The Prince of Leonard Avenue
Synopsis: Many of us carry relational wounds from childhood. Some are obvious trauma. Others look like badges, such as being the golden child placed on a pedestal, with shame waiting below if we slipped. These old injuries shape the protections we bring into adult relationships, like a fear of being wrong or a harsh inner critic. In love, we often hope a partner will finally heal what was missing. But that's an impossible job to give anyone. A partner can support us, but the healing is our own work, and that frees us to meet them in the present.
Many of us carry relational wounds from childhood. Some are outright trauma: experiences so painful they are hard to name. Others are quieter and harder to see.
Some families needed their children to make them look good. Expectations piled up: be clever, be sporty, be well behaved, be the one who makes us proud. Slowly, a pedestal was built, and a young child found themselves tottering on top of it, with a pool of shame waiting below if they ever slipped.
From the outside, this can look like a charmed childhood. From the inside, it can feel like never being allowed to be your true self.
A question I like to ask
When I’m working with someone who was so clearly the golden child of their family, the one who carried everyone’s hopes, I sometimes ask a simple question: “What was the name of the street you lived on when you were ten?”
They tell me. Leonard Avenue….
“Ah,” I say. “So you were the Prince of Leonard Avenue.”
And almost always, a smile spreads across their face as they recognise the truth of it.
Wounds and badges
Some childhood wounds are horribly painful. Others look more like badges: being the star, the capable one, the one who never caused any trouble. But badges can hide wounds too. Either way, these are the injuries our older selves learned to protect and defend.
The child who was never allowed to fail may grow into an adult who can’t bear to be wrong. The child who was shamed may grow into an adult who has a harsh internalised critic always at the ready. These protections once made sense. In adult relationships, they often get in the way.
The search for someone to heal us
In love, many of us are quietly searching for the person who will finally heal that original wound: the partner who will see us, choose us or admire us in exactly the way we needed as children.
It’s a very human hope. But it’s an impossible job to give anyone. No partner can go back and fill what was missing, and asking them to usually leaves both people disappointed.
A partner can support us, stand beside us and be patient with our old wounds. But the healing itself is our work. The only person who can heal us is ourselves.
That isn’t a lonely conclusion. It’s a freeing one. When we stop asking our partner to repair the past, we can start meeting them in the present.
