Oddthentic Reflection: The Lanternling

🕯️ The Lanternling

There was a voice inside me once. Not the one that doubted. Not the one that criticized or tried to shrink me down to size. But the one that stayed.

The one that whispered, “Keep going. Keep moving. Keep being you.” From my earliest memory, it was there— a quiet presence, a knowing companion.

Over time, though— through social performance, survival masks, and the reshaping weight of trauma—
I forgot it.
I forgot me.

I call that voice the Lanternling now. Not a fantasy. Not a symbol. But something real I once carried, and now carry again.

It returned— or maybe, I finally stood still enough for it to catch up— on an ordinary day made holy.

I was living in my brother’s basement after a wave of CPTSD had broken me open. My son wanted to play outside. So I moved the car to clear the driveway while he got his scooter.

And then it happened.

From a block away, with the windows rolled up, I heard him scream—
“WAIT!”

That scream cracked something in me. I didn’t know why at first. But I parked the car. I got out. And I ran to him.

He was crying. He thought I had left. That I had forgotten him. He believed, even just for a moment, that I had abandoned him.

So I got down on the ground— to his level, to his fear, to his truth. And I held him.

I told him I would never forget him. Not physically. Not emotionally. Not in any form my love could take.

And something deeper than memory stirred. Because in that moment, I wasn’t just speaking to him.
I was speaking to the part of me that had screamed “wait” from the backseat of my own story.

The Lanternling. The inner voice I thought I had lost. But it had been there the whole time. Waiting. Patient. Refusing to vanish, even as I forgot how to listen.

That scream woke me. Not just as an Father, or a human. But as someone who had wandered far from themselves and finally found the path back.

I remembered me.

And maybe that’s the truth we don’t say often enough: Sometimes remembering ourselves is less about finding… and more about being still enough to be found. And in return, I have given him a voice… Follow to find out how.

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🌌 Closing Invitation:

If you’re reading this and your own Lanternling feels far away, I want you to know: It hasn’t left you.
It may be quiet, but it’s still there—holding the light, waiting for you to look its way.

Sometimes, it just takes one scream of “wait” to remember. Not as a warning. But as a welcome home.

You’re not too late.
You’re just on time.
And the light still knows your name.