What We Return To
Our childhood exposes us before the rest of the world has the chance.
Not in some look into the future way, but in a way that you should never allow yourself to forget.
Think of all your joyous memories. For me, it is creating dance routines in the backyard with my younger sister, even after we had just spent the whole evening at dance class, long hours of baking with my mother, sprawling out on the living room floor coloring with my father, re-arranging my bedroom at two in the morning when I was supposed to be up for school in 4 hours. It’s doodling pictures of the dream home with my neighbor and binging every unforgettable Disney show with my sisters. It is passing a secret notepad around class, building treehouses, and creating short films with my best friends, along with our long walks, sneak-outs and endless bike rides.
John Philip Falter, “Young Sammy Sixgun” (1957). Via Gandalf's Gallery on Flickr.
But somewhere along the line, I began chasing diversity, the last years of school becoming a gradual decline into someone I would soon not recognize in the mirror. Years chasing habits and hobbies that were anybody’s but my own. Years of pretending to be someone I wasn’t all because I was convinced that was part of growing up — letting go of creativity, letting go of childhood.
I gave up on the childhood that shaped the woman I am becoming today.
And yet all I had to do was start listening to those small but telling signs, and it all naturally made its way back into my life; it was always displaying throughout my daily practices.
So, slowly, after years of healing, years of accepting, years of practicing, I have located that creative little girl that I buried so deep.
She was never really gone.
Just waiting to be remembered.
Patiently waiting in the hobbies that I picked up and set down time and time again because I convinced myself they were unproductive, a direct flight to a life of not being taken seriously, a ticket to disrespect.
But that little girl never asked to be taken seriously.
She just asked for the freedom to express.
And now I know growing up wasn't about leaving childhood at the departure gate; it is about carrying it with you every day, or in my situation, meeting it for its overdue return.
A return of creativity without reason.
A return to that version of us that began without questioning our worth.
A return to the mindset that had big dreams and a vision for what our future could become, the career we’d one day hold, the people we’d meet, the memories we’d never forget, and the person we’d ultimately become.
But yes, I know there are those childhood memories that have nothing to do with creativity or inspiration.
The ones that hurt too much to think about, or just the ones that are too embarrassing to admit.
The parts that have turned into instincts rather than memories, the ones that don't feel as soft.
But these are just as important to hold onto.
Accepting what cannot be changed means control of what happens next.
Because maybe nothing bad from the past has been your fault, or maybe it all is, but it is now your responsibility not to live through them.
Acceptance is growth. Changing your mindset will change your life.
Embrace every version of yourself, every experience, good or bad, every horribly embarrassing phase, every bad relationship, every hiccup and f*ck up, every damaging lesson, and ‘took a step backwards’ day.
They all quietly shaped this version of you, the one who has come so far and learned so much, the one who has given themselves enough grace and patience to make it to today.
So next time you see a photo from years ago, don’t shy it away from the ones around you, don't groan in disgust, don't delete it, don’t tear it because of the memory it keeps bringing back. Simply give yourself a “yes, that is me”, a quick but simple show of respect for the memory of what that version gave to the one that is living now.
Love.
