Reconnecting With My Inner Child Through Writing

It was usually after we finished reviewing our science textbook that my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Atkins, gave us silent reading or writing time every day. It was just 30 minutes out of the day that she set aside for us to be able to decompress our 10-year-old brains and do something creative. It was those 30 minutes out of the day that I think shaped the beginning of my love for writing and my future career in public relations. In my lap, I would hold one of those grainy composition notebooks that Walmart sold for 79 cents each. I used to fill the pages of them with my poems, stories, and diary entries that could entertain a soul for hours, at least that’s what I thought. I would sit criss-cross applesauce on the dusty floor of the classroom and write with my wooden pencil because we still used those then. For some reason, I thought the wooden number two pencils were fancier than the plastic ones. I would whisper about and share my extravagant stories with my friends, pretending I was an author or publisher pitching my newest idea. It may sound silly to most, but I valued this time every single day more than I looked forward to eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich at lunch or playing kickball with my friends at recess. For me, those 30 minutes that Mrs. Atkins set aside, took up a larger part of me than she probably ever thought it would. Though I was just 10 years old, those miniature notebook pages are where I developed my sense of individuality and creativity through writing at such a young age. 

As I turn 20 next week, I find myself thinking about how those grainy notebooks are now stashed in a storage bin somewhere in my parents’ basement. They’ve probably collected one of those dainty piles of dust on top of them that movie characters always brush away so dramatically. I frequently have to remind myself that just because I no longer carry around my notebooks in my colorful backpack, I still remain with the skills and sense of identity that they helped me build. 

Now that I complete my college writing assignments on my big girl laptop, often accessorized with a highly caffeinated coffee and noise canceling headphones, I sometimes find it hard to remember that carelessly creative little girl. But as I have continued to learn and grow through high school, community college, and now VCU, pieces of that creativity seep through the cracks every time I write something new. Joining organizations like Her Campus have allowed me to share my creative side with an audience that can relate and enjoy my pieces. Taking classes that allow me to write about my experiences and things happening around me has also allowed me to continue to practice. If you’re a college student currently struggling to connect with the creativity that flowed from your inner child, I highly recommend branching out and attempting to write for you and your own enjoyment more often!