The Little One

“There is a presence within me—

A Little One so quiet, unassuming.

She does not announce herself.

She does not compete

with the noise of the mind

or the urgency of fear.

She simply is.

Before thoughts arrive,

she is there.

Beneath the waves of big feelings,

she remains.

Unmoved.

Untroubled.

Unconcerned with becoming.

I once thought I needed to protect her—

tend to her,

soothe her,

and keep her safe from the world.

But slowly, gently,

something began to turn…

and I saw so clearly—

she is not the one who needs holding.

She is the one who holds.

She is the Light

that does not flicker

when the winds pick up.

She is the Ocean

that does not tremble

when the waves rise.

She is Love

before it learned

to ask for anything in return.

The Little One that I thought was fragile—

the one I believed I needed to protect—

is actually the very definition of strength.

She is invincible, immovable, and powerful.

She and I are a majority—

Nothing can stop us now…

~by missy maiorano 2026

Last Wednesday night, I was lying in bed, scrolling through some photos I had taken, and out of nowhere, I noticed myself opening the app on my phone for our country club. Without any thought or fanfare, my little thumbs registered me for what I have always called the “Scary Mahjong League.” This was something I swore I would never sign up for! Too scary. Too many ladies with strong personalities and lots of judgement. Too much pressure to perform. Too much pressure to be perfect. NO WAY! It was a closed case in my mind.

And then, signing-up happened. No considering the pros and cons. No reaching out to see if any of my friends could go with me. No thought at all. Just thumbs typing on a keypad on my phone. Done.

And not even one tiny little ounce of charge in my body. None. It was as uneventful as getting a drink of water from the kitchen.

My confirmation email popped up on my phone. “Missy Maiorano is registered for Evening Mahjong in the Ladies Card Room.”

No big deal.

Glass of water from the kitchen.

I leaned over and showed Pete the confirmation email on my phone. He was puzzled. “Who are you and what have you done with my Missy?”

And then, just like that, the evening rolled around—and with only an hour to go before leaving for the Scary Mahjong group, I noticed something else quite unexpected:

Delight.

Excitement.

Confidence.

My back felt a little straighter than usual and my chin seemed a little higher in the air.

Walking into the card room, it was as if everything I needed in the world was already 100% within me. I needed nothing from these ladies. I needed nothing from this experience.

I took my seat at one of the tables, pulled out my 2026 Mahjong card, and played as if nothing was on it. Because nothing was. There was nothing at stake, and nothing in me needed to be protected or defended.

When I drove home at the end of what turned out to be a really enjoyable night, I tuned-in to that Little One within me. The one that I have been having daily conversations with for many months now. The one that has become my best friend. The one that has become my most intimate companion.

And it occurred to me—she is also my greatest cheerleader and my fiercest ally.

Suddenly this bizarre, nonsense phrase came to me. “She and I are a majority.”

I know that it makes no sense, but that phrase washed over my entire body like warm honey.

“She and I are a majority. We are a FORCE to be reckoned with.”

Somehow, the notion that I was the one holding and nurturing her had shifted.

Without my noticing, this little one within me had begun revealing a much truer version of herself. SHE was the closest thing to my true SELF that there was. SHE was Life, unveiled, unencumbered by cultural conditioning and habitual, handed-down beliefs.

As my good friend David described in a text to me: “I see the little one as a reminder of who we truly are. A spirit, an energy, called by many names. Love, God, Holy Spirit, Life. She is your guide, dressed up in the innocence of a child.”

Somehow, the truth of my worth, my value, my—for lack of a better word—perfection, had become so clear and unquestionable that night as I signed up for Scary Mahjong at the country club. My little one, the one I always believed I was helping, was helping me all along.

With her, what else could I need? With nothing needed from outside of me, I was suddenly completely free to PLAY.

Just PLAY in Life, as Life. Nothing to lose. Nothing at stake.

Words will never do justice to the freedom I am trying clumsily to describe right now. But, I can say that it felt like one of those quiet, unassuming miracles that sneaks in and whispers, “Everything is more OK than you could ever imagine.”

And as I sat with that phrase over the next few days—“She and I are a majority”—something began to unfold in a way that felt less like a realization I had and more like a truth that was slowly, gently revealing itself from within.

For the past several months, as you know, I have been sitting with my Little One almost daily, sometimes many times a day. I have written to her, held her, and loved her fiercely. I have had this notion that I am re-parenting her. I am helping her feel safe. I am holding her in the midst of painful triggers and wild waves of energy pulsing through my body.

And somewhere in the middle of that, there was this version of my little one that seemed small and needy.

But what began to shift for me that night—and what has continued to soften and open in the days since—is the quiet recognition that maybe she has been there for me all along.

And… she is not little.

She is Life itself, appearing in the innocence of a child.

She is Love itself, wildly free and able to hold everything without judgment.

She is Presence… effortless, unguarded, and whole.

I am no longer trying to take care of her as much as we’re taking care of each other. We’ve got each other’s backs. And that is a profoundly grounding experience.

I am no longer trying to make her feel loved as much as I am seeing that she and I have always been Love.

How could I ever possibly be vulnerable?

How could it possibly ever matter if someone else dislikes me or judges me?

How could I ever be lonely?

How could I ever need others to validate me?

What I truly am is not one small voice among many, but the very space in which all voices appear?

How could I ever be overpowered… when the essence of what I am is not in conflict with anything, but gently, effortlessly allowing all of it to come and go?

And so that phrase—“She and I are a majority”—now feels less like something cute or poetic, and more like a quiet pointing toward something deeply true.

Whenever I am aware of her—when I am resting, even slightly, in that Presence—there is nothing in me that needs to silence the fear, fight big emotions, or manage the moment into something safer or better.

There is just this quiet, grounded fullness.

And from that fullness, life becomes something entirely different.

There is no performance required.

No proving.

No protecting.

No explaining.

No abandoning.

Just a natural, almost effortless participation in what is already here.

Sitting at the table.

Walking into the room.

Speaking when words arise.

Listening when they don’t.

Not as someone who is trying to get something from the moment… but as Life itself, gently, curiously, freely moving within it.

And maybe the most surprising part of all of this… is how simple it is. How it has never actually been missing… just overlooked for a five short decades.

So if anything in you still feels outnumbered or vulnerable sometimes; if there are moments where thoughts feel convincing, or the old patterns feel too strong; I just want to offer this gentle possibility:

May you begin to sense, even in the quietest and most ordinary moments, that there is something within you that has never been unsettled, never been rushed, never been at risk.

May the one you once believed was small reveal herself to you in new and unexpected ways—not as something fragile that needs your protection, but as the steady, open presence that has been holding you all along.

And when the voices rise, as they sometimes will, and the old feelings move through like wild and tumultuous thunderstorms, may you gently remember that they are moving within something far more vast… far more stable… far more true.

May you come to feel, not as an idea but as a lived knowing, that what is loud is not what is powerful, and what is fleeting is not what defines you.

And in those moments when it seems, once again, as though you are outnumbered…

may something soft and quiet within you whisper,

You are not vulnerable.

You were never vulnerable.

Because this Light within you does not flicker when the wind blows.

She is not disturbed by the crashing waves.

May you rest, even briefly, in that unshakable wholeness.

And from that place, may you move through your life with a little less effort, a little less guarding, a little more curiosity, and a quiet, unshakable sense that you are already held by the very thing you have been seeking.

Now, go play.