“Pink Cocoon”

Growing up I had a pink room.  It was a beautiful shade of pink, it felt warm, and I loved it.  Quite a few years ago in a journal, I wrote pages about this pink room, and by the time I was finished I had an epiphany of sorts.  It’s so funny how you can start out about something seemingly mundane and simple, and it ends monumental!  Most of what I wrote was about how I felt in that room as a child, safe and happy.  It was my cocoon, and where I made the metamorphosis into the core person that I am.

I shared the room with my two older sisters.  It was not a big room for three, but it was my little world and felt big enough.  I found small ways to carve out my own little space.  Whether it was decorating an old t.v. tray table with my own little treasures, or just displaying things my way on my designated shelf.  I remember those treasures as clear as day too.  My Mom had some beautiful old embroidered hankies that I just loved.  I loved the detail on them and the way they felt and looked on the table spread out like a cover.  I of course had my jewelry box on there, a small statue of Mary, and these little books of poetry that my Mom let me have.  I was fascinated with them, the poems and illustrations.  Most of them were written by Helen Steiner Rice.  I also had a scrapbook of sorts on my table as well.  It was full of all the things I liked, things I dreamed about, and some of the things that I thought I would someday  like to be, or see.  There were many pages in it from those tiny poetry books.

I also spend hours watching and listening to my sisters.  How did they fix their hair, and put on their make-up?  I listened to them hanging out with their friends & talk on the phone.  It fascinated me and I idolized them.   I also watched them fall in love, marry, and move out on their own.  I would imitate them of course!

The point of all this, is that it all formed who I really am.  Somewhere in my teens and twenties, I think I lost that person a little bit.  Trying to be who I thought I should be, or who I thought others thought I should be.  It just didn’t feel right, and I wasn’t sure why I was often unhappy.  It wasn’t until I wrote that journal entry that I figured it out.  All of the truths about myself were there at age 8.   If you ever lose yourself a little, or are trying to figure out “who you are”,  you just have to look back at yourself as a child.  It’s at that time that your are pure and uncorrupted by adult fears and insecurity.

It was in that room that my artistic identity was formed.  It’s all there, the poetry, writing, spirituality, the love of creativity.  That scrapbook is me in a nutshell, and I made it when I was 8!  I’m on a journey now, to be the person in that scrapbook, and let 8-year-old Meg out of the cocoon and spread her adult butterfly wings.  And I feel happier than ever doing it.

Think about it.  How does your adult self match up with your child self?  You may be surprised, if you give it an honest answer.  And maybe you’ll discover something that turns everything around for you.  Happy discovery!