you grew up. The things that once brought you uncomplicated joy may still hold clues to that essence—not because you are meant to recreate your childhood, but because the child you once were may remember something the adult you became learned to overlook.

What lit you up before you needed a reason for it?

What could capture your attention so completely that you lost track of time?

What did you love before someone told you whether it was important?

What fascinated you before you began asking whether it was useful?

These questions are not asking you to return to the past. They are invitations to notice what has remained true throughout your life.

Perhaps you loved being outside simply because you felt fully alive there. Perhaps you disappeared into stories of adventure because freedom and possibility stirred something within you. Perhaps animals, music, creating things, taking things apart, pretending, exploring, dancing, making people laugh, or simply lying in the grass and watching the clouds gave you joy.

There does not have to be a larger explanation.

That may be part of what your younger self remembers that you have forgotten: joy does not have to earn its place in your life.

As adults, we become very good at asking what something will accomplish.

What will come from it?

Is it worth the time?

Does it contribute to a goal?

Can it become something?

Even the things we love can become projects to improve, talents to develop, or opportunities to use. But what if everything you love does not need to become something else?

What if some things are simply here to remind you what it feels like to be you?

Connecting with your younger self can help you recognize those places. Not because the child knew everything and the adult somehow lost the way, but because there was once less noise between what you felt and your willingness to respond to it.

The Records would not ask you to reject everything the world has taught you. Many of those blankets have served you well. They have helped shape the person you are today.

They would simply invite you to become curious about which ones you are still carrying.

Is this belief true for me, or was it handed to me?

Is this something I genuinely value, or something I learned I was supposed to value?

Do I still want this, or have I simply never questioned wanting it?

And underneath all of those questions may be an even simpler one:

What brings me joy simply because it does?

Perhaps reconnecting with the child you once were is not really about going backward at all.

Perhaps it is another way of coming home to yourself.

Not to the person you were before you grew and learned and changed, but to the part of you that existed before all the editing began—and that, beneath all those blankets, has been there all along.

Affirmation

I remember what brings me joy and trust what has always been true for me.

Journaling Prompts

1. What lit me up as a child before I worried about whether it was useful, productive, or important?

2. What could I become completely absorbed in simply because I loved it?

3. What beliefs or expectations have I picked up along the way that may have covered up something that once brought me joy?

4. When was the last time I did something simply because it felt good—and what did I notice about myself when I did?

5. What is one piece of my younger self I would like to invite back into my life now—not because it needs to accomplish anything, but simply because it feels like me?

From My Journey

I want to thank my friend Georgie Fox and her New Moon Circle for prompting me to spend some time with these questions. I so enjoyed remembering what brought me joy as a child and what worlds I could completely lose myself in.

For me, it was being outside—the breeze, the sunshine, flowers, animals, and especially horses. And I remembered how completely enthralled I was by My Side of the Mountain, a book about a boy who went off to live on his own in the wilderness. I wasn't ready to move into a hollowed-out tree myself, but something about the freedom, independence, nature, and adventure captured me.

What struck me was how much of what delighted that little girl is still part of me today.

There was something incredibly nourishing about simply remembering—not analyzing it, not figuring out what I was supposed to do with it, but simply remembering how it felt to experience that kind of uncomplicated joy.

It made my soul smile.

Wishing you a week of deep connection and gratitude.