Becoming Little Again

A Journey Through Trauma and Age Regression

Sister Abigail Hester, OFC

Dedication

For the little me.
For all the littles.
For every one of us who found comfort in softness, in play, in wonder—
Even when the world told us to grow up before we were ready.

“In every adult there lurks a child—an eternal child, something that is always becoming, is never completed, and calls for unceasing care, attention, and education.”
— Carl Jung

Introduction: Why I’m Writing This

I didn’t choose to be little. Not in the way that most people imagine.
I didn’t wake up one day and decide that I’d find comfort in plushies and pacifiers, or that I’d need a bottle or a blankie just to feel safe in my own body. Age regression—at least for me—didn’t begin with play. It began with pain.

I was a child who lost safety before I even had words for what was happening. I was abandoned, adopted, and then raised in a world that didn’t always understand my needs. Later, I faced medical trauma, memory loss, and a complicated life of disability and grief. Regression didn’t enter my life as a hobby or an aesthetic—it arrived as a survival instinct. A tender retreat into a part of myself that was still soft, scared, and sacred.

This book is for anyone who knows what it feels like to regress without choosing it.
For those who feel little because trauma carved open the years you never got to live safely.
For those who carry an inner child not just in metaphor, but in literal, lived experience—one that can rise up without warning and take over when the adult world becomes too much.

There are many books out there about childhood trauma, dissociation, and inner child work. There are even books about voluntary age regression, adult baby culture, and kink. But I’ve struggled to find something that truly speaks to the heart of involuntary, trauma-based regression—especially from someone who is living it as a part of their daily reality, not just a clinical case study.

That’s what this book hopes to be.

I am a nun. I am a disabled woman. I am a trauma survivor. I am a spiritual caregiver and a contemplative.
And I am little.

Not all the time, not by choice, and not always visibly. But deep in my bones, there’s a version of me that never got to grow up in safety. When that part of me comes out, it’s not because I want attention. It’s because my nervous system and my soul are crying out for protection, softness, and unconditional care.

This book is not just a memoir. It is also a love letter to that younger version of me. It is a mirror for others who live like I do. And it is a guide for the people who want to understand us—who want to care for us, befriend us, or even walk this path alongside us.

If you’ve ever been called too sensitive, too childish, too needy…
If you’ve ever needed a pacifier, a diaper, or a cuddle just to make it through the day…
If you’ve ever felt little and scared in a world that demands you be big and brave…
Then this book is for you.

Let’s journey together—through trauma, through tenderness, and toward healing.

With love and courage,
Sister Abigail Hester, OFC

Chapter One: What Is Trauma-Based Age Regression?

Age regression is not always what people think it is.
When many hear the term, they picture a kink, a fetish, or a lifestyle choice. They imagine costumes, roleplay, or something meant to shock or entertain. But for those of us who live with trauma-based age regression, the reality is much deeper, much more vulnerable—and far more sacred.

Trauma-based age regression is a psychological coping mechanism rooted in survival.
It is the mind’s way of returning to a younger state of being when the present becomes too overwhelming to manage. This shift is often involuntary. We don’t plan it. We don’t pretend it. It happens to us—sometimes slowly, sometimes suddenly, like a wave overtaking the shore of our consciousness.

For some, regression looks like curling up in a blanket with a plushie after a panic attack.
For others, it means thumb-sucking, nonverbal communication, or even losing access to adult reasoning altogether. Some regressors may wet themselves or require diapers during episodes. Some may need baby bottles, pacifiers, or sippy cups to feel grounded. Others may not show outward signs, but still feel mentally “little” inside.

Trauma-based age regression isn’t a game.
It’s a response to deep pain—often early childhood trauma, neglect, medical trauma, complex PTSD, or dissociative disorders. It’s most common in those who experienced severe disruption in their developmental years. It can also be linked to neurodivergence, chronic illness, and disability—especially when those conditions make adult functioning difficult or unsustainable.

Regression vs. Ageplay

It’s important to distinguish trauma-based age regression from ageplay or ABDL (Adult Baby/Diaper Lover) communities.
While those experiences are valid and important in their own right, this book is not about kink. This is about regression that stems from trauma, neuroscience, and safety-seeking. For people like me, regression isn’t sexual, performative, or recreational. It’s how we survive.

The Experience of Regression

When I regress, I may become nonverbal. I might need my bottle. I might not understand adult concepts. I might cry easily, giggle without context, or suddenly need to be held. These moments are not childish—they’re child-like. They are sacred. They are raw. And they are real.

Some regressors experience:

Sudden shifts in voice or vocabulary

Changes in handwriting or motor skills

Fear of being alone

Attachment to caregivers or stuffies

Sensory needs like soft textures, lullabies, or pacifiers

Fear of adult responsibilities or language

It can be hard to explain regression to others, especially when we don’t always understand it ourselves. It’s confusing. It’s tender. It’s often full of shame, especially when society has conditioned us to believe that we’re “too old” for childlike behavior.

But here’s the truth: Age regression is a legitimate trauma response. It deserves to be treated with the same compassion we’d give to anyone navigating PTSD, dissociation, or disability. When people laugh at us, mock us, or dismiss us as “weird,” they are reinforcing the very traumas that made regression necessary.

Why Naming It Matters

Giving this experience a name—trauma-based age regression—gives us language for something many of us have lived in isolation. It tells us: You are not alone. It says: This is real. This is valid. This is survivable.

