Sometimes, I think about that little girl I used to be—the one who played with dolls and held imaginary tea parties, who believed the world was full of endless possibilities.
There was a gentle magic in those early years, a quiet wonder that filled my room and the pages of bedtime stories. I remember being unscarred.
A Walking Doll Gift From Dad When I Was Seven
When I was seven, my father had been away for a while, and when he returned, he brought me a gift I still vividly remember: a giant doll, almost half my height, with a name—Shirley.
I was completely taken aback by this amazing toy. Shirley wasn't just a doll; she was a walking doll. You could hold her hand or arm, and as you walked, her legs would move forward as if she were walking alongside you.
I remember the awe of watching her move, the sense that she was alive in a way no toy had ever been. That feeling—the magic, the companionship, the sheer possibility—stayed with me for years, and it's exactly what inspired the term "walking doll" when I wrote this song.
As life went on, Shirley stopped walking. I grew taller, my imagination quieted, and somewhere along the way, I stopped letting her talk. Pretend tea parties became memories. She became a decoration, a silent reminder of a part of me I had tucked away.
I Grew Bigger And Stopped Her From Talking
In my twenties, thirties, and forties, I thought I had to leave that little girl behind. I told myself I was practical, independent, and strong.
Dolls were for children, not for grown-ups. But life has a way of nudging you back to what you need most. Every heartbreak, every challenge, every moment that shook me whispered: remember the unscarred me. Remember the one who imagined freely, who believed in possibility, who saw the world as full of magic.
Now, at this stage of my life, I realize I don't have to hide her anymore. I've stopped worrying about what others might think when they see me tap into my creativity, my imagination, my artsy, playful side. What matters is being true to myself. Being free again, as I was when I was little, is my gift to myself.
This Song is About Acknowledging Our Young Imagination
This song, The Living Story (I Remember Being Unscarred), is my ode to that girl in the light pink dress.
I chose the color pink in these lyrics and in the lyric video for two reasons: one, because when I was a little girl, pink was one of my three favorite colors; and two, most importantly, because my granddaughter's favorite color is pink.
In the lyric video, I dressed both the grown woman and the young girl in pink to reflect that connection. She's still there on the shelf, waiting patiently for me to remember her, for me to reach for her when the world feels heavy, when life leaves its marks. And now, I do. I drink pretend tea again. I let myself imagine. I let myself create. That girl, that spark, is alive in me, and she always will be.
At 65 Years Old, I'm Acknowledging The Unscarred Me Once Again, as Talked About in the Lyrics I Wrote in this Song
Those who know me know I've been writing for a long time. I started writing poems and song lyrics in 1968, when I was eight years old, and I've written on and off ever since. In 2019, I published a book on Amazon featuring fifty years of my writings. Life often pulled me away from writing.
Now, at 65, I've made a personal decision: I will honor my spirit and write as much as I can for as long as I live. This is my choice—not to be special, but to be true to who I am, what my soul calls me to do. For me, it's writing. For others, it may be art, music, or building something meaningful.
The truth is, knowing ourselves is the hardest thing we do. I've come back to my true self, and I plan to live out the last third of my life fully aligned with who I am at heart.
Whether anyone reads or listens to my writings is secondary; it's ok if people don't. It's just something I have to do; I have to get it out. I hope you can release the true you, or maybe you already have!
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