The illustration you see here is of my daughter, standing at the bottom of the ocean, looking up at flying fish. It’s surreal, whimsical, and slightly absurd—but in many ways, it captures how children view the world, with boundless curiosity and a sense that anything is possible. For them, fish can fly, the ocean floor is a playground, and magic can be found in the smallest details. As a father and an illustrator, I find myself constantly learning from her, seeing the world in ways I hadn’t before, as her unique perspective shapes not only my art but also how I approach life and parenting.
Sensitivity to the World Around Her
Like many children, my daughter has an amazing ability to notice the beauty in the smallest things. But that openness to wonder also comes with a sensitivity to her environment. Sometimes, she’s flexible and easy-going, but other times, the smallest change can throw her off balance. We’ve learned that she needs preparation for transitions—whether it’s a new routine or something small like changing plans for the day—because sudden shifts can feel overwhelming to her.
We’ve always noticed a kind of buffer she has, this invisible limit that we’re careful not to cross. People around us often say, “She’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Just push through.” But we’ve seen the other side, the part others don’t see. When she’s pushed past her limit, it’s like everything inside her collapses, and it’s not just a mood change or a tantrum—it’s deeper, as if her world has turned upside down.
We began to realize that her sensitivity extended to seemingly small things, things that might go unnoticed by others but were monumental to her. And as I watch her navigate these challenges, I see a reflection of my own creative process—sensitive to the world, noticing the things that others might overlook.
The Sensory Overload of a Simple Meal
One of the most challenging yet eye-opening experiences has been with food—specifically, mashed potatoes. My daughter loves vegetables, and she’s always eager to try new things, but textures—especially inconsistent ones—can be overwhelming for her. One day she’d happily eat mashed potatoes, and the next, it was like we were asking her to do the impossible. It wasn’t a simple “no” to food; it felt like the end of the world.
We couldn’t figure out why this would happen until a family friend shared a story from her own childhood. She explained that, as a child, she had trouble filtering all the stimuli around her. It felt like being in a crowded square where every sound, every voice, every movement was fighting for her attention, all at once. By the time she got home, her brain was full. She didn’t want anything to eat except crackers—because crackers were always the same. They were simple, predictable, and offered one single sensation.
Suddenly, it made sense. Mashed potatoes are never just one thing—they can be smooth one day, lumpy the next, and if her sensory cup was already full, that unpredictability was too much. When we explained this to our daughter, it was like a weight was lifted from her shoulders. She finally had words for something she’d been feeling but couldn’t express. Understanding her in this way helped us navigate these little moments of sensory overload with more patience and care.
Learning From Her: A Balance of Nurture and Protection
As a father, I often find myself walking a fine line between nurturing her individuality and protecting her from things that might overwhelm her. I sometimes wonder if labelling her sensitivity with a name would help us understand her better—but then I ask myself, does she need that label? Can she function without it? Most of the time, the answer is yes. And so, I try to respond to her needs in the moment, adjusting as we go.
I think every parent questions their choices—not from insecurity, but from a desire to make the best decision for their child at any given time. I constantly weigh the balance: when to push her to face a challenge, when to step back and let her be, when to protect her, and when to encourage her to take a risk. Of course, I’m not perfect, and neither is parenting, but I trust that our decisions, based on our deep understanding of her, are in her best interest.
Often, people mean well and offer advice or try to help, but we’ve learned that what works for others doesn’t always work for her. What they don’t see is that tipping point, when she’s reached her limit, and as her father, I feel protective of that boundary. But at the same time, I don’t want to shelter her from the world. I challenge her, push her to explore new things, and take risks. I see so much of myself in her—the sensitivity, the curiosity, the stubbornness—and while we do clash at times, those moments of tension help both of us grow.
Seeing the World Through Her Eyes
What amazes me most is how my daughter’s unique way of experiencing the world teaches me new things about myself. She sees magic and possibility where others might not. She’s intensely sensitive to her surroundings, and yet, she finds beauty in the ordinary. In many ways, she’s helping me rediscover the world through her eyes—a world where details matter, where things like textures or routines are not just trivial but central to how she processes life.
This is where my role as an illustrator connects with my role as her father. In my art, I try to capture the surreal, the playful, the unexpected. For my daughter, it’s not strange to imagine flying fish at the bottom of the ocean, because in her world, there’s no limit to what’s possible. Just like how mashed potatoes might be overwhelming because of their unpredictability, the ocean can be a place where the ordinary turns extraordinary. She sees the world differently, and that’s a gift I’ve learned to treasure—not only in my art but in how I live my life.
The Push and Pull of Growing Together
As she grows, I realize that this journey of parenting is a constant push and pull. I protect her, but I also challenge her. I see parts of myself in her, but she’s also very much her own person. We butt heads sometimes, but I can feel us both growing, both learning, and that’s part of the beauty of it.
In many ways, she’s teaching me as much as I’m guiding her. She’s helping me slow down, look more closely, and appreciate the small things that I might otherwise dismiss. Her sensitivity to the world has taught me to approach life more thoughtfully, to notice details, and to embrace unpredictability in my own creative process.
Conclusion: The Magic of Seeing Differently
Children see the world in ways that many of us forget as we grow older. For them, fish can fly, mashed potatoes can be overwhelming, and every day brings with it a sense of discovery. My daughter’s way of seeing the world has opened my eyes to the magic in the everyday, to the complexities of her experiences, and to the wonder that comes with embracing things as they are.
As an illustrator and a free thinker, her perspective inspires me—not only in my art but in life itself. She’s teaching me to see differently, to ask new questions, and to explore the world with an open mind. And that, to me, is the greatest gift. Seeing through her eyes has not only deepened my understanding of her but also helped me understand myself in ways I never expected.
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