I'm a Yoga Dragon: Little Lauren Becomes Little Again
Welcome to Little Lauren's Magical Healing Journey
These are the stories of my psychedelic journeys to heal childhood trauma.
Here, you'll meet my smallest parts — the pieces of me that have carried long-lost feelings and unspoken pain for decades. Little Lauren, the little girl inside me, has finally found her voice. She talks to me now, and through her, I discover what I really felt all those years ago.
With each journey, I come to understand myself more deeply. I learn to hold Little Lauren with empathy, to embrace her, to protect her — and in doing so, I heal.
Welcome home, Little Lauren. I’m so glad you are a Yoga Dragon.
Trigger warning: my content provides a raw, vulnerable point of view on childhood sexual abuse, trauma, and alcohol abuse. The content might not be suitable for everyone; please listen to your body’s message to either hear more or wait until later
Today’s journey is for Little Lauren: I want her not to carry the responsibility anymore. She’s always worried, reminding me of what my mother and father said and trying to control my decisions. As I start a business (uncertainty), decenter men (scary for her), and move forward in this new, unknown direction, she’s anxious.
But it’s not her anxiety to hold: she’s a little girl, and I want her to play. How can I remove the responsibility from her so I can make decisions and she can trust me?
I see her, snotty face from crying, and she turns away, embarrassed by her tears and snot. Daddy told her to never be gross. She must always look cute, sexy, sweet, and happy. Not gross. No crying, farting, making a mess, or being gross. So she hides her tears and ugly face.
“You focus on looking good, and the men will take care of the rest,” her Daddy told her. She loved her Daddy and wanted to be a good girl.
“I love your snotty face,” I tell her, “it’s real. I love real.”
She climbs into my lap. “Really?” she says.
“Absolutely. Being real is always better.”
The journey is beginning. “Let’s go, Little Lauren, and remember – you are here to take back your playtime. You are not making the big decisions. You are a little girl. You should be allowed to play.”
She considers this and then tells me, “I’ll do my best.”
That’s all I could ever ask for.
~~~
My son, who died, Jacob, appears, with his brother Liam! How could Liam be here? I think, then realize: it’s his higher self. Here’s the higher self of Liam, laughing and joking with Jacob. Their brown curly-haired heads laugh together. They look so happy.
“See, Mama,” Jacob says, “I am still with him, even if he doesn’t realize it. Thanks for telling him not to forget about me.”
Let’s watch them play, I tell Little Lauren, and we watch as they laugh and joke.
“See, Little Lauren,” I say, “You can play, like that.”
~~~
A huge maypole appears, the tall white pole large and looming above me with a million ribbons attached to the top and flowing down. They are all different pastel colors, and I imagine how beautiful they all are meeting at the top, overlapping. Down here, the ribbons sway in the breeze, making a beautiful rainbow.
“Do you remember Maypole Day yet?” Little Lauren asks me. She’s been showing me this Maypole for months now.
And I do remember: I was 6 years old, and our school was going to have “Maypole Day” – a celebration in the Spring. They taught us how to hold the end of the ribbon and walk in a circle, turning to the left and right of each person we pass. At the end, I looked up at the beautiful ribbons all twisted together. I wanted the lavender ribbon on Maypole Day.
“We were so excited!” I say to her.
Yes, can you feel it in your body, that excitement for the Maypole?
I search in my physical body, listening closely. Where does that excitement live?
“Did we get the lavender ribbon that day?” I ask Little Lauren.
“No, we got mint green. Which was so cool! Lucy got the lavender. I was happy for her.”
I remember the mint green in my little hands, holding it nervously before we started. I wanted to get it right. I didn’t want to mess up or be gross.
And suddenly I feel the lavender ribbon running through me.
We loved Maypole Day.
~~~
Suddenly, we are in my childhood bedroom. Little Lauren is staring at the Raggedy Ann and Andy coat hooks that live next to her bed.
We used to talk to Raggedy Ann and Andy every night, until Daddy came and started to do things and told me, “Be a good girl. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t tell what we do together in private.”
What about Raggedy Ann and Andy? They were right here, watching! They saw it all. Worried I’d get in trouble for their seeing, I covered their eyes with masking tape. A small square over each eye. I missed talking to them, but I couldn’t risk going against what Daddy said. I was afraid.
But today the sun is streaming in, and Little Lauren is using her fingernail to scrape the tape off their eyes.
The eyes appear, brilliant and magical, and Raggedy Ann and Andy come to life, dancing in a circle with Little Lauren.
Suddenly, she stops. Is Andy safe? She stops and looks at him, in his overalls, trying to assess if he is going to hurt her.
“I think he’s a safe boy,” I tell her, but she’s not listening. She has to decide for herself.
I see Andy hang his head, and it reminds us of my cousin Adam. Safe, but very sad.
Little Lauren nods, yeah, he doesn’t want to hurt me. He wants to help me.
She takes Andy’s hand, and his smile lights up. They join with Raggedy Ann in her lace skirt and continue dancing in a circle, as if there is a maypole in that childhood room. Raggedy Ann and Andy can see her again. She took the tape off their eyes.
~~
I see a staircase that looks like it’s made of glass. The first step is so high, I’m not sure I can reach it, even if I use my arms and pull myself up. Am I supposed to climb this staircase?
~~
When I was a baby, there was a family story my parents told about the day they found me at the top of my dresser, covered in baby powder. “How did she get there?!” they exclaimed, explaining that the dresser was six feet away from the crib. Both my parents had seen for themselves when they opened the door, and there I sat, 11 months old, on top of the tall dresser.
