Who Knew My Inner Child Was A Boxer?
Ok, maybe that’s a stretch…
I have never had formal instruction in this martial art, nor have I really even experimented with it. I am well aware that my technique is questionable at best, so don’t come for me—unless you about to come with some lessons you gift me out of the kindness of your heart (yes please, and thank you).
What is absolutely solid and abundant is my curiosity, creativity, and determination (props to Ọṣun, my Taurus sun, Gemini moon, and all other things)!
And what is clear is how much engaging my inner child through companioning and playing with children is revitalizing and healing to past, present, and future versions of me.
While in Nigeria this past November through December, I became close with Fakayọde—the now 9 year old son of my Babalawo’s Babalawo, who we refer to as Oluwo, which in Yorùbá means a wise person or teacher. Fakayọde showed my some boxing gloves and pads he had received as gifts from my Baba. I asked him if he had been practicing, and the response he gave indicated that he had occasionally been doing so. After observing him and considering these tools, something was activated within me and I decided that I would help and encourage him in improving his skills while I was there.
Yup…I/the child [of] me came up with the brilliant idea of making him a punching bag.
Had I ever made one before? Nooo.
Did I let that stop me from doing so? Absolutely not!
Oh, I was on a mission (once again, props to the bull in me). I told Fakayọde to get some of his old clothes. He brought me a handful of items that didn’t seem so discarded to me.
“Mmmm…are you sure these are old clothes?” I asked, wanting to spare him (and avoid for me) the wrath of his mother.
“Yes they are,” he assured me matter-of-factly. He was so convincing, and to this day (more than a couple months later), I still don’t know if they were ok to use. But “Ok,” I thought. And we proceeded.
I told him we needed to find some sort of bag. After the words left my mouth, I immediately spotted an empty rice/grain sack not too far from where we were standing. Check! We filled the sack with the “old” clothes.
Our bag needed a bit of weight given that we didn’t have a lot of the possibly contraband clothing; so I decided to incorporate some rocks from the yard. We grabbed a few pieces and strategically placed them so that they were surrounded by cloth—I didn’t need my friend hurting himself by hitting rocks in case he decided to practice without gloves, which was very likely and in fact did happen. Again, I wasn’t gonna play with his mama’s rage.
The next order of business was to suspend the bag; and for that we needed rope, which I told him to go find. What he came back with was a little thin for my liking; but it was all we had. Then the idea to braid the strands came to mind—enter braider-of-sisters-hair-as-a-teen skills. I tasked him with holding one end of the strands I had grouped together while I spent the next several minutes braiding. Let me tell you… it took way longer than I thought it would, and I wouldn’t consider myself a slow braider. I really give myself a lot of props for this part: my patience plus the ability to not be swayed by his occasional complaints of boredom got us to the finish line, and voila! We now had a thick(er) rope with which to tie and suspend our bag.
Our final task was to find a suitable (and parent approved) place to hang our creation. Fakayọde’s first suggestion was the satellite dish railing along the side of the house. While this location was technically sturdy enough for a limited time-frame, the thought of its temporariness made me a little nervous. It was also a bit too close to the wall. Again, I didn’t need our great invention to break his hand or a part of the house.
We looked around the compound to see what other opportunities presented themselves. A tree? A pillar? Some other free standing object that was tall enough? My attention rested on the clothes lines that were held up by some metal poles. After considering them for a moment, I suggested the idea to Fakayọde and we checked the sturdiness of the poles. They were good! And unlike the satellite dish option, this location allowed for the punching bag to be suspended away from any other conventionally harmful obstructions. This idea was our best option and we went for it. We hung our finished product and made adjustments to ensure it was within good reach for him.
It was perfect! Fakayọde was delighted and determined as he tested out his new toy.
“Now you try,” he encouraged after he moved through his initiatory series of punches while I filmed on my iPhone.
“Uh….” I began, taken aback a bit. Somehow throughout the process, I didn’t even consider that this punching bag was as much for me as it was for Fakayode. His joy came from not just engaging in play with what we had created together; but also from witnessing me do so as well. He was well aware—in his 9-year wise self— that the creative and playful energy didn’t end with him. In fact, it was only natural that I enjoy the fruits of my labor given not only my participation in it, but also my role as the initiator of it. This experience was cultivated through a joint effort that we could both celebrate through our enjoyment.
And so I did try.
And I had a great time.
I even got over the perfectionist part of me that cared about how I looked enough to let him film me (only fair given I filmed him) and to share the footage! (Click here to view my post on Instagram)
Everything and anything can be utilized as an opportunity to heal…to remember ourselves…to recognize or get back to a place of wholeness.
During my recent appearance on The G Podcast, Reconnect with your inner child was one of the tips I gave for navigating 2023. (click here to listen to Episode 159: The G in 2023). I believe this practice and play is absolutely crucial in alchemizing and releasing so much of our individual and collective conditioning and trauma. Try it—whether it is you returning to activities you enjoyed as a child; experimenting with things you didn’t have/weren’t given the opportunity to in your youth; or working/playing with children in some capacity.
Our inner children have never left. They may have gone into hiding for various reasons.The adult versions of us get to show them that it’s safe to come out and play by being a reflection of that very fact.
We are them, they are us. There is no separation.
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Hello, my names are Onyi aka Oluwafunke aka Ọṣuntayo aka Ọbatolu, amongst others that don’t begin with O now and in the future.
Welcome to my blog, O’s Corner.
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PS…The “ayọ” in Fakayọde, means “joy” in Yorùbá. It is the same “ayọ” within my name Ọṣuntayọ, which is the Ọṣun name that was given to me during my Ọṣun and Ọbatala initiation in Nigeria a few years before. During my Ìfá divination just prior to last year’s trip, Ayọ was the main message that came through: Spirit was reminding me to ground in joy, and to do so in a new way than I had done before. While the fuller translations of our names reference different energies supporting us in joy, my and Fakayọde’s paths crossed the way they did to create intersections that crystallized this vital energy in ways I will forever hold in my heart.
© 2023 by ONYI LOVE ® LLC & Felicia Richards