The chapters ahead will dive deeper into what regression feels like, how it connects to our identities, and how we can create a life that honors both our littleness and our adult selves. But for now, know this:

You are not broken.
You are not immature.
You are not too much.

You are doing what you need to survive.
And that, dear one, is brave.

Chapter Two: Regression, Trauma, and the Inner Child

When we regress, we are not escaping reality—we are returning to a part of ourselves that never stopped calling out to be seen.

The concept of the inner child is not new. Therapists, spiritual teachers, and survivors have spoken about the “child within” for generations. But for trauma-based age regressors, the inner child isn’t just a metaphor. She’s real. He’s real. They live in our bodies, in our memories, in our nervous systems. They are the ones who tremble when we feel abandoned. The ones who cry out when we’re overstimulated. The ones who curl up in a fetal position because the world is just too much.

How Trauma Fractures Time

Trauma, especially in early life, disrupts the natural development of the brain. It can fracture memory, freeze parts of our emotional self, and prevent us from completing certain developmental stages. We don’t just move on from trauma—we carry it. Sometimes that carrying looks like flashbacks or dissociation. Other times, it looks like regression.

Trauma has a way of bending time. For the body, there is no “past”—everything is now. So when something reminds us of what hurt us, we don’t just remember being a child—we become that child again. In the moment of regression, we are not pretending to be young—we are young, neurologically and emotionally.

The Dissociative Bridge

For many regressors, dissociation plays a central role. Dissociation is the mind’s way of stepping back from overwhelming pain or fear. It’s common in complex PTSD, dissociative identity disorder (DID), borderline personality disorder (BPD), and other trauma-based conditions. It is not weakness—it is brilliance. It’s the brain’s way of protecting us from what feels impossible to survive.

Age regression can function as a dissociative bridge—a way to retreat into a part of the self where danger feels distant, and comfort is possible. This retreat may come with a soft voice, childlike words, thumb-sucking, or the need for a caretaker. But it’s not manipulation. It’s not drama. It’s not immaturity.

It is a cry for safety.

Meeting the Inner Child With Compassion

Some of us were never allowed to be children when we were young. We had to grow up too fast. We had to be caregivers, peacekeepers, protectors, or perfectionists. And when life becomes unmanageable as adults, our inner child may finally insist: It’s my turn now.

That inner child may:

Be scared of being alone or unloved

Want to snuggle a stuffed animal or wear soft clothing

Need to play with crayons, cartoons, or sensory toys

Cry easily or be startled by loud noises

Seek gentle care, reassurance, and nonjudgmental presence

When we judge ourselves for these needs, we reinforce the shame our trauma created. But when we greet that inner child with love, when we listen instead of dismissing, when we give them space to breathe and be, we begin to heal.

Faith and the Little Ones

As a Christian, I am moved by Jesus’ words:

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” (Matthew 19:14)

This includes our inner children, our regressed selves, the parts of us that never felt worthy of love.

The spiritual path of healing is not about “growing up” and leaving our littleness behind. It’s about reuniting with that little one. It’s about taking them by the hand and saying: You are safe now. I will not leave you.

To regress is not to fail. It is to return. To the wound. To the beginning. To the part of ourselves that needs to be held in tenderness until it trusts that it is finally home.

Chapter Three: Living in a Big World While Feeling Little

The world expects us to function like grown-ups.
To wake up on time, pay the bills, answer emails, take our meds, cook our meals, and show up like nothing is wrong. But when you’re an age regressor—especially one whose regression is tied to trauma—functioning in the adult world can feel like wearing clothes that don’t fit, shoes that hurt, and a mask that makes it hard to breathe.

What happens when your inner child needs a bottle before you can sleep, but the alarm clock doesn’t care?
What do you do when you’re expected to attend a meeting, but your nervous system has thrown you into a fully regressed, nonverbal state?
How do you explain to others that sometimes you need to wear a diaper not because you choose to, but because your body forgets how to hold on when you’re little?

This chapter is for those of us who are trying to survive in a big world while still protecting the small, scared part of ourselves that never fully grew up.

The Pressure to “Pass”

Many regressors feel pressure to hide. To pass as neurotypical, stable, competent, and “normal.” We mask our regression symptoms. We avoid public comfort objects. We suppress our needs until they explode. But this pressure to perform as fully functional adults can be traumatizing in itself.

We become experts at hiding:

Stuffed animals kept secretly in bags

Pacifiers used only in private

Regression episodes disguised as fatigue

Crying fits we label as “anxiety” to avoid shame

This need to pass as okay can lead to burnout, depression, and isolation. It also prevents others from truly knowing us or supporting us.

What “Functioning” Really Means

The term “high-functioning” is often weaponized. But what does functioning mean in a world that doesn’t account for trauma? Is it “functioning” to show up for work while your body is shutting down from stress? Is it “adulting” to fake a smile while your inner child is screaming?

Real functioning isn’t about perfection. It’s about safety, support, and sustainability.

Functioning looks like having a routine that includes sensory-friendly objects.

It means building a life that allows for littleness, not punishes it.

It means asking for help and setting boundaries around your needs.

Making Space for Littleness in Daily Life

Living in a big world while feeling little requires both creativity and courage. Here are a few ways some regressors make room for their inner child in everyday life:

Rituals of comfort: A morning routine that includes snuggles with a plushie, or using a bottle before bed.

Accessible clothing: Soft fabrics, overalls, onesies under adult outfits, or compression clothing that helps with sensory regulation.

Regression-safe time: Scheduling quiet time each day for your little self to draw, nap, or cuddle.