I remember now, being in the crib, and the sunlight was pouring in. I was dirty and crying; I needed to be changed. I cried and cried, but no one came. I was so sad, but getting used to this happening again and again. Hungry, wet, and sad, I lay there and cried in frustration. I could see the dresser where my mom kept the wipes and baby powder. I wish I could just do it myself, I thought.
And then something lifts me, gently, from behind like a mama cat would grab her baby, by the soft part of the neck. It gently lifts me up and out of the crib and places me on the dresser across the room.
A golden light shines above me, and all I can see is this golden glow. I sit happily on the top of the dresser and take my diaper off, covering myself in baby powder. It felt and smelled so good.
~~
Suddenly, the amber yellow light grows big, and I look up: Mary Magdalene is there, shining down on me. Her beauty is so big, I’m in awe. I cannot speak. Her light covers us, Little Lauren and me, and the step appears again, on the staircase. It’s so high, I’m not sure I can reach the first step.
Mary lifts me gently from my neck, just like that day when I was a baby, and lifts me to the step. Suddenly, I’m standing there, on this solid platform I could barely reach. I’m covered in Mary’s light. Suddenly, I know, this is the only step for today. It feels good and solid here, on this step. A solid platform. So solid.
“Mother Mary, was it you who lifted me to the dresser that day?”
“Of course it was, my child.” She says to me, “I am always here.”
“You asked for help, and I answered. All you need to do is ask.”
“You are always here?” Little Lauren is peaking out from behind me.
“Always.” She says.
~~
My mom was not always there. I remember her bedroom in that house, with the mirrored closet. She’d lay me on the bed while she was getting ready, but for some reason, once she placed me there, she ignored me.
It was as if I was completely forgotten, while she was right there in her bedroom, getting ready near the closet. I’d stare into the mirror at her, willing her to look at me and smile. But it didn’t come, as hard as I tried. She couldn’t see me. Little Lauren starts to cry. Why can’t she see me?
Mother Mary comes to comfort me. “It’s time,” she says.
I’m not sure what she means, but when we see the Maypole again, we are calm. The maypole is so good.
Mother Mary takes some of the ribbons – the lavender and the green, our favorites, and weaves them into my spine, in a circular motion from my root to my crown. The lavender and green ribbons weave into each other and out, all the way up me.
Then she reaches inside, looking for something. I feel things moving around, deep in my body cavity. What is she doing? We wonder but trust her. This is Mother Mary.
She’s removing something from me, and it’s jagged, a long, sliverly piece of glass with jagged edges. It’s so long and thin and delicate – fragile. She wants to get it out without breaking it. I feel as she pulls it out, this piece of mirror.
A piece of mirror facing the wrong way, she explains. This was your mother’s feelings, not yours. She put them inside you, hoping you could help her. She gave you all her complicated feelings, all the while not looking at you.
Is this narcissism? I ask, but she doesn’t answer.
My mom’s feelings. “No one is going to want you after what he did to you.” She said to me.
Those were her feelings – not mine.
Her mother told her this after what her Daddy did to her.
“It's just the way it is, Lauren,” she would tell me. “There’s nothing we can do. You have to accept it and love him anyway.”
Her feelings: not mine. I don’t feel that way. I’m not able to find love for this man who attacked me, hurt me, and disregarded me like a piece of property. Her feelings. Not mine.
The piece of glass is out of me now. Mother Mary shoots it off to the universe. Will it land back with my mom? I wonder. It doesn’t matter; it’s out of me now, and I’m free from my mother’s feelings. Only my feelings live in here, in my body. Only mine.
“Are you always here?” I ask Mother Mary.
“Always. You just can’t always feel me, but I’m here.”
Like, always? Like Mother Earth? Like, that solid?
I can feel the platform under me, so solid. Feel it, Mother Mary says – feel it. Always. I’m always here. Your faith is in me, and I live in you. You can take it back, this faith. You can trust it. Believe in it.
“I know, they tried to make your story about the man, didn’t they?” I say to Mother Mary.
“Yes”, Mother Mary says, “They did. Just like you. We are the same, our power ignored by human men.”
I remember my Dad’s face when he saw me on top of the dresser. “How did she do that?” he wondered. He was a little scared of me after that. But only just a little. It made him meaner to me, more controlling. He wanted to be in charge.
“Take your power back”, Mother Mary tells me. “Fill the space where I took the mirror out with your power.”
“Like a dragon?” Little Lauren asks.
“Yes! Exactly, like a Dragon.”
“OK,” Little Lauren says, “I am a Dragon!”
“Yes, you are.” Mother Mary continues, “You can be anything you truly believe. It’s time to believe. In you, not in anyone else.”
“I know it!” Little Lauren says, "Look at me, I am a dragon!”
I look at her, and she has a long green tail with spiny dragon bumps along it. She’s moving her tail around, flopping it on the ground like a cat.
“I can move my tail! I’m a dragon!”
I watch her as she dances like a dragon. “I can do yoga as a dragon!” she tells me.
“I bet you can,” I tell her, “apparently you can do anything.”
“I am a yoga dragon!” she exclaims, playing. Look at me!
She reaches back and does a fancy yoga pose, touching her dragon tail with her dragon arms.
“I can touch my tail!” she says. “Look at me!”
You can touch your tail and do dragon yoga. That’s exactly what I want you to do – play and be a dragon. No more worrying about adult things. I’m here now, I’ve got us.
She stops. “I can really do this, forever? Is it allowed?”
“It’s so allowed, little one. It’s time. It’s time to only have our feelings, not everyone else’s. Give the feelings of everyone else back. We don’t carry them anymore. They are not ours.”
I can be a Dragon. I am a Yoga Dragon.