Growing up in a toxic family environment leaves marks, some visible, most invisible. Many of us in Gen X or the millennial generation were raised by Boomers who never healed from their own traumas, passing them down as if they were normal. We carry quiet wounds from childhoods spent walking on eggshells, craving affection that never came, or learning to shrink ourselves just to survive.
If you felt lonely even while surrounded by siblings, if you hid in your bedroom the moment you heard your step-father come home, if you were told to be “seen but not heard,” if you walked on eggshells every single day, this post is for you. And if you became the “parent” to your younger siblings because that was expected of you, then welcome. This is a safe place.
For years, we pushed those feelings down, telling ourselves to “get over it,” while secretly mourning the childhood we never had. I personally missed out on joy from around age 8 until I finally left home at twenty‑one, and even then, I carried fear with me. That story deserves its own post. But for now, let’s talk about how so many of us spend our adult lives trying to reclaim pieces of that lost childhood.
Enter Labubu and friends, the quirky, wide‑eyed creatures from Pop Mart and similar collectible worlds. At first glance, they’re just toys. But for many of us, they’re symbols of safety, warmth, and whimsy. They’re fragments of the childhood we were denied.
I was never showered with gifts. I never had My Little Pony, Barbie, Care Bears, any of the toys I dreamed of. My parents weren’t poor, just self‑absorbed and narcissistic. Their priorities were themselves, we werent their priorities and to their world buying toys were a burden. So as an adult, I started collecting vintage My Little Pony and now Labubu and Cie figures. It’s not about the objects. It’s about healing.
We’re not “just collecting toys.” We’re reclaiming joy.
Each Labubu on a shelf, each plush or chibi figure, is a tiny rebellion against emotional neglect. They’re portals to a life where we were allowed to be imaginative, loud, silly, and soft. A life where cuteness wasn’t mocked, where feelings weren’t dismissed.
Why do these creatures matter so much now, in our 30s, 40s or 50's?
Because we’re finally in charge of our own environment. We no longer need permission to feel joy. We don’t have to justify loving “childish” things. We fought hard for this inner space, through therapy, reflection, or years of quiet survival. These collectibles are talismans that whisper:
“I’m worthy of softness now.”
There’s also community in this healing. Through collecting, trading, and sharing online, we find others like us, survivors of joyless homes now building small, colourful sanctuaries. It’s not just nostalgia. It’s creation. It’s safety.
For some, it’s Labubu. For others, Sonny Angels, Tokidoki unicorns, plush frogs, or Sanrio characters. What they all share is gentleness, the kind we needed but never received.
So no, it’s not immature to line your shelves with toys. It’s brave. It’s healing. It’s a quiet revolution.
If you grew up in a storm and now find peace in tiny creatures with oversized eyes and mischievous personalities, know this:
You’re not strange. You’re healing.
And your inner child, the one who never got to play, is finally getting the childhood they deserved.
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