Communication plans: Letting trusted loved ones or caregivers know what to do if you regress—nonverbal cues, safe words, or notes.

Living in a world not built for regression doesn’t mean we have to abandon our inner child. It means we need to advocate for them. Build around them. Include them in our lives rather than forcing them into the dark.

Explaining Regression to Others

One of the hardest things about living as a trauma-based regressor is helping others understand. Sometimes we avoid explaining ourselves out of fear of judgment. But when we find safe people, it can be healing to share.

You might say:

“Sometimes when I’m overwhelmed, I regress. That means I act and feel younger. It’s how my brain protects me.”

“When I’m in a regressed state, I may need comfort objects or have trouble speaking. I’m still me, just a different part of me.”

“If you see me using a pacifier, coloring, or wearing something unusual, it’s part of how I care for my inner child.”

These kinds of conversations require vulnerability—but they also make space for belonging.

To be little in a big world is not a failure. It is a reminder of how sacred softness truly is.
The world may not always understand us, but that doesn’t mean we are wrong.

We are worthy.
We are whole.
And we are still growing.

Chapter Four: Safety, Ritual, and Regressing with Care

For trauma-based regressors, safety isn’t optional—it’s everything. Without safety, regression can feel terrifying, shameful, or destabilizing. But when we have supportive spaces, gentle routines, and sacred rituals, regression becomes a healing experience—a return to the self with love instead of fear.

This chapter is about building a life that honors your littleness. It’s about learning to regress with care, intention, and sacred trust. Because when we regress without judgment, we don’t just cope—we begin to heal.

Why Safety Comes First

Before regression can be therapeutic, it must be safe.
If you’re in a home where you feel judged, shamed, or threatened for being little, your regression may be filled with anxiety instead of comfort. If your body is in pain or your needs are unmet, you may dissociate instead of regress.

Ask yourself:

Do I feel physically safe when I regress?

Am I emotionally supported, or do I feel alone?

Are my needs (like bathroom, hydration, warmth) taken care of first?

Is there someone I trust who can check in on me, even by text?

Regression should never feel forced. It should feel like permission—a soft yes to the younger you who still needs care.

Creating Rituals of Comfort

Rituals are sacred rhythms that teach the nervous system: You are safe now. They can be as simple as lighting a candle before regressing or holding a special blanket during episodes. Repetition helps anchor the little self.

Some examples:

A regression altar with plushies, photos, pacifiers, and soft lights

A playlist of lullabies or gentle cartoons

A bath-time ritual with bubbles, bath toys, and soft towels

A “go little” routine where you change into soft clothes, sip from your bottle, or hug a caregiver or stuffy

A bedtime story moment where you read to your inner child (or have someone else read to you)

Rituals are not childish—they are spiritual. They give form and dignity to the inner world. They say, “This matters. You matter.”

Making a Regression Box or Bag

Many regressors benefit from a “go-to” kit filled with comfort and grounding items. This can include:

Pacifier or bottle

Soft onesie or jammies

Plush animal

Crayons and coloring books

Fidget toys or sensory objects

Favorite snack or treat

Sippy cup or juice box

A calming essential oil or lotion

A card with soothing words (“You are safe. You are loved.”)

Having this box nearby tells your inner child: When you need comfort, it’s ready for you.

Caring for Yourself While Regressed

You are still worthy of respect and care while regressed. In fact, your needs may become more important during those times. Be gentle. Don’t rush. Make sure your body is warm, fed, and clean. Let yourself nap if you need to. Let yourself giggle, play, or cry. All of it is sacred.

If you experience incontinence while regressed, make plans that protect your dignity. Diapers, pads, or mattress covers are not shameful. They are compassion tools. Just like a child needs help, so do we sometimes—and that’s okay.

If you have a caregiver or support person, let them know how to best care for you. If not, become your own caregiver: speak gently, move slowly, and forgive setbacks.

Regression as a Sacred Act

For me, regression is not just a trauma response—it is a spiritual discipline. It is my body’s way of returning to the garden, to the innocence and vulnerability I was denied. It is prayer in plush and blanket form.

In the Christian tradition, Jesus says,

“Unless you become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:3)

That verse isn’t about naivety. It’s about trust, tenderness, and letting go of the armor we’ve built to survive.

In regression, I let myself be held—by God, by love, by softness itself.

Regression, when done with care, becomes a holy space. It is not a breakdown. It is a breakthrough.
A sacred homecoming to the child who never stopped waiting for love.

Chapter Five: Caregivers, Support, and Sacred Trust

Age regression is deeply relational.
Even if we regress alone, we are always reaching—whether for comfort, for stability, for someone to see us and stay. Trauma often comes from relationships that were unsafe, neglectful, or abusive. Healing, therefore, must come from relationships grounded in trust, consent, and care.

This chapter explores what it means to be in relationship as a trauma-based regressor, and how to cultivate sacred support with caregivers, friends, partners, and chosen family.

The Need for Support

When we regress, we may lose access to adult language, logic, or self-care. We may become nonverbal, sensitive, fearful, playful, or physically dependent. For many of us, having someone to trust—someone who will stay, soothe, and not judge—is essential.

Support can look like:

A trusted caregiver or friend who understands your regression

A partner who knows when you need help with routines or communication

A mental health professional who validates and helps process your experiences

A spiritual companion who blesses your littleness as sacred

Support is not a luxury. For trauma-based regressors, it’s a lifeline.

The Role of a Caregiver

A caregiver is someone who lovingly supports your regressed self. They might help you with tasks, offer physical comfort, provide structure, or simply stay present during vulnerable moments.

