Whether your childhood was all fond memories or a blank gap of time you know you lived through but can’t recall, it’s always curious to think back on those distant moments that occurred while our brains were still developing and our ability to process emotions and information was limited.
I remember strange bits and pieces of my childhood, some things good, others horrendous, and many confusing or scary. In recent years, I’ve spent extra time loving my dear inner child who believed that she could be anything and everything all at once. She was the child who refused to be put in a box. She hated labels, she had a wild imagination, and she genuinely believed the world was her oyster.
Memory 1 — Rocks
The back seat of the car was suffocating on long car rides but it was worth it when our family made the drive from Dallas to Galveston because halfway between the two cities was a small restaurant off the side of the highway that we often stopped at. The food was the least exciting thing about this particular spot. My heart, every time, was set on one thing only—the gift shop. All I wanted was a pouch full of tumbled rocks and crystals to add to my collection.
On each visit, I strategically picked and packed the rocks into the velvety bag trying to get the most bang for my buck, and I was a happy camper from there on out. A purple tumbled amethyst was always a must and I could never have enough as they often seemed to disappear or magically find new homes because who doesn’t love to share their rocks with other rock lovers?
I had a mini collection of quartz, amethyst, onyx, citrine, and some other faves—and I very frequently was found carrying fossils, minerals, and other goodies because trinkets. This odd geology obsession was probably deemed just a phase—but I was just sure someday I would work with rocks in some capacity.
Memory 2 — Ghosts
The mall was always a busy place, physically and spiritually. I remember going with my grandmother to run various errands with her, and no trip to the mall was complete without a quarter for the gumball machine. My grandmother would hand me a quarter, I’d pop it into the machine and turn the knob whispering the exact color I wanted (white usually because it didn’t turn my mouth a weird color), and out would come the color I stated. My grandmother was amazed every time, but that was the least interesting thing that would happen during our trip to the mall.
The most distinct memory I have was the sheer nuisance of having to dodge and walk around so many odd people and critters. They would step in front of me, stop directly in my path, or just generally make themselves obnoxiously in the way. What I couldn’t grasp at the time was why grandmother had no issue with them or plowed right through them, while I was playing Frogger trying not to run into anyone.
Finally, we sat down on a bench and I began describing a strange duck-looking creature that was standing not too far from our bench when everything started to make more sense. I was the only one who could see him…and all the others. My grandmother nodded and smiled realizing and asked if that’s why I’d been walking so strangely throughout our time at the mall. To this day, she reminds me that that was the moment she knew I was a seer, and I reckon all the ghosts realized so that day too.
Memory 3 — Writing
As far back as I can remember, I always loved writing and imagined I’d be a published author in adulthood. I wrote poetry and song lyrics, books about animals and mystic creatures in secret woodlands, and everything in between.
As I was preparing to go to college, I assumed that I would major in something writing-related. As my mind wandered through possible degree paths of English, literature, journalism, and the like—my thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a towering divine goddess with flowing red hair. “Protect my gift of writing,” she told me, with a strong warning not to pursue writing in school because I would lose my unique voice as an author.
Confused, I thought through every possible workaround until I ultimately came to terms with what I had been told. That was my first face-to-face encounter with Brigid, the Celtic goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft. It would be years before I would ever begin to truly work with her energy in a powerful way, but her words always stuck with me, "Protect my gift of writing." And so I did.
I went on to study art, earn my undergraduate degrees in Design and PR & Advertising, and my master's degree in Digital Media (Film) Production. Along the way, I wrote constantly. From screenplays to novels to personal growth books to blogs, I learned to tell legends of the divine and the cosmos through any medium I could, and I fell in love with being a storyteller.
So whether your childhood was all fond memories or a blank gap of time you know you lived through but can’t recall, if you find your mind wandering to the distant past and remembering things you once loved or that always felt like home—I encourage you to ask yourself some questions. For me, I realized that my love for writing, the spiritual realm, and rocks & crystals were always there—along with many other things woven into the fabric of who I am. After all, here I am today, founder of Astarte's Temple, working with crystals and rocks daily, a friend of ghosts and the dead as a death walker, and a published author.
What did your inner child love that still holds significance to you today? And are there things you would like to pick up again that you haven't thought about since your youth? What's stopping you from doing what once brought you joy?