THE ROOM I CAN’T FORGET
Some of the most important rooms are the ones we will never see.
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I met myself under our shiny black baby grand piano when I was what feels like a little girl. I was, in actuality, very close to thirteen.
This is when I discovered I had a flair for the dramatic. Not in some need-to-be-seen way, but in the invisibility of a wildly creative mind that begged the real me to come out to play.
I sobbed under that piano. And I grabbed my knees and swayed. That little girl was so much like the woman writing this—one who thought deeply about way too many things.
Under that piano in the corner of the room I felt safe.
Re-entering that secret moment now, I sense that the girl I was then didn’t know how to ask for the comfort that she craved.
This comfort apprehended—
of honest introspection,
void of outside input and opinion,
an awakened self-acceptance bathed in grace.
What a rare experience for all of us. Especially for an almost teenage girl.
Apart from all the superficial, catty chatter, I learned to seek the shelter of one’s own embrace.
We all carry rooms within us…some tender and soothing, and some trembling from some hurtful or disappointing past.
Not merely rooms, but wombs that cradled us, protected us, and silenced the harsh voices that did their best to drown out the sweetness of the familiar voice within.
That living room not only housed a shiny black piano but cradled a young girl’s journey of discovering herself. There, I unwrapped the gift of discernment and a reverence for “identity” that freed me from the nasty trap of trying to be like everyone else.
This is the room I can’t forget. The one that birthed a purpose in me of creating the soothing spaces we run to when we need to reconnect with the healer in ourselves.
Healing…and Home. Two words not always connected but they should be, yes? Let my life be a perpetual mission of drawing you back to what comforts and reconnects.
Is this a space outside of us or a place where the soul resides?
The spoiler is that it’s both, in large supply.
Close your eyes and let yourself return, not to the home you once had, but to the home that has stayed with you no matter where you go—
you may have vacated physically,
but emotionally never completely shut the door.
What if these rooms are trying to speak? What if they are part of the blueprint for the sanctuary you are called to build today? Could the room become an altar, a daily ritual, a vow in how you design and live throughout your day?
What we felt in one perfect moment—baking in the kitchen, hiding in the closet, sitting in a sun-soaked chair—can be resurrected as a healing force in the now. May we remember, not because it was beautiful, but because something of us was formed there.
I am learning that healing is not always an action, but a remembrance…A taking in. A letting go. A quiet, self-accepting embrace.
NOTES:
Little girls. I want to say they are not so different from little boys but in doing so I would be wrong. There is a cattiness, a competition, and nearly always the simplistic conversations that have to do with how we look, who we like, and what boy we think is super cute…Women, does this resonate?
I don’t remember sitting on the bed at a slumber party and asking the kinds of questions that could change the trajectory of a life. But this is the woman I want to be, now, with every fiber of my being.
I googled “what little girls talk about” just to see if things have changed.
My favorite response read, SERIOUS QUESTIONS TO ASK A GIRL
[I would add, OR A WOMAN YOU KNOW RIGHT NOW]
· How do you cheer yourself up?
· Who knows you best?
· What's your biggest fear?
· What's the best gift you've ever been given?
· If you could travel back in time, where would you go?
· What do you think your best quality is?
· How do you handle stress?
· How do you prefer to de-stress?
The point is the profound collection of valuable memories in The Room I Can’t Forget. These are not simply visions of some irrelevant past but moments that have shaped who we are today.
What is the room you can’t forget? Describe it.
Now ask:
What feeling lived there?
· What part of me was awakened, protected, or silenced in that space?
· If I could return as my present self, what would I say to that version of me there?
Describe the textures, light, sounds. Was it yours? Borrowed? A hiding place?
Then reflect:
– What part of you came alive there?
– What was silenced?
– If you walked back in today, who would you be?
– How might this remembered space want to be honored in your life now?
Could it become a corner of stillness in your current home? A daily ritual? A color palette or sacred vow?
Invitation:
Comment to share your reflections, or simply whisper them back to that forgotten room. Perhaps the words, either shared or silently kept, will bring a measure of healing you need.