Rediscovering joy, imagination, and the art of silliness
As I sat down to write this post, I found myself drifting back to childhood.
Not the fairy-floss, barefoot, carefree kind you see in movies — but my actual childhood. The one shaped by structure, discipline, and quiet expectations.
My parents were both serious people. Hard-working. Proper.
And while they loved us deeply, play wasn’t something we did often. Not out loud. Not openly.
But it was there.
It would slip through the cracks sometimes — small, spontaneous bursts of laughter and lightness.
Like the time my dad kept driving around the roundabout at Chermside Hospital, again and again, just to hear my sister and me giggle in the backseat.
Or the day my mum — who was meticulous in everything — tried to recreate my dad’s beloved tomato pie from his childhood. She wanted it to be perfect.
It wasn’t.
It was watery. Sweet. Slightly tragic.
But unforgettable.
We laughed — not at her, but with her.
Because in that moment, play had found its way in.
These are the moments I hold onto now — the ones that remind me that even the most responsible adult has a spark of silliness somewhere inside them.
This post is the flip side of my last one, where I shared how my inner child often took the wheel — sometimes with joy, sometimes with wild detours. That post was about freedom and rebellion.
But what happens when the adult never lets go of the wheel?
When responsibility smothers spontaneity?
When joy becomes a distant memory?
That’s what I want to explore here.
The Most Adult Relationship I’ve Had? Work.
For me, the most grown-up version of myself has always shown up at work.
I’m a nurse — a job where the stakes are high and the policies are older than my parents. I often joke they were probably written by Florence Nightingale herself, inked in cursive with a fountain pen and a stern expression.
Mistakes in my profession aren’t just mistakes. They can be life-altering. So being responsible wasn’t a suggestion — it was stitched into my scrubs.
And with that came pressure. Weight. Rules.
Creativity wasn’t part of the uniform.
But I tried to slip it in where I could. A floral shoe here. A bold headscarf there. I brought colour into sterile rooms, not because I had to, but because something inside me — something childlike — still wanted to play.
Imposter Syndrome: When Responsibility Becomes Armour
As I climbed higher in my career, something else grew louder: the fear of being found out.
Imposter syndrome became my silent co-worker. Read more about imposter syndrom here.
I felt like I had to work twice as hard to be seen as competent. I buried my joy under checklists. I worked overtime on being professional, productive, perfect.
And then, something snapped.
The Burnout–Rebellion Loop
When your inner child bolts and your adult can’t stop her
Here’s the thing about silencing your inner child: she doesn’t just disappear. She simmers.
Eventually, the pressure builds — and one day, she doesn’t whisper. She yells. And in my case, she packed her bags and ran.
I quit my job. I left everything familiar behind. I moved, I travelled, I started over — again. With little thought for the consequences, just a desperate need for air.
It looked brave. Adventurous.
But really, it was burnout. And rebellion.
This became a pattern. I would over-function, then implode. Pour everything into being the perfect adult — then feel trapped, impulsively run, and try to build something new from scratch. Again.
We often call it a midlife crisis.
But maybe it’s not a crisis at all.
Maybe it’s a long-overdue reckoning.
It’s the child in us saying, Enough.
It’s the adult in us realising, I don’t want to live like this anymore.
✍️ Have you ever quit something suddenly or made a major change without fully understanding why? What might your inner child have been trying to say?
Some of Us Never Learned How to Play
It’s worth saying this too: some of us never had an inner child who was free to begin with.
Maybe you were the “responsible one” early. The peacekeeper. The mini adult in the family. You were praised for being helpful, quiet, mature beyond your years.
Play might feel foreign. Frivolous. Even selfish.
If that’s you, please know — it’s not too late.
You don’t have to reclaim a childhood you didn’t have.
You can create joy now. Silly, gentle, soul-nourishing joy.
When Joy Disappears, So Do We
Here’s what I’ve noticed in myself and others: when we stop playing, we stop showing up.
We disconnect from community.
We disengage from life.
We lose trust in leaders, in systems, in each other. And in that quiet withdrawal, we start making choices from disillusionment instead of hope.
Joy isn’t a luxury. It’s a form of participation. It’s what keeps us present, creative, and alive.
Muddy Paws, Tomato Pie, and the Sacred Mess
Remember that soggy tomato pie? It’s become a symbol for me.
It wasn’t about the recipe. It was about trying. It was about love, and play, and not getting it quite right — but laughing anyway.
Years later, in a particularly soggy Townsville wet season, our backyard became a swamp. The mould crept in. The pawprints multiplied. The ceiling started dripping and so did my patience.
But something softened.
I stopped cleaning obsessively and called it “finger painting for dogs.”
We walked in the rain.
Read books.
Let the mess sit.
Meanwhile, my husband couldn’t cope.
His usual “fun” was gone — no motorbikes, no fishing, no kayaking. And he couldn’t imagine new ways to play. His inner child had stalled.
And that’s the truth: if we don’t nurture imagination, we forget how to play.
Sitting in the Gutter, Waiting for Magic
Do you remember sitting in the gutter as a kid, whining, “There’s nothing to do!”?
And then — ten minutes later — you were sword-fighting with sticks and building cubbies out of cardboard boxes? Dragging each other on fluffy rugs through the house? Or creating a game that involved serious ball throwing and some real tears.
That’s the gift of boredom. It births play.
Maybe if you’re stuck now — sitting in the metaphorical gutter — you just need to wait. Or wander. Or dig out your childhood photos and laugh at the hair.
Better yet, make a mess.
Cook something weird.
Dance in the lounge room.
Colour outside the lines.
Play terribly.
Just… play.
We Used to Pretend to Be Grown-Ups
Now that we are grown-ups — maybe it’s time we pretend to be kids again.
Even if it feels silly. Especially if it feels silly.
Because joy isn’t the opposite of responsibility.
It’s the thing that makes it bearable.
And if you don’t know where to start, I’ve made something for you.
🧸 Download your free worksheet: “When Your Adult Won’t Let You Play Anymore”
It’s gentle. Playful. And just a little rebellious.
Because sometimes, the most grown-up thing we can do…
is let go.
