This essay was originally published in my newsletter.

I was a month late when I made my way into the world from my mother’s womb. I was so hesitant about arriving I came feet first and I have this notion that I was holding on to her uterus because I wasn’t ready for this biggest of life transition. Moving from the warmth and safety of my mother to life on the outside.

I was safely delivered—although a baby arriving feet first, a footling—was pretty scary back then. No ultrasounds for a heads up that I was upside down.

This feels like a great metaphor for how hard transitions have been for me throughout my life. I’ve never been good at transitions. And I still struggle with them.

• Going back to work after a break.

• My first sleep in a new bed when I travel.

• The transition from wakefulness to sleeping.

• Moving to a new home.

• Sunday nights into Monday mornings.

They’re all hard for me. But recently a friend suggested that we deal with transitions the same way we came into the world for the first time. And that shed a whole new light on my struggle!

When I imagine my younger self, my infant self, wanting to stay where she was—in the warmth, comfort, and safety of her mother’s womb—it helps me find compassion for my parts today that want to avoid moving from the safety of knowing what is to the discomfort of the unknown.

What might change if you could see the parts of you that frustrate, shame, or embarrass you, as your inner child or infant? And if you knew that they were responding to stress from their childhood experiences, how would that change your relationship with those parts.

Could you feel compassion and care, or maybe just a little more understanding for yourself in those moments?

Could you offer that child the words, gestures, and love you needed then?

When I meet my inner infant who wasn’t ready to enter the world with my love and kindness, it helps me move through most transitions with more ease. And although the transitions might still be hard, I’m not carrying the additional burden of shame. I can want to stay where I am and move forward.