You know that feeling?
When you're not doing anything wrong.
But your body acts guilty anyway.
Like you're about to get in trouble.
For breathing too loud.
Like the room is normal.
But your chest is already in defense mode.
That's not adulthood.
That's an old alarm.
That's the kid in you.
Still living like consequences are hunting them.
Backpack half zipped.
Paper crumpled.
Pencil borrowed.
Stomach hollow.
Trying to look normal.
While scanning for exits.
Already tired.
And the day hasn't even started.
This is bad kid dharma.
I teach for the ones who got labeled early.
And never really got unlabeled.
Not because you were bad.
But because you adapted.
Because you learned fast.
How to survive rooms.
That weren't built for you.
Some of us learned early.
How to read tone.
How to watch hands.
How to stay small or stay sharp.
Some of us learned.
That asking for help is not the answer.
Asking for help.
Made things worse.
So we stopped asking.
That wasn't rebellion.
That was intelligence.
That wasn't defiance.
That was protection.
Like a kid.
They didn't disappear.
They just grew up.
And learned how to function.
They learned how to wear a face.
How to explain themselves too much.
How to carry everything alone.
They learned how to be strong.
In ways nobody ever thanked them for.
Maybe now.
The one who doesn't need much.
But underneath that.
There's still that old tension.
That feeling.
That if you mess up.
Everything falls apart.
That's the bad kid.
Still standing guard.
Still holding the door.
Still watching the room.
Still ready to take the hit.
And here's the Dharma.
You don't need that armor the same way anymore.
It kept you alive.
And you can honor that.
But you're not in that hallway anymore.
You're not waiting outside the office.
You're not being watched for mistakes.
You're here.
Now.
Breathing.
With choice.
With ground under your feet.
And that kid inside you.
They don't need discipline.
They need recognition.
They need to hear.
I see why you did that.
Thank you for keeping me alive.
Stay with that.
The bad kid doesn't need to disappear.
They need a place at the table.
Not as a problem.
Not as a warning sign.
Not as a ghost.
You keep locked in the basement.
As family.
They weren't evil.
So don't come back to that kid with judgment.
Come back with protection and compassion.
If you've been at war with yourself.
Consider this the ceasefire.
You're here.
Not because the past didn't happen.
But because you're here now.
I'm not leaving you anymore.
Three slow breaths.
Let the body catch up.
Stillness is rebellion.
Compassion is a weapon.