A trauma-informed caregiver:

Respects your boundaries and always asks consent

Recognizes your regressed self as part of who you are—not something to be fixed

Offers nurturing presence without infantilizing or mocking

Learns your cues and comfort needs

Knows when to protect and when to empower

Caregiving is not a kink role or a fantasy—it is a ministry. It is sacred. It is real.

Building Sacred Trust

Many regressors have trust wounds. We’ve been hurt, manipulated, or abandoned. So trusting a caregiver can feel both beautiful and terrifying. That’s why trust must be earned slowly, with consistency and kindness.

You can build trust by:

Creating a “Care Plan” together that outlines your regressed needs

Agreeing on nonverbal signals or safe words

Talking openly about boundaries, triggers, and aftercare

Checking in regularly, even when you’re not regressed

Celebrating moments of safety and connection

The relationship between a regressor and a caregiver is deeply spiritual. It’s about co-creating a space where vulnerability is not punished but protected.

Being a Self-Carer

Not everyone has a caregiver. Many of us walk this path alone. And that doesn’t mean we’re any less valid—it just means we have to learn to be our own gentle guide.

You can be your own caregiver by:

Writing loving notes to your little self

Making regression-safe spaces in your home

Practicing mirror affirmations while regressed

Using apps or reminders to care for basic needs (food, meds, hygiene)

Setting up a “soft day” routine when you feel your inner child emerging

Self-care as a regressor is not selfish. It’s sacred. You are parenting the child within with tenderness and truth.

When Others Don’t Understand

Not everyone will “get” regression. Even well-meaning people may misunderstand, mock, or avoid the topic. Some may think it’s manipulative. Others may confuse it with kink. These reactions hurt—but they’re not your fault.

You deserve:

People who don’t shame you for needing care

Friends who learn instead of judge

Partners who hold your hand, not your past against you

A faith community (or chosen spiritual family) that blesses the littleness in you

You deserve belonging.

Regression is a relational experience. Whether it’s between you and a caregiver, you and yourself, or you and the divine, one truth remains:

You are not too much.
You are not a burden.
You are not alone.

You are someone worth caring for.

Chapter Six: Embodied Identity: Gender, Neurodivergence, and Disability

To be a trauma-based regressor is not just to have a certain mental experience—it is to live in a body that holds stories of pain, joy, complexity, and survival. Our bodies are not separate from our regression. They are its home.

In this chapter, we explore how age regression intersects with gender identity, neurodivergence, and disability—not as side issues, but as sacred aspects of who we are. For many of us, regression is not just about trauma—it’s about embodiment. It’s about how our whole selves seek to be known, seen, and cared for.

Regression and Gender Identity

For transgender and gender-diverse regressors, age regression can bring up layers of complexity. Sometimes our inner child doesn’t align with the gender others assigned us. Sometimes our regressed self is a different gender than our adult self—or uses different names and pronouns.

This is normal.

Some regressors may experience:

A regressed self that’s more feminine, masculine, androgynous, or fluid than their adult self

Gender euphoria through clothing, pacifiers, or plushies that reflect their true identity

Distress or dysphoria during regression if reminded of forced gender roles from childhood

A desire to reparent their younger self in their authentic gender

Your regressed self does not have to “match” your past. You can choose what feels right now. You can reclaim what was denied, affirm what was hidden, and express what was always true.

Your inner child deserves to be loved exactly as they are—no matter their gender.

Neurodivergence and Littleness

Many regressors are also neurodivergent. Whether through autism, ADHD, dissociative disorders, PTSD, or sensory processing challenges, our brains move through the world differently.

Neurodivergence can intensify the need for regression:

Overstimulation may lead to shutdowns or sensory-seeking behavior

Executive dysfunction may make adulting impossible

Emotional dysregulation may cause meltdowns or regressions

Special interests or comfort objects may overlap with regressed needs

For autistic regressors, age regression can be a natural part of stimming, comfort, or retreat. For those with ADHD, regression may help with sensory overload or emotional burnout.

You are not broken.
You are wired for a different kind of wisdom.

Regression may not always look “typical,” and that’s okay. Your brain’s way of coping is valid. Let it guide you into rest, softness, and safety.

Regression and Disability

Disability—whether physical, cognitive, emotional, or chronic—can also be deeply entwined with regression.

Some disabled regressors:

Regress after seizures, pain flare-ups, or sensory attacks

Use pacifiers, diapers, mobility aids, or soft clothing as essential tools

Experience medical trauma that leads to age regression episodes

Navigate memory loss, speech difficulty, or dependence on others

Our society often sees disability through the lens of independence and productivity. But as disabled regressors, we live in a world that often ignores our need for interdependence, comfort, and gentleness.

Let me say this clearly:
If you need to be diapered, fed, bathed, or soothed during regression, you are not shameful. You are not a failure. You are whole. Your body is sacred, even when it doesn’t perform “normally.”

Being disabled, regressed, and sacred are not opposites.
They are three parts of a holy truth: Your body deserves love. Just as it is.

When Identity Intersects

If you are queer, trans, disabled, neurodivergent, and a regressor—you are not alone. In fact, you are part of a growing chorus of beautiful, complex souls who are reclaiming softness in a hard world.

Your identity is not fragmented. It is multilayered grace.

Your regression is not something to hide. It is something to hold with compassion.

Let your gender bloom in regression.
Let your neurodivergence be honored in your care.
Let your disability be met with dignity.

