I sat on the couch, symmetrically, both feet on the floor and my eyes closed. The inside-world projected behind my eyelids was just as real as the couch beneath me, or the therapist facing me. In that space, I saw a younger version of myself. In the woods, she played a secret game of twisting herself around trees and ducking into thickets. I recognized the woods as a more lush and larger version of the wooded-area behind my childhood home.

Those woods were a secret-space for me. As a kid, I knew that secret-spaces could be created anywhere: under a staircase, behind a bush, in a crevice between your bed and the wall. They were personal, private environments, alive with whatever you wanted them to be.

“It’s like here, she is able to reflect. She is allowed to feel her emotions” I explained, eyes still closed.  My therapist and I questioned the nature of her play. It was also about imagination, a space for creating. But there was another dimension, the explanation that felt right was “It is existential.”

Deb Moore has studied the phenomenon of the secret places in childhood. In an episode of All in the Mind she said: “It’s universal that children want to make those secret places. I was told by one of the children in my research, that only children can make secret places.  Another child mentioned that the teacher knows where they are but she doesn’t know that it’s a secret place.”

While I grew up exploring secret streams, morning glory-covered fields and abandoned train tracks, this isn’t the norm now. The stereotype of middle class American parents is that they over-schedule and over-protect their kids from exploring “dangerous” areas. What then happens to the secret space? It seems logical that  it would become more powerful, more sacred.

But some worry that as shiny playground equipment replaces trees and bushes, children are losing their secret spaces. The term “nature deficit disorder” coined by Richard Louv  espouses this. In “The Last Child in the Woods” he also argues that not having rich access to nature makes kids unhealthy, promoting attention deficit disorder and childhood obesity.

But Louv falls like a boring adult on the cliche of “TV/Videogames/Internet will rot your brain, now get outside, kid.” This doesn’t settle well with me or my inner child. Forcing kids outdoors is not that different from the parents Deb Moore discovered, who only let their kid ride his bike if they followed behind in the car.

I think that nature can be enriching, wonder-inspiring. But while my secret spots in nature were magical, I’m not sure that it was just being around trees that made a fulfilling experience. It was about a place where adults didn’t go. Away from chores, school and family, I was on my own and somehow in control of my environment.

As to that old parental argument, I think that the internet could be a secret space.  Also, Tetris, with it’s pastel falling colors and lulling music was something of a secret space for me.

As I trekked on a mid morning sunny journey from Logan Square to The Loop, I couldn’t help but notice the many secret spaces the city holds. A perfect shade tree on the grassy Boulevard; hidden benches facing the River beneath the massive  bridge on Clark street. My inner child lit-up at the prospects. I’ll consult her on when she wants to explore or take some downtime in nature, and I hope those over-scheduling and forceful parents learn to do the same.

What were your secret spaces?