The nostalgic fingertips of childhood still extend out towards me to this day, grabbing a hold of me, flooding my mind with images of how I once saw the world. I regard these brief flashes of my past with a protective tenderness. This little girl is precious to me- I want to protect the good, I want to embed those moments into time so that they may never disappear. 

One moment I can recall in great detail is the feeling of creek water washing up against my bare feet. The arms of thickly-leaved trees hung over me like a canopy, and as I stepped from one slimy stepping stone to another, rain began to pour. The air was thick with the smell of wet concrete, and the crying skies rumbled so loudly that I could feel the ground vibrating underneath me. As sharp droplets hit my face, soaking my hair so that it curled into messy strands sopped against my jaw, I felt powerful. It was as if, for one moment, human and nature were one, both reaching an understanding of what the other was in this world. This creek, an inconsequential trickle of liquid to those who passed it by, is a symbol of my childhood. It is a reminder of a time when my small heart was filled with passion and innocence.

Freshman year of highschool I was suddenly plagued with memories of abuse I’d endured years before. The assault had slipped my understanding until I was old enough to comprehend the reality of what occurred. The flashbacks were nagging; I couldn’t escape them. 

My therapist asked me a simple question: “Where is your safe place?” My bedroom, I thought. My bathroom. “Where is somewhere you could go that would make you feel completely at peace?”

I pondered over her words for a moment; completely at peace is a powerful conviction to make. Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander. Only a few nights previous, I dreamt of the creek- I hadn’t been since my mother moved to Florida. I left it, along with my childhood friends, behind when she left and I lived permanently with my father. Yet, it felt right. In that moment, the creek moved from childhood obscurity to the ultimate symbol of peace and happiness for me. I could imagine myself there, crouching down in the grass and collecting tadpoles with a girl I would never see again, or the time I found a decaying music box in the water and thought it was a murder mystery I had to solve. Those childhood feelings of contentment swelled in my heart at that moment. I knew one day I would go back and reclaim that mysticism.

This brief connection was lost the minute my foot was out the therapist’s door, though. I was merely a 14 year old girl who had other things to worry about. However, a few years later at 16 I was on the verge of another breakdown. My father was driving as my eyes were cast out beyond the car’s window, and I noticed the entrance to a path so familiar to me. 

“Imagine yourself in your happy place…” The words from my therapist played through my head. “Go there when you feel like you can’t take it anymore.” Looking to my dad, I asked if I could take a brief walk, and he stopped the car for me. Although the swirling feelings of anxiety gnawed at my stomach, I ran out of the car and rushed down the path until I couldn’t breathe. Everything would be okay if only I could go back to the stepping stones of my childhood.

The winding black roads were cut through a forest in full springtime bloom. Vivid wildflowers lined my feet as I passed by strangers, making my way through the overgrown shrubbery. People played among the rocks below me, laughing out words I could not quite make out; still, my feet kept guiding me forward. Eventually, I found myself at a crossroads: one bridge to the right, and a slope up towards the left.

I’ll know deep down… I’ll know which path to take. I couldn’t recall ever taking a bridge to get to the creek, however, I was drawn to it in a way I still can’t quite explain. I found myself continuing uncertainly over old wooden boards, hammered together with rusty nails. At the end of the bridge you could see that the winding forest trees revealed an opening. Light shined through on the concrete path, and as I walked into the sun, my heart bloomed and a smile forced itself upon my face. The concrete snaked ahead, alongside a lake, and I recognized all too clearly the familiar road to my childhood. 

I closed my eyes and heard the clacking of my sneaker soles against the road. I was almost there! When I stopped, daring to open my eyes, the entrance to the creek was almost directly in front of me. It was now ravaged with vines and green leaves curling from their stem, but I shoved past the overgrowth and hopped onto the stones I stood upon all those years ago. The water trickled just below their smooth edges and seemed to be inviting me to follow it, beckoning me deeper into the water. I felt tiny splashes against my ankles that soaked into the fabric of my shoes.

Just like that, as I walked further down the stepping stones, the tightness in my chest seemed to melt away and drain into the waters. In the familiarity of the dribbling water, I felt enveloped in its trees and leaves, encased in a seed of nostalgia where nothing could harm me. 

“Is everything going to be ok?” I asked quietly as though I was that little girl again who thought she could communicate with the earth. “Please send me a sign.” Just behind me on the concrete road, a mourning dove landed and ruffled its feathers. Yes, everything was going to be ok.