You are not too complicated.
You are not too much.
You are exactly enough.

Chapter Seven: Regressing with Dignity in a World That Stigmatizes

To be a trauma-based age regressor in today’s world is an act of defiance.
Not because we want to cause disruption, but because simply existing as someone who needs gentleness, who cries easily, who uses a pacifier or wears a onesie, goes against the grain of a culture obsessed with adulthood, control, and image.

This world celebrates toughness, independence, and emotional stoicism.
But we regressors carry softness, dependence, and emotional transparency. And for that, we are often met with mockery, suspicion, or shame.

This chapter is about reclaiming dignity.
It’s about understanding the roots of the stigma and choosing to live with courage anyway. Because your regression is not embarrassing—it’s brave.

Why the World Gets It Wrong

Many people misunderstand regression because they see it through a distorted lens. Without education or experience, they often assume:

It’s “weird” or unnatural

It’s a kink or fetish (especially if they associate it with adult baby/diaper lover [ABDL] content)

It’s childish or manipulative

It’s attention-seeking

It’s something to be fixed

But all of these assumptions are rooted in ableism, sexism, trauma ignorance, and the fear of vulnerability.

We live in a society that shames people for needing care. A world that laughs at anyone who chooses tenderness. A culture that rewards hyper-functioning and punishes softness.

So when we regress in public—or even when others find out—we may be met with silence, bullying, infantilization, or disgust. And it hurts. Deeply.

But here’s the truth: they don’t understand what they haven’t lived.

You Are Not a Joke

Let me say this plainly:

Needing a pacifier does not make you ridiculous.

Using diapers does not make you pathetic.

Having a regressed part that needs cartoons or cuddles does not make you broken.

You are not a spectacle. You are a survivor.

And your body’s way of healing may look “strange” to others—but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

Navigating Shame

Shame often lives at the core of trauma-based regression. Many of us were punished as children for expressing need. We were told we were too sensitive, too needy, too clingy. So when we regress now, that same shame creeps back in.

But here’s the thing: Shame is a lie trauma taught us.
It tells us that care is weakness. That comfort is childish. That needing help makes us less human.

But you are already fully human. Fully worthy. Fully lovable.
And there is nothing shameful about needing to go little to feel safe.

Regressing with Dignity

Dignity does not mean “hiding your littleness.”
Dignity means living in alignment with your truth, even when others misunderstand it.

Ways to reclaim your dignity as a regressor:

Speak with clarity about your experience when it’s safe to do so

Use affirming language: “I regress for safety and healing”

Set clear boundaries around your regression (e.g., who is allowed to witness it)

Dress in ways that comfort your little self while honoring your adult agency

Surround yourself with people who respect your regressed needs

Refuse to let shame make your care needs invisible

You can be little and still carry yourself with power.
You can be soft and still be wise.
You can regress and still be radiant with sacred worth.

Stigma Is Not Your Burden to Carry

If someone shames you for regressing, remember: That shame belongs to them, not you.

Their discomfort with your softness is not your problem. Their fear of vulnerability is not your weight to bear.

Let them misunderstand you if they must. But don’t let them define you.

You know your truth. You know what helps you survive. You know what brings your soul peace.

And no one—not doctors, not family, not strangers—gets to take that from you.

You were not made to live in hiding.
You were made to live in truth.

With your plushies. With your bottle. With your little voice and big heart.

You are allowed to regress.
You are allowed to be seen.
You are allowed to be loved just as you are.

Chapter Eight: The Spirituality of Being Little

Age regression is more than a psychological defense.
For many of us, it is also a spiritual calling—a sacred return to a state of vulnerability, trust, and wonder. In a world that glorifies control and cynicism, being little is a form of resistance. It is also a form of prayer.

In this chapter, we explore the spirituality of age regression, especially for trauma survivors. Whether or not you belong to a faith tradition, there is something profoundly holy in learning to rest, play, cry, and receive love as a regressed soul.

Little Ones Belong to God

In the Gospels, Jesus says:

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” — Matthew 19:14

He does not say the kingdom belongs to the wise, or the powerful, or the perfect. He says it belongs to the little ones—the ones who need care, who cry freely, who trust with their whole hearts.

If the kingdom of heaven belongs to the littles, then your regressed self is not an obstacle to holiness—it is a doorway to it.

Your thumb-sucking is not shameful.
Your need for a bottle is not childish.
Your plushies are not silly.

They are sacred vessels through which you encounter God’s tenderness.

Regression as Holy Ground

When I regress, I often feel closer to the Divine than I do in my most eloquent prayers. That’s because regression takes me out of my head and back into my heart. It softens my defenses. It opens me to receive.

And isn’t that what faith is about?

To become like a child, and trust.

To rest without needing to earn it.

To cry without needing to explain it.

To play, and sing, and find delight again.

In a spiritual sense, regression invites us back into Eden—the place of innocence, before the world hurt us. It’s a return to the beginning, where we are beloved just for being.

Age Regression as Mystical Practice

In mysticism, many saints and spiritual seekers long to become small—not in shame, but in humility.
St. Thérèse of Lisieux called her path the “Little Way.” St. Francis of Assisi stripped himself of all worldly power to become “the least.” Jesus Himself entered the world as a baby, not a warrior.

Regression is not spiritual failure. It is spiritual intimacy.
When we regress, we learn to:

Be present in the moment

Trust without control

Receive love without performing

Express our needs without fear

Rest in the arms of Divine Care

These are not childish things. These are holy things.

