Coping with nostalgia in adulthood can be painful.
I used to think nostalgia was soft. I thought it meant looking back on childhood with warmth. Saturday morning cartoons, sugary cereal in brightly colored bowls, commercial jingles I can still sing word for word. I thought it was a fond remembering of riding Big Wheels down the sidewalk, staying outside until the streetlights flickered on, and knowing that someone else was handling the hard parts of life. But as I get further from childhood, nostalgia feels less like warmth and more like an ache.
It hurts.
It hurts to think about the smells of plastic toys fresh out of the package. The sound of the freezer opening for a popsicle that no longer exists. The taste of treats that were discontinued decades ago. The simplicity of a world that felt manageable, even magical. Back then, the biggest decision was which cartoon to watch or which friend’s door to knock on.
Adulthood is different. It’s heavy. It’s layered. It’s full of responsibility and headlines and obligations and uncertainty. And sometimes the distance between who we were and who we are feels almost physical, like something we can never return to. The world feels louder now. Faster. Harder. And being grown requires a steadiness that children never have to practice.
It’s no wonder nostalgia stings.
But here’s what I’ve learned: the longing isn’t only about wanting to go back in time. It’s about missing play. It’s about missing whimsy. It’s about missing a version of ourselves that wasn’t always bracing for the unexpected. We’re allowed to miss that. And we’re allowed to recreate parts of it. So, over the past few years, I’ve intentionally added small pockets of whimsy back into my life. Not ironically. Not as a joke. But seriously.
I have regular playdates with a friend where we make miniature food sets with Miniverse, carefully assembling tiny plastic ingredients like I’m eight years old again. We talk and make scenes with sheets of 3D stickers from Amazon and place them in journals just because they make us smile. We color. We paint. We shape small pieces of clay into nothing particularly useful. The point isn’t productivity. The point is play.
Play therapy isn’t just for children.
Play therapy is a therapeutic approach that uses creative, imaginative, or hands-on activities to help individuals process emotions, reduce stress, and restore a sense of safety and expression. While often associated with children, play therapy principles can benefit adults by calming the nervous system, encouraging self-expression, and reintroducing curiosity and joy in a structured, supportive way. In short, play therapy is for nervous systems that need softness. It’s for adults who have been “on” for too long. It can include:
Building something small with your hands
Coloring without worrying about staying inside the lines
Doing a puzzle on the floor
Rewatching a childhood movie
Listening to the soundtrack of your youth
Collecting something purely for joy
Swinging at a park
Baking a recipe from childhood
Drawing with glitter pens
Buying the cereal you weren’t allowed to have
Regression, in small doses, can be restorative. It reminds your body that not every moment requires performance.
You are allowed to play.
You’re allowed to step outside of productivity culture and into something small, unnecessary, and joyful. The world is intense. Being an adult right now is intense. We’re carrying things children never imagine. If nostalgia hurts, it may be because your body remembers what ease felt like. We can’t return to Saturday mornings in footed pajamas (or can we?), but we can protect small corners of softness in the present.
Whimsy is not immaturity. It is maintenance. And sometimes, it’s medicine.
