I'm allowed draw and paint all over the walls.
I eat rice with ketchup as often as I want.
I never have to get out of my abandoned princess orphan costume.
I scream and cry.
The word "lady" never enters my vocabulary.
The playroom looks like a room children play in, instead of a room well-behaved children never make a mess in.
My family always wants to see my homemade plays.
I am allowed to collect rolly-polly's.
I don't have to brush my hair, ever.
I can play with cars too.
Barbie never makes an appearance.
Disney movies are banned.
There's space for me to run around.
I can rip the wrapping on presents.
I don't have to speak up in class; I'm allowed to be quiet and shy.
I sleep in a tent.
I am not careful with my clothes, they're inexpensive and they can get dirty and messed up.
I am told that I am a beautiful little girl, and that I can have as many dreams, realistic or not, as I want.
We don't always get the childhoods we want and need; sometimes we have to give them to ourselves as adults. And, maybe, we can give a little bit of them to our children, if we're sensitive enough to know what they each need.
As the caretaker I wish I'd had to my Inner Child, I ask Little Larissa, What do you need today? If I can give it to her- to myself- I do. And so, all those impulses and dreams that were stifled long ago, begin to live again...
There's nothing as touching and sweet as a happy child who's allowed to dream, I think.
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