I was daydreaming the other day, reflecting upon some of my treasured childhood memories.

As I daydreamed, it occurred to me that when I was a child, I created my very own Remembering Place, without even realizing that’s what I was doing.  Or perhaps (and much more likely) I knew exactly what I was doing!

I can clearly recall the closet in my childhood bedroom, exactly as it looked when I was just five or six years of age (give or take, my memory is sometimes foggy when it comes to my specific age).

My closet was the place I went to get some peace and quiet, some privacy… A place I’d created that was my very own: my own personal and protected space.

I was very blessed to have such a huge closet!  It wasn’t small, even by today’s standards, and I took advantage of every inch of that space.

I remember lining the floor with blankets and pillows so I would be comfortable while sitting or lying down.

I filled the shelves with my beloved books, cherished photo albums, and my first journals.  Yes, even at a very young age, I was a writer.  (It’s always been a core component of who I am, actually.)

I can clearly see myself, snuggled into that space, with all the time in the world to just be.  I loved that space.  It was one of the few places where I felt I could truly be myself.

In that closet I could show up fully, however I was in any moment.  I could cry, I could yell, I could punch my pillows.

Or I could daydream and envision the most beautiful places imaginable, hoping to one day travel to those faraway lands on exciting journeys as an “adult.”

I would read books, getting completely lost in their pages.  I would write by hand in lined-page journals.  I would look at pictures and hang posters on the walls.

I would reach up and feel the hems of my mother’s dresses, hanging on the pipe rod that ran across the space, holding her garments up above my head, creating a unique and interesting canopy of sorts.

I could retreat to my closet when I was sad, frustrated, or feeling left out or down.  I would also go there on purpose, just to enjoy the feelings of peace, security, and freedom that welled up within me when I crossed that threshold and closed the double wooden louvered doors behind me.

I remember that from time to time I would invite my only sibling, my younger brother, into the space as well.  I made sure he understood what was expected of him in my special space though.  There were rules to ensure that the sacredness would not be disrupted.

It makes me smile today, knowing that my younger self was open and aware, doing what she needed to do to create a safe and special place for herself.

I also wonder about you.  Do you have a Remembering Place today?

Did you ever create a secret or special place in your home as a child?

I’d love to hear stories about your Remembering Places.