You're Never Too Grown Up To Not Be a Kid Again

About a month ago, I was sitting in my pajamas on the couch in my parents' new house. I was shaking. Bawling. We were on the phone with a mental health crisis line. 

I can't describe what was going on in my head. When we got off the phone with the counselor, I asked my mom to grab one of her scrapbooks that she put together when I was little. Those books are one of the things I'm most grateful for. I remember trips to Scrapbook Garden with her so she could buy supplies, and I remember the flowerpot at the checkout counter full of lollipops. Back then, the lollipops were more important to me than the reason we were there. At 24, I understand why she worked so hard on those books. I understand why she was picky about the cardstock and about the packs of stickers she would buy. She was so good at the creative, artistic process. And I'm glad she did it. 

That night, as I was working through some very difficult emotions, turning those pages helped me to feel like I was going back in time. Like I was a little kid again, without worries or responsibilities. Back to the lollipop days, and sitting at the dining room table pestering her while she worked. Back to the days when my little brother would do funny things that my mom would photograph and craft into books with page covers over them so we could keep those memories forever. 

And that was exactly what I needed that night. 

I needed to connect with my inner child. 

The therapist I spoke to three weeks later suggested I do exactly that. "One step ahead of ya," I told her, and told her everything I just wrote here. 

Her recommendation was to do that more often. 

So, the next day, I went to the store and bought some of my favorite things. A frozen rice lunch, like my parents would buy for my brother and I so we could microwave them when we got hungry. A fresh linen scented air freshener for my car, because it reminds me of sitting at the foot of my parents' bed while they would fold clean laundry and stack it in neat piles. A new notebook to jot down these memories when they parallel my life as an adult. 

It worked. Something that simple, that small... worked. I've been infinitely happier since I've tapped into those things more often. As I've mailed notes to people I love simply to remind them that I think of them when certain things happen. I drove to my childhood home the other day just to look at it and let it pull me back into the feeling of being a kid again. 

The hole in the fence will never not remind me of coming home from school and seeing my best friend peeking through it, waiting for me to come over and play. 

The sidewalk on that street will never not remind me of walks with my dad after it would rain. He would hold my umbrella in one hand and a cigar in the other, while I jumped in puddles and appreciated being alive. I loved the smell of his cigars, and I still do. I love the Magnolia tree in my best friend's front yard, that she tried to teach me to climb and laughed at me when I was too scared to do it. I love the photo someone snapped of her family and mine, all playing under the parachute that her parents would bring home from school.

I love the memory of babysitting, dressing up like superheroes and spending the morning pretending we had powers and could save the world. 

I love the memory of my brother waking me up at 5 a.m. on Christmas morning, so excited to open presents he could hardly talk. His voice would break, and I would smell cinnamon rolls baking downstairs, and dad would make a cup of coffee in a smiley face mug. One or both of my parents would have the camera at the ready. Wrapping paper would cover the living room floor, and everything was beautiful. I'm so glad my parents captured that. 

I love the scrapbook page my mom did of my first pair of Chuck Taylors, which I only ever asked for because I saw Opal wearing the same ones in, "Because of Winn-Dixie." My mom had read that book to me and shown me the movie. I was obsessed. At that age, seeing one of my favorite books brought to life was magic to me. That pair of shoes felt the same way. 

I wore them until I couldn't anymore... and I still have one. It's signed by Kate DiCamillo - the author of "Because of Winn-Dixie." 

I was a freshman in college when she came to Wichita to do a book talk at my favorite local bookstore. The world is funny. The world is kind. 

My next purchase is probably going to be another pair of those same shoes. 

Oh, and I've started my own scrapbook. 

thank you to my mom, for always supporting my love of all the things. thank you for always buying me the books I want to read and encouraging me as my dreams have changed. thank you for calling me in sick to school when you did, because I've recently learned that a lot of parents don't care that much. thank you for introducing me to authors and musicians and creators and inspiring me to create, too.

thank you to my best friend and her family for letting me share so many of my earliest memories with you. thank you for inviting me over when you make my favorite dinner. thank you for putting up with all my voicemails on your house phone when that was the only way to get a hold of Elle. 

thank you to my dad, for all the days you sat in the garage with me during storms because you knew I loved watching the rain and sharing Pringles with you waiting for it to lighten up enough to walk down the driveway searching for snails. thank you for all the nights you took me to Chili's and Barnes and Noble for my favorite dinner and always letting me pick out a Thomas train toy to bring home to my brother. thank you for staying the night with me in the Denver Children's Hospital while I buried my fear watching Finding Nemo and eating cereal. 

thank you to my grandparents, on both sides. for the trips, the endless towel washes after beach days, sleepovers and delivery pizzas. thank you for making my favorite foods, for coming to my dance recitals, for buying my graduation cake, for card game marathons and days outside on the swing you had hung from the biggest branch on the tree in your backyard. thank you for birthday cards and for always picking up your phone. 

thank you to Alice, for cookie baking days and letting me play with your Bingo set when I was too young to know how to actually play. thank you for being the best friend to bring along to Taylor Swift concerts. thank you for sending me a note when you knew my surgeries were scaring me. thank you for the full set of Full House discs you burned for me because you knew how much I loved it. thank you for trips to Penguin Park and Nifty Nut House and always, always laughing with me. thank you for scrapbooking with my mom, too. big time. 

thank you to every teacher I've ever had. thank you for giving me a place to sit and write. thank you for letting me share my work with your classes. thank you for sending me to the library on my own when you knew I needed that more than I needed to sit in the classroom. thank you for reading to me, for inspiring me, and for keeping up with me even long after I left your classes. thank you for letting me write my speeches about things that mattered to me, giving me a space to speak my mind for a grade. thank you for spending extra hours with me just to help me do my math homework because you cared that I really understood. thank you for letting me alphabetize your bookshelves, and for field trips, and for all the things you never needed to do but did and that made a difference. 

I grew up with a good life.

A life that led me to right here, right now. A place and a time where I'm happy. I'm doing a lot of very difficult work to keep it that way... but I'm happy. I'm healing, and I'm not sure I could do that if it weren't for the people who were patient with me while I turned 5, then 10, then 15, then 20, and now almost 25. 

You're never too old to grow up, and you're never too grown up to not be a kid again.

thank you to myself, too. I can't believe I almost forgot. thank you for the work. thank you for making the progress you're making and chasing the passions you've been wanting to chase for a long time. we've been waiting for you. 

welcome home. 

everyone you used to be, loves you. and everyone you have yet to be, can't wait to meet you too.