Reading Time: 3 minutes I remember Angie, the beautiful, magical child I was once. She would create poems and dances and organize participatory, creative events for the family reunions. Even before she could talk, she would get up on a big can of  “Sultana” crackers and tell stories to the invisible crowd from her future life that only she could see. I invite you to join my “I am my Dream Celebration” today by leaving your comments and sharing your stories. Here’s mine. Through my inherited wounds and blows in life, Angie lost some of her creativity and luster, and she became a caretaker, someone who carried a lot of psychic weight as an atonement for being so happy and creative. She lost her singing voice. She lost her visual art skills. She came to believe that she only had a right to do art if she was NOT enjoying it and if she focused on the problems. After all, that is what she saw everyone around her small world focusing on! Though I never betrayed my creativity or my life’s purpose, I paid [Read more.]