My World.

When I was younger I always enjoyed playing make believe. I could be a princess, a fashion designer, a pop star, a baker, a teacher - there was no limit, just the endless possibilities of my mind.

This is how I remember the younger years, flitting about my grandparents house and backyard imaging the many different lives I could live. I would put on one-woman shows for my family or try and get one of the adults in my life to go along with my crazy ideas. I never felt judged at the time for any of this but I was still a kid and that’s what kids do.

I discovered creative writing early (even with a delay in my being able to spell and read at grade level) and fell in love with it. I would write (very basic) poetry just because I liked to rhyme. I would listen intently to the lyrics of my favorite songs to feel how the singer was feeling. I wrote a short children’s story about animal friends that I traced from this wildlife book my grandpa had on the coffee table. I still have my kindergarten diary because it is just so precious to see what little Amelia wanted to write about.

So the dream of being a writer blossomed.

But as I got older and reality started to settle in, so did judgement. I had no shield, or ‘tools’ as they are called in therapy now, to understand and cope with the scrutiny of adults and peers. You think adults know best so you heed their advice. You want nothing more than acceptance with your peers so you try and assimilate, making yourself smaller and smaller.

Change your writing voice because I don’t like it.

Writing is a dying career choice, pick another one.

You’re not worthy of success.

Liking fantasy is weird.

There are people more talented than you so why even try.

Just shut up.

Soon, I couldn’t tell what was constructive and what was just plain criticism. Either way, I internalized it all and instead of having the courage to stand up and say ‘No I love this thing, I want to write and tell stories, I want to share my voice with the world!’ I simply stayed silent and prayed this part of me would die. Because if it didn’t, I would have to face everything - the shame, the hurt, the negative core beliefs, the years lost, projects abandoned. Everything.

And who was I to believe that my voice, my worlds, were worthy enough to be immortalized?

So, I locked the door, buried the key and built a wall around those dreams to hopefully suffocate them. It worked for the most part but if I dared daydream a bit too long I could hear her calling for me to return. Feel the scratching at the door begging to be released. So more bricks went up and life went on.

Except at night, when a recurring nightmare of needing to scream and not a single sound would come out started to haunt me. No matter how hard I strained, there was silence.

A writer with a million thoughts, and no voice to speak them.

Hating the irony, more bricks went up. This is how life continued for many years. Feeling the urge of my soul calling but too scared to do anything about it.

Then one night I woke up to my own muffled screaming. I checked my bedroom for intruders or even monsters but everything was as it should be. Lying on my back, staring at the ceiling I could still feel that scream reverberating in my chest.

The walls were cracking and something was ready to break free.

Week after week, I started to chip away at this version of myself I had cobbled together over the years. With all her weird quirks and logic that made sense at the time but under real scrutiny were nothing more than a way to keep myself from feeling judgement again. No matter how painful (or long) the process, I would dismantle the walls, dig up the key, open the doors, and burn everything that no longer served me to the ground.

One arduous year later and with my metaphorical sword in hand, I stepped into the world I had abandoned long ago and braced myself for the decay.

But there it was - my deep fantasy world still intact, a little dusty, a few ruins of moments forever lost but just as warm and welcoming as I remembered.

I brushed my fingers across the tall grass, dipped my feet into the refreshing waters and walked slowly following the curves of the stream to the castle on top of the hill.

I reached the moat of this castle, the last bits of warmth from the setting sun permeating my body. Like magic, the bridge and castle doors opened for me. I walked forward and wished upon the brightest stars in the dusky twilight that I was strong enough to face whatever was inside.

I crossed slowly feeling a sense of dread start to build in the pit of my stomach. This would be the point of no return. Whatever was in here would either be my damnation or salvation.

My mind was racing telling me to leave but my heart and soul were being magnetically pulled through the corridors like I was in a trance, seeing and hearing moments from my past play out along the stone walls.

My body finally stopped in front of a rusty, unassuming door. My hand hovered over the handle, not ready to enter. What was that noise? A child’s voice? Thinking I heard something on the other side, I pushed with all my might against the door. It scraped and scratched across the floor leaving marks in its path.

As my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I could see someone sitting on the ground with their back turned to me.

I took a step closer and realized it was younger me sitting there.

My soul cleaved open in two perfect halves at that moment. Like someone took a giant axe and cut down into me, around her. I gasped for the air that had been ripped from my lungs and I could hear safety calling from the other side.

Oh, how I wanted to run, but something primal took over. This is the point of no return, stand tall or lose yourself forever. With a deep breath I rolled my shoulders back and braced myself, for once believing I wasn’t that scared little girl anymore. Anger was starting to boil up inside of me, looking to take revenge, to protect this little girl.

I stepped further into this room towards her and a tear rolled down my cheek as I noticed little me playing with some dolls. So pure and innocent and naive to the cruel world.

“I know.” She said, I gasped hearing her voice, my voice at one point.

“Know what?” I asked, taking a step closer.

“I know the world is mean.” She responded.

“But…you’re just a kid.” I responded.

“Physically, yes. But am I not our years lived? Am I not generations before?” She peered up with our big brown eyes. I knelt down beside her and peered at this precious drop of innocence I kept tucked away. A piece I was so scared to let out into the light yet one that was the very essence of my being.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” She said, turning her attention back to her dolls.

“I’m sorry I left you alone for so long.”

She shrugged, “It’s okay I understand, you needed time. Besides, you're never really alone with your imagination.”

She tapped the floor in front of us, sending a dark blue ripple away from us. It was a small, midnight blue puddle of water.

“Puddle, no.” She giggled, eyes turning mischievous. She stood up and turned her attention towards the water.

“It’s an ocean, deep and churning. You wanted to be wildfire burning everything down in your path. But you are the sea - calm and serene some days, wild and destructive the next. A vastness of potential. Tidal waves of emotions that could overcome a person if you let it.” She paused here, recalling the times I let emotions take over, unable to see the surface above. “You wanted red, hot rage and instead you got the ebb and flow of life.”

A tower of water shot up. Churning and foaming wildly. The sticky, cool salt spray burned my eyes as I stared up at the gorgeous power of the sea.

At my own power.

She took my hand and looked into my eyes before saying, “Thank you for coming back.”

Hand in hand, we both jumped into the abyss below.

_____

I’m scared to be doing this. To be opening up. But, it felt more suffocating to not share. A constant gnawing at my insides. My throat getting tighter and tighter with each word left unspoken.

The concept of ‘everyday magic’ is quite literally tattooed onto my body. And, 6 years after getting that tattoo I am fully embracing it.

I have stories to share both based in reality and not. Long and short. It won’t be perfect but I hope you will join me on this journey - on the path of evryday.magics.