This week, I found myself falling down a very familiar kind of rabbit hole. Not the stressful kind. Not the endless-scroll-on-the-internet kind.

The kind where you start one movie, then another, and suddenly you realize you’ve spent several evenings wandering through fantasy worlds.

Narnia.
Alice in Wonderland.
The BFG.

Stories filled with strange creatures, impossible landscapes, quiet bravery, and the kind of wonder that feels almost forgotten in adulthood.

It’s funny how easily we tell ourselves these stories are meant for children.

As adults, we’re supposed to watch more serious things. More “grown-up” things. Stories that reflect responsibility and productivity, and all the other words that seem to follow us around as we get older.

But something interesting happens when you return to these stories later in life.

You notice things you didn’t see before.

You notice the courage it takes for characters to step into unknown worlds.
You notice the quiet loneliness many of them carry.
You notice the moments where imagination becomes the doorway to something bigger.

And sometimes you realize those stories aren’t just for children at all.

They’re reminders.

When Childhood Wasn’t Simple

For some people, childhood is remembered as something soft and safe.

For others, it was something very different.

My childhood was complicated.

Growing up in foster care meant learning very early how unpredictable life could be. Some days were stable, some weren’t. Some moments were good, others were harder to carry.

Stories, imagination, and creativity became quiet ways to cope with the world around me. I found myself lost in books, reading 10 to 20 books a week when the schedule allowed it.

But like many people who grow up quickly, there’s a strange thing that happens later in life, because you realize you skipped parts of childhood that other people seemed to move through more easily.

And eventually, if you’re paying attention, something inside you starts asking for those things back.

Not in a childish way.

In a healing way.

Allowing Yourself to Revisit Wonder

Watching those fantasy movies this week reminded me of something important.

We don’t outgrow wonder.

We just forget to make space for it.

As adults, we’re often told to move forward. Be practical. Be responsible. Focus on productivity. Focus on results. I remember someone telling me to be more realistic and that I live with my head in the clouds. But it is being unrealistic if you think that helped me get to where I am today.

And healing doesn’t always happen through productivity, because sometimes it happens through something much quieter.

Like watching a story about a wardrobe that opens into another world.

Or a giant who collects dreams.

Or a girl who falls through a rabbit hole into a strange and magical place.

These stories remind us that imagination isn’t childish.

It’s essential.

The Quiet Work of Healing Your Inner Child

People often talk about “healing the inner child” in ways that sound abstract or overly complicated.

But sometimes it’s very simple.

Sometimes it’s allowing yourself to do things you were never given the space to do before.

Sometimes it’s choosing joy even when the world insists you should be serious.

Sometimes it’s letting yourself be curious again.

And sometimes it’s sitting down on the couch and watching a fantasy movie without apologizing for it.

Because somewhere along the way, we were told we had to leave those things behind.

But the truth is, creativity often lives exactly there.

In wonder.
In curiosity.
In imagination.

How These Stories Found Their Way Into My Work

What surprised me this week was how quickly those stories started influencing my creative work.

After watching a few of these films, I found myself sketching again.

Not with a strict plan.

Just letting ideas wander.

Doodling jars with clouds, a lantern deep in snow, and a rabbit with a vest on.

Some of the patterns I’ve been working on recently were inspired by these moments. Small motifs that feel a little whimsical. Shapes that feel like they could belong in a storybook forest.

Mushrooms.
Curious creatures.
Strange little landscapes.

I know that inspiration doesn’t come from sitting at a desk trying to force ideas into existence. It usually comes from me walking in the woods with my dogs, and then sometimes it comes from letting yourself wander through imagination again.

Creativity and the Permission to Play

There’s a quiet kind of rebellion in allowing yourself to play again as an adult.

Not play in the sense of being irresponsible.

But play in the sense of curiosity.

Exploring ideas.
Following strange creative impulses.
Letting stories influence your work.

Fantasy stories do something powerful. They remind us that the world is bigger than the narrow lanes we sometimes confine ourselves to.

They remind us that creativity thrives in places where logic loosens its grip.

And sometimes that’s exactly what we need.

A Question Worth Asking

So here’s a question I’ve been thinking about this week.

What if the things we loved as children weren’t things we were supposed to leave behind? What if they were clues?

Clues pointing toward the parts of ourselves that still need space to breathe.

Clues pointing toward creativity, imagination, and wonder.

Clues reminding us that healing doesn’t always happen in big, dramatic ways.

Sometimes it happens quietly.

In a living room.

With a movie playing.

And a sketchbook waiting nearby.