Rosie Glow Wellness

Mind body health for the deeply fabulous

On Inner Children. Or something.


Long time, no #realtalk, Sweet friend. Truth: I am working very dilligently on a secret mission that has no business being on the internet (Truesdale. Rose Truesdale.) BUT I STILL HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS, and lately, the ones worth sharing have been all about inner children. Look. I am clearly no one’s mother (though I am perpetually surrounded by babies) and I have no real aspirations to test my maternal instincts. Ever. But teasing out your creativity entails becoming reacquainted with little you: shaking her tiny hand, complimenting her tutu and light up sneakers, and asking her what she wants to do today. Sometimes Baby Rose wants to collage:


This is the beginnings of a shrine to me, my roommate and my cat.
Meow mreeeeeow more to come.

Sometimes she wants to bedazzle sh*t:


#blurryphonephoto. Let’s call it intentional.

And, sensitive girl that she is, sometimes life gets her down. Sometimes she kicks and screams with her scrawny legs and squeaky voice and all of her horrific might (#kidsareterrifying) and desperately needs an exorcism some kindness and understanding from her cool older self (that’s you.) Now, I may not want to physically expel another person from my own personage because gross. But I do know how to talk to children: I have a Disney Princess air about me, which goes a surprisingly long way with the three feet and under set; and I respect imagination. I respect the meaningful use of imagination so much more than I respect displays of power or efficiency or whatever witchery people use to keep their houses clean. Adults: you’re boring and you need to re-prioritize. But kids. Kids, we have a mutual understanding. Props, young grasshoppers.

Here’s how to talk to your creative self:

It does her no good to hear how pretty she is. Compliment the picture she drew:


By the mother-daughter combo Busy Mockingbird. Read about them.

Marvel at her fusilli noodle and Elmer’s glue ferret statue. Compliment her goddamn blog. An aside: whenever someone tells me they read my blog, I instantly love them. Boys, take note. ANYWAY, my mom used to go to these seminars when I was wee, in which she was instructed to focus on my talents instead of my looks. As a result, I grew up joyfully geeky. I could have been a mean girl! But I was, and still am, too busy drawing  pictures and writing terrible poetry and reading about awakening my artistic spirit to remember to wear pink on Wednesdays. If you can remember to put on pants in the morning and brush your teeth sometimes, no one cares what you look like and every second you spend worrying about your appearance is a second you COULD have spent painting portraits of your ex boyfriends as cats. Get on that. Your hair’s fine.

Don’t criticize her either. Quit it with the negative self-talk, Homie. If she’s terrible with numbers, help her pass her calculus test, sure, but acknowledge that her real skills lie in English. Or if she loves math and science and hates glitter and craft glue… I mean, I can’t personally relate, but you do you! Don’t tear your inner child down: build her up. Don’t call her stupid. Don’t call her ugly. DON’T call her fat. My (wacky, weird, wonderful) mother would never call me fat. She tells me that I need to wash my hair more often, and throw out my disintegrating shoes, and stop wearing spandex crop tops and high waisted shorts in the winter (with TIGHTS, Mom! With tights!). But she accepts me as is and probably knows that advising me to look a little less grungy just makes me wanna be grungier. The 90′s are back, yo. WOAH, TANGENT. Anyway, you wouldn’t call a child names unless you are #theworst, so don’t say that sh*t to your inner child either. Unfair judgement kills creativity. Kills it. Nourish and flourish, baby!

Let the girl wander. Your creative soul can’t do sh*t if you keep her on a leash… and there are those parents. Give her permission to explore! Go for a walk! Wander around a museum by yourself! Window shop! Volunteer at a gallery space or a farmer’s market or a concert venue or a community garden! I love you, but you have no excuses. Get out there. Unless you’re busy making something. Then you can stay in. (Aside number two: I “volunteered” for the Comfort Station last night. A.k.a. I listened to live music and took advantage of the photo booth and free PBR and handsome hipster boys while I worked registration, and today, I’m positively buzzing with creative energy. Thanks Emily!) Carve out creative space for yourself, but don’t, you know… live in space. You can only relate to the world if you’re part of it. So take part and take heart! #rhymezone

Happy Friday, Babygirls and Babyboys. Take care! Treat yo’self! There are exciting things to come.

What do you say to your inner child? I want some taglines. Best one wins a batch of cookies and a hug from yours truly, so lay it on me.


Author: twitchysister

Hey you! is largely devoted to musings on what balance means to an urbane, artsy-fartsy twenty-something. It’s tough out here for us post-grad women: if you’re not homeless, you’re doing something right. But do you, too, worry that you spend too much time furrowing your brows over your future when you should be unwrapping and relishing your present? Do you, like me, sometimes feel like everyone expects you to be the type of person who spends the majority of her entry-level “arts” paycheck on fifteen dollar old-timey cocktails, four a.m. cab rides home and everything sequined on the Urban Outfitters sale rack when, perhaps, you are really the type of person who would rather drink cucumber mint kale juice while wearing yoga pants and Googling reiki techniques? Is it possible that such a person is one and the same, and she is fabulous in her own, very confused right? Sister girl, I hear you. I know you. I accept you. I also know in my happy gut, full heart and coffee-addled brain that you and I are gorgeous glow worms, just as we are! We are sparkle ponies of light and love and we are still in the process of teasing out our true, authentic selves with all of this… living. So if you don’t have it figured out, if you acknowledge that you never will and that is tremendously exciting, if you want to connect with other smart chicks and tap into that charming inner-self of yours, then come back real soon, ya hear? We’re family now!

9 thoughts on “On Inner Children. Or something.

  1. This is the best, Rose. Thanks. :)

  2. Dang it. You beat me to this post. Having a little sister (um 3!) definitely makes me aware of how I talk to her and about her but also how I talk to and about myself. Chu know? Like if I won’t ask, “do I look fat in this?” In front of her then why am I saying it at all?

    And even though she doesn’t get it, I am always telling her I love her because she is Ava and that nothing she ever does could make me love her less. I mean, I think we both know I struggled with being an over achiever and even though my parents never put that on me, I want to make sure she knows I love her as is.

    Yes, I do talk to myself.

    • :) I love this. Ava’s a lucky little sis! I miss MY little sister, who is in Spain. Another tangent. Anywho, Baby Nina, you’re an excellent writer and you’re naturally witty and warm and fiery and loveable. Take THAT.

  3. Pingback: Resolve | Rosie Glow Wellness

  4. Pingback: 2:9, 2:10 & 2:11 Proposals | Rosie Glow Wellness

  5. Pingback: 2:22 & 23: Year of No | Rosie Glow Wellness

  6. Pingback: 2:36 I’m Not Here | Rosie Glow Wellness

  7. Pingback: 2:71 Writing About Not Writing | Rosie Glow Wellness

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 77 other followers