How to Let Go, Relax and Nourish the Child Within

I remember those quiet summer weekend afternoons when I was young, with nothing I had to do. I used to head down to the end of my backyard, climb over the chain-link fence, and make my solitary journey through the Australian bush to the little creek, my private sanctuary. I’d take off my sandals and put my feet and hands in the cool water, watching it ripple and flow gently around them. The water caught little pebbles on its way and deposited them on top of the little clay hills it had already assembled on its banks. There were minnows and dragonflies with iridescent wings, flying from plant to plant.

The air was still and quiet; even the birds seemed to be resting. I imagined that the pebbles on the mounds were little rooftops in a fairy kingdom: all different colored rooftops, red, brown, some clay-colored, some sandstone. I observed the fairies’ busy lives, taking care of the creek and the surrounding bush, and tending to the needs of their miniature families under their rooftops. I wanted them to be real.

I imagined their clothes and gave some of them wings and some not. I saw them caring for nature and knowing precisely what was needed. The little children fairies would get into mischief and play in the creek as they made gum tree leaves into miniature boats, never going too far away from their magical kingdom. I wondered whether they had to be fearful of yabbies, snakes, and spiders, or whether they all had an understanding not to harm one another.

When I grew weary in the afternoon heat, I would lie back on the bush floor, checking for random spiders and snakes nearby. I’d contemplate the clear blue sky through the canopy of tall eucalyptus trees. Sometimes, there would be a breeze in the tops of the trees, creating a symphony. Sometimes, puffs of clouds wafted by. I would stay there in this little portion of heaven until I sensed it was time for dinner and I needed to be home.

Back then, I didn’t have an iPhone or a camera, and even if I had taken a photo of those pebbles by the creek and the sky through the trees, it would never be the same as the imprint in my memory. The shapes of the clay pillars, the colors of each lovely pebble, the balmy fragrance of the bush, the symphony in the breeze, and the cool, fresh water in the creek. I remember my afternoons fondly in the bush in the long, hot Australian summers.

I believe my experiences in the bush, without parents hovering, were an important part of my ability to push through difficult, daunting events in my life. We climbed trees, explored rock fissures and small caves, swam in water holes, and went on long treks. It gave us confidence as we learned how to overcome obstacles by our own wits.

Roots of Action—a research-based source on positive youth development states: "There are many scientific studies that underscore the benefits of nature, including stress relief, improved short-term memory, increased mental energy, less inflammation, better vision, improved concentration, creativity, and improved mental health. For families, the great outdoors is a natural playground that contributes to a child’s positive development. I agree with everything Dr. Marilyn Price-Mitchell says about children and nature. Growing up in and around nature helped me to survive parental abuse. 

I hope children today can have moments like this to relax, let go, and experience the wonder of nature. I feel so lucky to have had the bushland behind my yard where I could explore, sometimes by myself and sometimes with friends or my brother. It helped save me when, most of the time, my house was stressful.

As adults, it's helpful to nourish the child within and take time to let go of stress, relax, and recharge with the healing power of nature, and connect with something greater, more life-affirming than any stress we are currently going through. 

There was a child went forth every day;

And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became;

And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this child,

And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,

And the Third-month lambs, and the sow's pink-faint litter, and the mare's foal, and the cow's calf — Walt Whitman

If you need help to let go and gain freedom from stress, grief, anger, resentment, frustration, or worries. Please reach out. I'd love to help. Click the 20-minute complimentary consultation button below if you have questions, or email me at info@gailmae to request a session.