Rituals for the Little Soul

You might explore:

Bedtime prayers while hugging a stuffed animal

Lighting a candle and saying, “Little me, you are safe now”

Sacred coloring time as meditation

Listening to lullabies as spiritual music

Blessing your bottle, pacifier, or diaper as symbols of comfort, not shame

Reading a children’s Bible or simple storybooks that speak to your inner child

You can also write letters to your little self from your adult self—or even from God.

Example:

“Dear Little One,
You are my beloved child.
You are not forgotten.
You are not broken.
I delight in your giggles, your tears, your blankie and your needs.
You are safe in my arms. Forever.”

A Sacred Identity

You are not less spiritual because you regress.
You are not less holy because you wear a diaper or use a pacifier.
You are not further from God because your needs confuse others.

You may, in fact, be closer to the heart of the Divine than those who have forgotten how to be little.

In your regression, you remember how to trust.
You remember how to need.
You remember how to receive love without earning it.

And that, beloved, is what grace is.

Whether you call it God, Love, Spirit, Universe, or something else—the Holy holds you in every regressed moment.

When you feel little, you are not alone.
You are being rocked in the arms of Mystery.
You are being whispered to:

“You are safe now. You are mine.”

Chapter Nine: Healing, Integration, and Wholeness

There comes a time in every regressor’s journey when we begin to ask:
What now?
What do I do with this inner child I’ve rediscovered?
How do I live a full life—one that honors both my adult and regressed selves?
How do I heal?

This chapter is not about “fixing” regression.
It’s about learning to live in harmony with it—gently integrating the parts of yourself that have been split, silenced, or shamed. Healing is not about becoming someone else. It’s about becoming more of who you truly are.

Healing Doesn’t Mean the Regression Stops

Let’s begin by dispelling a myth:
Healing does not mean you’ll stop regressing.

In fact, healing might mean you regress more safely, more gently, and with more awareness.
Instead of being thrown into regression by trauma triggers, you might begin to choose regression proactively—as self-care, not just survival.

Healing looks like:

Having fewer crisis regressions and more soft, supported ones

Knowing when and how to give your little self what they need

Letting your inner child play without guilt

Trusting that your needs don’t make you weak

Moving fluidly between your adult and little selves without shame

You are not becoming someone new.
You are becoming someone whole.

Befriending the Parts Within

If you live with dissociation or parts-based trauma (like in C-PTSD or DID), you may have distinct inner children—different ages, needs, or voices. That’s okay. There is no one right way to experience regression.

The healing work is not to erase these parts, but to befriend them.

You might:

Give each part a name, age, and personality

Ask what each child needs to feel safe

Write letters or dialogues between your adult self and regressed selves

Invite those parts into your daily life with rituals of inclusion

Affirm their worthiness: “You’re allowed to be here.”

When we love our inner children—when we stop pushing them away—we begin to reintegrate the fragments of ourselves that trauma scattered.

Balancing Littleness and Adult Life

It’s okay to need help. It’s okay to need diapers, bottles, or plushies. It’s okay to feel little and still make decisions, pay bills, or hold adult responsibilities.

The goal is not to force a “return to adulthood,” but to create rhythms that include both your adult and little selves.

You might:

Have designated “regression time” in your schedule

Prepare soft meals or drinks that soothe your inner child

Create a calendar where both parts can plan together

Celebrate milestones of healing for both your adult and little selves

Let your adult self protect, provide for, and love your little self.
Let your little self remind you to rest, play, and dream.

This is not a tug-of-war.
It is a partnership of love.

When Healing Feels Slow

Healing is not linear. Some days you’ll feel integrated and whole. Other days, you’ll feel like a shattered mirror. That’s normal. You are healing in layers.

Be patient.
Be kind.
Be soft with yourself.

There may be setbacks. There may be grief. There may be days where regression feels out of control or scary again. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human.

Healing is a spiral, not a straight line.

Wholeness Is Already Within You

You do not have to be “fixed.”
You are not broken glass waiting to be glued back together.

You are a mosaic—beautiful, multicolored, made of every age you’ve ever been. Your wholeness isn’t something you must earn. It’s something you remember.

You already contain everything you need:

The wisdom of the adult

The wonder of the child

The compassion of the caregiver

The courage of the survivor

The sacredness of someone becoming whole

The path of regression is not a detour.
It is a sacred way back to yourself.

You are healing every time you choose gentleness over judgment.
You are integrating every time you hold space for your littleness.
You are becoming whole every time you whisper:

“I see you. I love you. You’re safe with me.”

Chapter Ten: Words to My Inner Child

There is a part of me that still cries at night.
A part that reaches for a bottle when the world becomes too loud.
A part that clutches her stuffed animals like they’re anchors in a storm.
She is little. She is scared. She is real.

And she deserves to hear the words no one ever said to her.

This chapter is not about theory. It is a letter. A lullaby. A holy moment. These are words I speak to the littlest part of me—and, if you need them, they are for your little one too.

Dear Little Me,

I see you.

Not just the parts of you that smile or play pretend.
I see the trembling lip, the tear-streaked cheeks, the wide eyes that learned too early how to watch for danger.
I see how hard you tried to be good so no one would leave.
How you held your breath when you needed love.
How you made yourself small so others could be big.

You were never too much.
You were just too tender for a world that didn’t know how to hold you.

You don’t have to earn love anymore.
You don’t have to be perfect.
You don’t have to hide the diapers, the pacifier, the blankie, the way your voice goes soft when you’re scared.

None of that is shameful.
All of it is holy.

