Fantasy and Faith: Lessons in Emotional Resilience

Hello, friends and fellow journeyers! It’s Casimir Smith—your steadfast Casmith 76—here to unpack a simple yet profound thought that’s been lingering in my mind. At 36, as a devout Christian conservative who finds joy in fantasy as much as in the steady anchor of Scripture, I’m often drawn to ideas that speak to the heart—especially when they touch on the well-being of the next generation. Today, I’m reflecting on an anonymous gem that’s become a beacon for mental health awareness, particularly for children:

“It’s okay to not be okay.” – Unknown

A Safe Harbor for Little Souls

There’s a tender honesty in this quote that cuts through the noise. As adults, we sometimes forget how big the world feels to a child—how a scraped knee, a tough day at school, or a worry they can’t name can loom like a dragon in a storybook. Telling them “it’s okay to not be okay” is like handing them a shield, saying, You don’t have to slay this alone. It’s a message I wish I’d heard more clearly growing up, and one I’m passionate about passing on to the young ones in my life.

As a Christian, I see this tied to God’s heart for us. Scripture reminds us He’s near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18), and Jesus Himself welcomed children with open arms (Mark 10:14). There’s no expectation in those verses to have it all together—only an invitation to come as we are. For kids, that permission to feel, to struggle, and to not be “okay” can be a lifeline in a world that often demands they smile through it all.

Fantasy as a Mirror for Feelings

My love for fantasy gives me a unique lens on this. Think of The Hobbit—Bilbo Baggins starts his adventure unsure, afraid, and far from “okay.” Yet it’s in admitting that—stepping out despite the jitters—that he finds his courage. Or take Lucy Pevensie in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. She faces a frozen Narnia with wide-eyed wonder but also real fear, and it’s okay. These stories don’t just entertain kids; they show them that heroes stumble too, and that’s part of the journey.

I’ve seen this play out in real life, too. With a preteen daughter and a toddler son (and another on the way), I’ve watched how stories help them name what’s swirling inside. A tale about a knight facing a dark forest might spark a quiet, “I felt scared like that today.” And that’s where “it’s okay to not be okay” steps in—opening the door for them to share, to breathe, to know they’re not alone.

A Christian Call to Care

As a conservative Christian, I hold fast to values like resilience and faith, but I also believe mental health matters—especially for children. We’re not called to tough it out in silence; we’re called to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). For kids, that starts with letting them know their feelings aren’t a failing. Sadness isn’t sin, fear isn’t weakness—it’s part of being human, and God meets us there.

This quote challenges me to model that truth. When my daughter’s navigating the stormy seas of growing up, or my son’s upset over something small that feels huge to him, I want them to hear, It’s okay. Not as a dismissal, but as an embrace—a promise that we’ll face it together, with love and prayer.

Building Awareness, One Child at a Time

Mental health awareness for kids isn’t about coddling—it’s about equipping. Telling them it’s okay to not be okay gives them permission to speak up, to seek help, to lean on family or faith when the waves get high. It’s a step toward raising young ones who know their worth isn’t tied to pretending they’re fine, but to being fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), even on the hard days.

Your Turn to Listen

So, I’ll pass the torch to you: how do you help the kids in your life feel it’s okay to not be okay? Maybe it’s a story you share, a quiet moment you offer, or a prayer you pray together. Drop a comment below—I’d love to hear your thoughts. After all, if we can teach our children this gentle truth, we’re building a world where they can thrive, not just survive.

Until next time, keep holding space for the little ones—and for yourself—to be beautifully, honestly human.

Yours in the journey,
Casmith 76