Much of our history, our feelings, and our reactions—though certainly not all—stems from the three-year-old each of us once was. We should cherish that child and let them reveal their secrets to us.
Have you ever noticed that we have no memories of our earliest years? I’d happily skip the ones involving crying and tummy aches, but when I think of all the things I learnt to do, the laughter, and the sense of wonder I must have felt at those new discoveries, I’d say I’d really like to. Perhaps also to defend myself against certain stories told by grandparents and aunts in which I’m the main character, but about which I can’t say a thing.
They’re the first 1,000 days of life, the most important ones – so they say – and we don’t remember a single one. But that’s not true: those memories are there, and they constantly resurface, without us even realising it. Oh yes, folks! We tend to think that the memories that matter are the ones we can recount: the episodes, the adventures, the first times, the faces and names of those we met. It’s true that they’re important, because those experiences helped shape us into who we are; the years at that school, with those teachers, the summers spent with our aunt and uncle or the afternoons after school at Grandma’s house, our first crush, the adventures shared with trusted friends or even the thoughts we had… these are all things that have shaped us, there’s no doubt about it. The illusion is that we know 100 per cent of everything that has shaped us. But what about those first three years, of which we remember nothing? When we were as malleable as fresh clay straight out of the packet – did nothing happen, or even if it did, does it not count because we have no memory of it? In those three years, that clay dried out more than you can imagine!
There are things that get stored in a part of the memory that isn’t easy to access. Remember the time when, at the age of two, you were scared because you went under the water at the seaside, yet the fear of going where you can’t touch the bottom has stayed with you. Just as you may not remember that your mum always wore that perfume, but now, when you smell it, something stirs inside you. But other things are also stored in that memory: for example, what happens around me when something goes wrong? Do people react calmly or with agitation? Do we remain calm and composed, or do we feel confused and angry? I’m not saying that if, as a child, you fell into a swimming pool or if people raised their voices at home, you’re now necessarily afraid of water and aggressive. Far from it! However, each of these situations is intertwined with a thousand others, and what gets stored in the memory is unpredictable. But it happens.
I’m telling you these things because I often see you facing unpleasant situations without understanding why: not having friends, struggling at school, being short-tempered, feeling drawn to people who will hurt you – these are things that seem beyond your control and that you hate, and which either depress you or which you simply accept, with all the problems that come with them, hiding behind the excuse ‘that’s just the way I am’. When I hear you say that, in that ‘that’s just the way I am’, I also see all the beautiful things that have no reason behind them, such as certain smiles or infectious laughter, walking peacefully along mountain ridges, or knowing how to be true friends in the most difficult situations. No one taught you this, but it’s part of who you are. Much of it—though not all— comes from that three-year-old child we all once were, and whom we should start to love, rather than rejecting them because they represent the exact opposite of the woman or man we feel we are. We should love that child, try to get to know them, let them tell us their secrets, thank them for the beautiful things they’ve passed on to us, reassure them about the fears they still have, or ask them to let go of those who’ve hurt them.
All it would take is to look in the mirror, look past the freshly applied mascara or a pesky spot, face ourselves and say: ‘Hello!’