As a little girl growing up in Zlín, Czech Republic, my mother had a ritual for me and my little sister whenever we were sick; we’d get to spend the whole day lying on the sofa in the living room watching TV. And then when it was time to go to bed, my mother would lovingly tuck us under our fluffy forget-me-nots decorated duvet, turn on the humidifier, and rub this special natural thyme cream on our chests to help relieve the cough.

I slept on the bottom bunk with the humidifier right next to me on the floor. I remember the humidifier would make this lulling sound and the watery mist would fill the air. And the scent of the cream on my chest would gently drift to my nose, helping me to breathe and soothe my cough. I always felt taken care of, safe, and protected under those fluffy covers.

Years later, I was visiting a dear friend of mine who had just had a baby. We were sitting in her kitchen, which was a very warm, wooden space with an old wooden floor and a wood-burning stove, which happened to be turned on this particular cold November day.

My friend and I have known each other for a long time, well before she had a child. We met when we were both going through a very transformative time in our lives. When she had the baby, on occasion she would stay with me, and trust me to babysit this tiny little human when she went out. Needless to say, our friendship is precious and the conversations with her in that kitchen that day felt intimate and dear, as always.

On this particular cold winter day, we were sitting and chatting, when suddenly this warm, taken-care of feeling came over me. It was an intense, very emotional feeling. I noticed that my friend was rubbing her baby’s chest with a cream because she was coughing, and the scent was wafting over towards me. I asked her what cream she was using and she showed me this thyme cream. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but I had a strong emotional reaction to it.

You know, sitting there together with her baby, in the kitchen, was already a wonderful moment. But when I smelled that scent, it was an extra layer. I got this feeling that was so much deeper than the nice moment sitting talking with her, and her baby daughter.

It immediately brought me back to being the 8-year-old girl in Zlín feeling cocooned and taken care of by my mother when I was sick. It was a strange feeling remembering something that I couldn’t put my finger on. But the scent triggered something for me.

Later I called my mother and asked her if we ever used a natural cream with thyme when we were little. She replied yes, when me and my sister would get terrible coughs. And, when she said that, it immediately clicked that it was the moment of being in bed when I was sick, snuggled in, cocooned under the duvet, the humidifier on, and being taken care of. I realized that’s what I was feeling when I smelled that cream in my friend’s kitchen.

The cream itself doesn’t smell much like your typical pungent thyme scent. It’s very mellow and soft, slightly medicinal, but gentler than thyme itself. The odor is strong enough just to let you know it’s there. I wouldn’t have connected the smell to the herb thyme, if it weren’t for the fact that the name was thyme cream.

I haven’t smelled the cream recently. I understand the scent hasn’t changed. It certainly smelled the same 20 years later in that kitchen. It made me feel completely taken care of. I don’t associate it with being sick and feeling bad. I have a positive feeling. To me it’s a “now my mom is taking care of me” smell.

If the scent had a sound, what would it be? A melodic, soothing lullaby.

If the scent had a color, what would it be? Baby blue.

If the scent had a texture, what would it be? Freshly laundered cotton linen sheets.

If the scent could give you advice, what would it tell you? It would tell me that everyone needs pampering and should have that feeling of being taken care of. There’s always a part of us that needs cocooning. And it’s ok to need that. Look around and see who needs a little TLC, and tell them “it’s ok.”