Making a paper collage as an adult feels like I'm making a collage alongside my inner child.
We're both sitting in silence doing our own thing but curiously looking over at what the other person is making.
I'm looking at her telling myself, "That's what you could make if you didn't think so much."
And my inner child looking at my artwork secretly thinking, "That's what you could make if only you were better."
We're so powerful in our own unique ways, yet it's forever fascinating how much we still compare ourselves to others, even the people we used to be.
As we're creating, we're getting random ideas in our brain about other projects we've got going on or things we have to do (like for me, bills I have to pay because I'm a FUCKING ADULT 😭), so we each take a quick sec to write down our thoughts on paper.
Despite so many years between us and life experiences influencing our decisions, we're both using the same type of black ballpoint pen and same white notepad that flips up like a clipboard.
It's almost as if internally we want to feel as important to ourselves as we are to the universe.
But my little self is on edge.
She hates how her art looks.
She keeps saying nasty things about herself and her intelligence.
She's ensuring her trash is neatly organized and thrown away properly, so her dad won't yell at her again.
She keeps standing up to pace around her room before sitting back down.
She stares at her scissors and glue sticks before cutting out a planet she's been meditating on.
She keeps looking over at her bedroom door to make sure it's locked.
Every time she hears the heavy footsteps from the living room, her heartbeat starts racing as she stares at her door.
She always hopes it will keep her safe and guard her from what lurked outside.
Sometimes the door was sturdy and reliable.
Other times, it gave her false promises before becoming a portal to Heaven a demon faked faith for.
Adult me, who the little girl grew up to be, sits with her younger self in silence to hold space.
As much as she wanted to, she couldn't stop time. And she knew exactly what was about to happen.
When the screaming starts, my little self dissociates by staring at herself in her sliding mirrors that lead into her closet, taking in every word spat out.
Dishes were breaking in the kitchen. Bodies were getting tossed carelessly onto the floor. And the creatures were inching closer to the bedroom door.
The little girl started daydreaming about walking through the mirrors and disappearing into an alternate universe instead of a closet that was small enough to lie down in, forever gone. It was her safe space but today she wanted to disappear completely.
She buried her face helplessly in a pillow. She made herself as small as possible and silently sobbed so no one could hear her through the paper-thin walls of the ranch house.
She couldn't believe in magic in the moment, but she could believe that someone could hug her.
So I give her one and let her cry and wait out the storm.
The decision to live fiercely (and live creatively) is the nugget of wisdom the light illuminates in the darkness.
Whenever I'm making a paper collage or doing anything creative in my life as an adult, stories like this have a tendency to be subconsciously recited to me as if I'm listening to a podcast.
They teach me lessons I may not have realized in the moment of an uncomfortable experience but understand later on.
One lesson I've learned in my life is that I give myself permission to be messy and carefree and practice the art of play. I'm not going to be yelled at for having fun.
I know that I can clean up afterwards, but the journey to go somewhere isn't always pretty. It's just about getting the work done and enjoying what you're making without someone breathing down your neck.
Making a paper collage or creating a digital product or writing a newsletter or making a piece of content for social media or cooking or breathing or moving somatically or watching something meaningful or listening to something engaging or cleaning something to make it shiny again feels like I'm not pulling from memories but digging for nuggets of gold.
These little nuggets of gold are really secrets to the universe and its grand function.
Each nugget holds something true: godly, magical items that have been begging me to utilize as tools for my everyday life.
That every experience that happens to me and one that I cultivate for myself is not an accident. They're all something that helps me learn something from this school we chose to be a part of.
Even though they're not inherently magical, I can at least imagine them to be.
And wisdom is magic depending on how you choose to look at it, regardless of what has happened to you.
You're not going to get in trouble anymore for being yourself and having fun.
You don't need anybody's permission to create the things that genuinely bring you joy.
You're safe now to be who you are and who you are becoming.
🧠 Brain-Picks
- Moaning, singing, and laughing stimulates the vagus nerve and regulates your nervous system. Medicine.
- Fun fact: The liquid on top of yogurt is full of nutrients! It’s “whey” and it contains protein, calcium, and potassium, and should be mixed back into your yogurt.
- "Touching grass is not enough I need to swallow the entire forest and let it grow inside my ribcage." - CG Drews
🫀 Tips for creating and living creatively
- "People are portals. You have to be well aware of the worlds other people can pull you into." - Alexandra Arnold
- At some point, you will have to disappoint others to live a life that is honest to you. People-pleasing will drain you, not save you. You have every right to set boundaries and choose your peace. You can disappoint people and still be a good person.
- I create art to research what I didn't know before.
- Not everybody is your friend. They just like having access to you.
With gratitude,
Katrina
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