Some artworks are not painted with the hand, but with the soul. My Inner Girl was one of them. It was born alongside my own rebirth, as part of my healing journey. In those illustrations, the protagonist was not just a character: she was my daughter Maia, and through her, the sleeping voice of my childhood found a body to play again.
It’s incredible how much children can teach us when we are open to their language. Since the birth of my first child, Dominique, something within me began to soften. Through his games I discovered a silent form of communication, a secret code written in laughter and color. And when Maia arrived, that door opened completely — we were three kids now, playing under the same sky.
I was amazed to watch myself change: the serious, contained woman I once was began to dissolve, and in her place appeared a mischievous, radiant little girl. But this time, she was not the wounded child of the past; she was a free, celebrated child, the owner of her own light.
That little one began to take her place. I learned to love her, to give her voice, to let her reign. Now I know there are moments when she leads the ship, and others when she steps back, allowing me to be the mother and guide. We coexist, one within the other.
In my illustrations I wanted to reflect that journey: from the darkness of fear to the tenderness of self-recognition. I gave her butterfly wings to remind her of her power to transform. I gifted her long black hair as a symbol of thought — sometimes tangled, sometimes flowing. I gave her the grace of a cat and the freedom to invent her own world.
And in that act, without realizing it, I began to heal. By telling her story, many others began to remember theirs. Because healing the inner child is not a destination — it is an art. An art painted with memory, love, and presence.