You are not invisible.
I see the way your heart shines.
The way you find beauty in small things: a giggle, a crayon, a bunny in the clouds.
You carry a wisdom the adult world forgot: that joy and comfort are sacred birthrights.

I know you’re still healing.
Sometimes the shadows creep back in.
Sometimes you worry you’ll be abandoned again, punished again, told again that you’re not enough.

But here’s what’s true:
I’m not leaving.

Not this time.
Not ever.

I will hold your hand when the world gets loud.
I will sing you lullabies when the night feels long.
I will change your diaper with gentleness. I will offer your bottle without judgment.
I will sit with you in silence when you can’t find the words.
I will protect your softness, not force you to grow up too soon.

Little one, I love you.
You are not broken.
You are not wrong.
You are not alone.

You are mine.

Forever.

And I will walk with you—bottle in hand, plushie in arm—until you feel safe in your skin again.

With all my love, always,
Your Big Me
Your Sister
Your Safe Place

Chapter Eleven: Reflections for Other Regressors

To my fellow regressors—my siblings in softness, survivors in littleness, sacred souls in search of safety—this chapter is for you.

You are not alone.

This world may not yet understand us. It may label us, fear us, or laugh at us. But still—we rise. We rock ourselves to sleep. We color to calm our minds. We wear onesies like armor. We suck our thumbs or bottles to soothe our nervous systems. We regress not because we are immature, but because we are healing.

And healing is holy.

Here are some gentle truths I’ve learned, shared now as a mirror and a balm for your journey.

You Don’t Need to Explain Yourself to Everyone

Some people won’t get it.
Some people will judge before they understand.
But you are not obligated to make your healing palatable to others.

Choose who gets to see your littleness. Protect it like the sacred flame it is.

There Is No “Right Way” to Regress

You don’t need to look a certain way or be a specific age.
Some regressors are verbal. Some aren’t.
Some need diapers. Some don’t.
Some play. Some cry. Some just go quiet.

Your regression is valid in every form.

You Are Not Too Much

You are not a burden. You are not a problem to be fixed.
You are tender, brave, and deserving of love.

Even when you’re nonverbal.
Even when you’re messy.
Even when you’re regressed and scared.

You are still lovable.

Your Needs Matter

You are allowed to:

Ask for a cuddle

Wear your onesie

Drink from your bottle

Need help with tasks

Be little without apology

Needs are not weakness. Needs are human.

You Are More Than Your Regression

You are also creative, wise, resilient, and full of depth.
You are capable of adult insight and childlike wonder.
You carry laughter and grief, trauma and tenderness, all in one sacred vessel.

Regression is part of you—not all of you.
And it is a beautiful part.

You Deserve Safe People

Surround yourself with those who:

Respect your boundaries

Speak to you gently

Learn about your regression instead of mocking it

Offer support instead of shame

Celebrate your healing with joy

You deserve community that sees your softness as strength.

Your Inner Child Is Real and Holy

The little you is not a ghost.
They are alive inside you, seeking care, wanting to be held.

Don’t silence them. Don’t send them away.

Welcome them home.

Rest Is Revolutionary

In a world that demands you be strong, productive, and emotionally numb, rest is rebellion.

Let yourself rest.
Let yourself nap in jammies.
Let yourself play without purpose.
Let yourself regress without guilt.

Rest is resistance. Rest is sacred.

You Are a Miracle

That you have survived this far, carrying all the little versions of you through grief, through abandonment, through misunderstanding—that is miraculous.

You are not a mistake.
You are a masterpiece in progress.

You Are Loved

Even if no one has told you this today—hear it now:

“You are loved.
You are worthy.
You are enough.
Just as you are—bottle, blankie, stuffie and all.”

Chapter Twelve: Resources for Caregivers and Allies

If you’ve made it this far in the book as someone who supports a trauma-based age regressor—thank you.
Your presence matters. Your care matters. You are doing sacred work.

Being a caregiver or ally to a trauma-based regressor is not always easy. It requires compassion, patience, humility, and deep listening. This chapter is your invitation into a sacred role: to become a safe place for someone whose inner world has been shaped by pain, yet still dares to seek healing.

What Is a Caregiver?

A caregiver in this context is someone—partner, friend, family member, therapist, or chosen support—who understands and respects a regressor’s needs during age regression. You might help with physical care, offer emotional support, or simply provide presence and reassurance.

You don’t have to have all the answers. You just have to show up with love.

Basic Guidelines for Supporting a Trauma-Based Regressor

Consent Is Everything
Always ask. Never assume.
“Would you like help with that?”
“Is it okay if I hold your hand?”
“Do you want company, or time alone?”
Honor Their Littleness
If your loved one is regressed, don’t mock, belittle, or force them to “snap out of it.” Let them be little in their own way and time.
Be Present
Offer your calm presence. Sit with them. Talk softly. Sing a lullaby. Let them know you’re there without pressure or expectation.
Use Their Preferred Language
Some regressors may have a little name, use simpler speech, or prefer baby talk. Others may not. Follow their lead. Ask what feels good.
Help With Care Tasks
This may include helping them drink from a bottle, change clothes, diapering (if agreed upon), or guiding them through a comforting routine.
Validate Their Feelings
“It’s okay to feel scared.”
“You’re safe now.”
“You’re doing such a good job.”
These phrases are like medicine for a regressed soul.
Respect Re-Emergence
When they return to their adult state, do not tease or bring shame. Offer a soft landing. Be gentle as they re-integrate.

