Sophie Lynne Creations

She’d always hated when days held nothing remarkable. Nothing of note, nothing to celebrate or grieve. There was often, simply, nothing for Goldilocks. She felt empty, unquenchably thirsty for something that she couldn’t place. Her mother had gotten sick of her attitude. Her father was quiet but loving. Her grandparents were long gone and her brother called her every name in the book (even though she knew he’d take a bullet for her). Goldilocks had straight As, a healthy body, and plenty of freedom; who was she to want more, especially if she couldn’t even place what was missing? Yet something was indeed missing, without a doubt. She’d toss and turn with the pillows each night, comfort dodging her every move. Too hot to sleep with all the blankets on, too cold without them. It was torture. 

On this particular night, Goldi craved air, a change of scenery. She ventured out into the woods behind her house and started walking. Her therapist had recently encouraged this approach: “Keep walking so you don’t have time to make judgements,” she offered. Goldi was sick of the idea that it was her being judgemental or negative. To her, genuinely, it felt like the faults belonged intrinsically to the very things she’d describe. She’s not picky about a pillow being too soft, it merely is too soft of a pillow. How was it negative to acknowledge that? She stepped on twigs and compared the sounds of each snap. She could tell she was tired of all the hyper-analysis, she wanted a break from the constant comparing. But she felt trapped in her agitations. A je-ne-sais-quoi tingle kept her stomping forward. 

And stomp she did, until she found herself at a wooden house at a clearing in the woods. The door swinging freely with the wind on old hinges, she peered her head in. 

“Hello?” she ventured. Nothing. 

As the floorboards creaked and her curiosity led her inside, the smell of porridge reminded her stomach to growl. She tasted the first of the three bowls. 

“Ouch! Too hot!” she yelped as she exhaled around the steaming oats. 

The second bowl was met with the opposite criticism, “Ugh, too cold.”

Taking a bite of the third porridge, she felt a crunch, “These oats aren’t even cooked!” Too hard. 

Goldi, feeling hungry and defeated, tiptoed up the stairs to try to find a comfortable spot to rest. The first bed was far too firm, the second too soft, and the third was so squeaky it’d screech when a hair on her head moved. She sat on the floor and caught her head with her hands.

Not before long, the three bears came home to sobs emanating from their upstairs. Mama Bear held up a hand to her boys and made her way into the house alone. Goldi could barely hear her approach between her cries. 

“Honey?”

Goldi’s head darted up and she frantically wiped desperation from her cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry ma’am, I-”

“Shhh, that’s alright dear. Looks like you’ve had a long day. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Mama Bear’s furry paws held Goldi’s face gently towards the light as she dabbed her tears with a washcloth. Mama Bear asked her name and where she had come from, nodding gently and knowingly as Goldi found herself spilling it all. Goldi let the weight of her head fall into Mama’s paw. She unfurrowed her eyebrows as Mama traced them. She unclenched her stomach to welcome a tenderly placed hot pack. Goldi talked and Mama Bear listened. 

And listened. 

And listened. 

And as the sun rose and Goldi started missing home, Mama wrapped her up in a bear hug. And it was the first thing in a while that felt just right.