Some songs don’t just play in your ears—they sort of live there. They echo inside you, like they were waiting to be heard at just the right moment. Michael Jackson’s Childhood was one of those for me. It didn’t scream. It didn’t beg for a hit. It just quietly reached in, touched something tender, and stayed.
And I guess, this isn't some lyrical deep-dive or fancy review. This is personal. This is me telling the truth about the childhood I never really had—and maybe speaking for the kids out there who still carry that wild, sacred magic the world keeps trying to bury.
The Sound of Something Missing
“Have you seen my Childhood? / I’m searching for the world that I come from.”
The first time I heard that, I didn’t just listen—I felt it. Like, something in me stopped and leaned in. Like someone had opened a box I forgot I buried deep down. Michael wasn’t being dramatic or weird or whatever people used to say. He was just... honest. And man, I felt that honesty in my bones.
My childhood wasn’t storybooks and swings and warm dinners. I had this one fleeting moment, maybe around five years old, when my grandma was still around, still full of life and hugs and homemade food. That was it. After that, everything kind of unraveled.
My mom was caught up in something that took a toll on her health and relationships. There were arrests, chaos, and silence. I was left behind—again and again—not just physically, but emotionally. I had to grow up fast.
By ten, I was changing diapers and making bottles for my baby brother. I was “mom,” but still a kid, and no one really stopped to ask how I felt. By fourteen, I was juggling school, responsibilities, and survival. I didn’t get to be loud or carefree or curious. My laughs got quieter. My joy became a checklist.
So when Michael asked the world to just see the child in him, I cried. Because no one ever saw the child in me either.
Kids Still Remember. We Forgot.
“Before you judge me, try hard to love me / Look within your heart then ask: Have you seen my Childhood?”
He wasn’t just talking about himself. He was holding up this mirror to the rest of us. He was asking—begging—us to look past all the noise and see the bigger picture.
We live in a world that rewards burnout, not joy. That teaches kids to “toughen up” and “grow out of it” before they’ve even had a chance to just be. To be messy. To be imaginative. To just be kids.
But kids... kids remember magic. They make wishes on stars and talk to trees and believe in impossible things. They cry freely. They laugh from the belly. They forgive fast. They’re still close to whatever made us. We were like that once, too. Until life taught us to perform instead of feel. To shrink. To hide. To survive.
And somewhere in all that... we forgot.
This Isn’t About Pity. It’s About Truth.
I’m not writing this to make you feel sorry for me. Or for Michael. Or for anyone else who’s been through it. I’m writing because the truth matters. And maybe the biggest truth we’ve been avoiding is this:
The most powerful thing we can do as adults is not to “move on” from our childhood wounds, but to go back. Not to relive the pain, but to remember the magic. To take that little version of us by the hand and say, “I see you now. And I’ve got you.”
If you’re a parent, slow down. Let your kids feel. Don’t rush them. Don’t tell them “it’s not that bad.” Just listen. Let them be loud. Let them be weird. Let them cry.
If you’re an adult with a heavy heart, try this—paint something with your fingers. Sing in the shower. Write poems that don’t make sense. Lay on the grass and watch clouds like you used to. Hold your inner child close. They never left. They’re just waiting for you to come back.
Michael Jackson was laughed at, misunderstood, and even hated for wanting Neverland. But honestly? He was onto something. He was reminding us that childhood isn’t a phase—it’s a truth. A part of us that never dies, unless we let it.
So maybe it’s time we stop letting the world tell us to “grow up” and start letting ourselves return. Back to wonder. Back to softness. Back to us.
Because no child should ever be left behind—not the ones in our homes, and definitely not the ones still quietly waiting inside us.
References & Symbolic Touchpoints
Michael Jackson’s Interview with Oprah (1993) – where he first publicly shared his lost childhood.
Healing the Inner Child by John Bradshaw – a guide to reconnecting with the wounded self.
Carl Jung’s concept of the child archetype in The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious
Gabor Maté’s trauma work – especially on childhood neglect and emotional survival.
Lyrics source: Genius Lyrics – “Childhood” by Michael Jackson
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