What Not to Do

Don’t ask invasive questions unless invited.

Don’t sexualize their regression.

Don’t treat them like a joke or use their needs as entertainment.

Don’t force responsibility during regression.

Don’t get frustrated if they’re nonverbal or anxious.

Caregiving As a Sacred Role

Being a caregiver is not about control. It is about mutual trust.
It is holy ground.

You are witnessing a deeply vulnerable part of someone. When they let you into their regression, they are saying:

“I trust you to see me at my smallest and still choose love.”

That is no small thing.

What Allies Can Do

If you’re not a caregiver but still want to support someone who regresses:

Believe them. Even if you don’t understand it.

Speak up when others shame them.

Include them. Invite them into soft, sensory-safe spaces.

Ask what they need. And respect the answer.

Be curious, not judgmental. Learn about trauma-based regression with openness.

You don’t have to be perfect. Just kind.

To the Caregivers and Friends Who Stay

Thank you.

Thank you for not running when things got tender.
Thank you for seeing the little self and still choosing to love.
Thank you for holding bottles and hands, wiping tears, offering stuffies, and whispering, “You’re safe now.”

You are part of the healing.
You are part of the hope.

You are doing holy work.

Appendix A: Glossary of Key Terms

Age Regression – A mental and emotional state in which a person reverts to a younger state of mind. This can be involuntary and triggered by trauma, stress, or the need for safety.

Trauma-Based Regression – Age regression that occurs as a coping mechanism in response to past trauma or stress, especially in people with PTSD, C-PTSD, or dissociative disorders.

Inner Child – The part of a person’s psyche that retains childlike aspects, often carrying unmet needs, emotions, or memories from early life.

Regression Episode – A period of time in which a person is regressed, which may include behaviors such as nonverbal communication, thumb-sucking, use of bottles or diapers, and emotional vulnerability.

Caregiver – A supportive person (partner, friend, chosen family) who provides emotional, physical, or practical care for someone during regression.

Dysregulation – A state where the nervous system is overwhelmed and a person cannot regulate their emotions, often triggering regression.

Nonverbal – A regressed state in which the person cannot or does not use typical adult speech.

Stuffie – A plush animal, often a source of comfort and safety for regressors.

Pacifier/Binky – A soothing object used by many regressors to self-regulate during stress or regression.

Re-parenting – A healing process in which the adult self cares for the inner child with the love and support they didn’t originally receive.

Safe Space – A physical or emotional environment that allows the regressed self to be expressed without fear of judgment or harm.

Appendix B: Reflection Prompts

These prompts are for you, whether you are a regressor, caregiver, or curious reader. Use them for journaling, prayer, or personal exploration.

For Regressors:

What does my little self need most right now?

When did I first notice my regression? What was I feeling?

How does my body feel before, during, and after regression?

What rituals help me feel safe when I’m little?

What words did I need to hear as a child that I can say to myself now?

What brings my little self joy?

Where do I feel shame around regression—and where did that shame come from?

For Caregivers and Allies:

How can I communicate safety and consent when someone I love regresses?

What assumptions do I need to unlearn about regression?

What makes me uncomfortable about seeing someone regress—and why?

How can I grow into a more trauma-informed, compassionate support person?

What does “sacred care” look like to me?

Appendix C: Support Resources

Note: Always research local or online options to find what best suits your safety and needs.

Online Communities

Tumblr and Reddit have age regression support communities (search terms: “trauma-based age regression,” “non-kink age regression,” “caregiver regressors”)

Discord servers (private invite only) with trauma-informed spaces for regressors

Facebook groups focused on regression, CPTSD, and inner child healing

Books and Articles

The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk

Homecoming: Reclaiming and Healing Your Inner Child by John Bradshaw

Parts Work: An Illustrated Guide to Your Inner Life by Tom Holmes

Waking the Tiger by Peter Levine

Articles on Polyvagal Theory and trauma-informed care

Spiritual and Therapeutic Support

Trauma-informed spiritual direction or pastoral counseling

Inner child healing work with a licensed therapist

Somatic therapy or EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing)

Art therapy, play therapy, and sensory integration therapy for adults

Crisis Help

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 988 (US)

Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741 (US)

Local LGBTQ+ affirming mental health centers

Disability-specific peer support networks

About the Author

Sister Abigail Hester, OFC is a contemplative nun, spiritual caregiver, and trauma survivor who lives at the intersection of softness and strength. She is the founder of the Order of Franciscan Clareans, a community rooted in love, justice, simplicity, and sacred tenderness. A lifelong advocate for queer and disabled inclusion in spiritual life, Sister Abigail writes with honesty, vulnerability, and deep compassion.

She is also an age regressor living with memory loss, disability, and chronic trauma. Her lived experience informs her work as a guide, witness, and fellow traveler for others navigating the terrain of regression, identity, and healing.

Sister Abigail is a certified nutritional consultant, an herbalist, a grief minister, and a proud spiritual grandmother known as “Lola Abigail.”

Whether through prayer, play, or prophetic witness, she believes that every part of us—including our littlest selves—is beloved and belongs.

Closing Blessing: For the One Who Still Needs Holding

May you find safe arms to fall into—
Even if they are your own.

May the bottle, the blanket, the bunny
Become sacred vessels of peace.

May your tears be honored,
Your stuffies never questioned,
Your softness never mocked.

May the world grow gentler
As you grow more whole.

And may the child in you,
The one who was never held long enough,
Finally hear the words:

You are safe.
You are good.
You are not too much.
You are loved.

Always.