In recent years, a phenomenon has been spreading that has become something of a hobby for children and teens — making slime. Many children love making slime, exploring its ingredients, and perfecting it. Those who don’t enjoy crafting it themselves, enjoy buying it (in stores or from friends!) and endlessly fidgeting with it. I paused for a moment to reflect on this slime — where did it come from, and why?

“Slime” is a general name for various types of sticky, stretchy, and very flexible masses, usually made from glue, color, soap (often laundry detergent, but not exclusively), and additional ingredients like glitter, foam beads, and more.

Experienced slimers (yes, it’s a thing among young YouTubers — Google it) also recommend adding borax, a sodium salt of boric acid, which helps bind the various components (an emulsifier).

So, what’s the deal with slime? Why are so many kids and teens — even those who normally aren’t drawn to working with materials — so in love with mixing, kneading, stretching, inflating, creating, and experimenting with tangible substances? Playing with glue? Isn’t that all for “little kids”?

Holding the honorable title of “Senior Assistant to Expert Slimers,” I’ve logged quite a few hours in the clinic helping my young clients make slime. Before offering my own thoughts, I invite you to recall the things you loved creating as a child at home — in other words, the things that used to drive your parents nuts. Need help remembering? Here’s a recipe:

A crinkly sandwich bag containing a piece of solid soap, warm water, and the insides of a dismantled marker (you know, that sponge wrapped in clear plastic holding the soul of the late marker). Starting to sound familiar? How many hours did you squish those satisfying little bags? How many exploded in your room or your schoolbag?

Remember glue bracelets? You’d spread a circle of white glue on your outstretched palm, wait for it to dry clear, then peel and roll it into a “bracelet” (that you couldn’t remove without tearing). Remember duct tape balls? Rubber band balls? (That trend is making a comeback too.)

In short — while we’ve been busy with “real life” as adults, we’ve somewhat forgotten that we too used to do similar things in our childhoods — to fulfill a deep, primal need that, in my view, only intensifies with age (beyond the basic and valid need to fight boredom): the need to feel, knead, touch, to connect with something real in our hands. And if it’s something we made ourselves — even better.

These needs are naturally met when we’re little. From the moment we’re born, we receive deep, sustained touch — we’re held constantly and physically close to our parents’ hearts. Later, we’re allowed to eat with our hands (and our whole body). Think of how adorable it is when toddlers cover themselves in finger paint, mud, or whatever they get their hands on (even if it makes you cringe — think how many people you know paid good money for professional cake smash photo shoots for their 1-year-olds, even those who hate mess. But hey — it is photogenic and cute!). And of course, in the early preschool years, we’re introduced to all kinds of creative materials — paints, clay, dough.

In kindergarten, it’s very clear how much fun it is. How good it feels to touch, soak, smear, splash. Most parents seek out educational settings that encourage sensory play, sandbox fun, and a wide variety of creative activities. That’s how children develop — by learning about themselves and the world through hands-on exploration.

But at some point — usually around first grade — it all ends. It’s considered “babyish,” a thing of the past. Clay and Play-Doh give way to pencil cases (ha, that rhyme was unintentional), and the race begins. Now we have to be practical, neat, diligent, efficient. No time or space for “silly stuff.”

We fall into routines with new priorities, and in some ways, that’s understandable — that’s how the school system is built. Also, for many parents, it doesn’t feel natural to make room for messy, hands-on activities at home. It takes time and planning, it’s sticky and dirty, and there comes a point where not everyone wants their living room to feel like a daycare. I’ll admit — even as an art therapist, I’m not always thrilled about opening a finger-painting session with my little ones (especially not on days when I have therapy clients who are excited to do just that…).

Gradually, in an uncalculated and unconscious way, a quiet longing forms — the hands miss that thing they used to do during a critical stage of development, and no longer do. We want to feel, smell, hear and see movement — to feel bubbles pop in our hands. We want to hold something.

While working on this piece, I occasionally asked my patients what they loved so much about slime. The most common answer?
“It’s something to hold.”

In kids’ routines (and even more so in adults’), there’s so much coldness — books, notebooks, screens (viewed and held), mechanical pencils, rulers, gadgets, fidgets, uncomfortable generic furniture — so many hard things. We want the soft again. Today’s world is faster and more competitive. Many experiences are binary — especially through kids’ and teens’ eyes. If you’re not the best, you’re terrible. If you didn’t reach the top — you failed. If you weren’t excellent — you crashed. The middle ground is fading, sometimes even nonexistent. Trial and error is rarely an option anymore. Kids today hardly ever get to fail safely. Gradually, they avoid uncertain situations where success isn’t guaranteed. Parents, too, are terrified their children might struggle or feel like they aren’t succeeding.

Instead of sitting with that lack, kids find — or invent — their own “grown-up squish toy.” They concoct something you can’t fail at, something whose whole point is ambiguity, curiosity, experimentation, and the joy of a DIY “home lab” — full of trials, errors, recipe tweaks, and infinite creativity.

And if it annoys the parents along the way? Double win! Off they run to the kitchen or laundry room, to the forbidden supply cabinet (and yes, sometimes dangerous — please be aware) and whip up a stretchy, slick, and suspiciously scented slime. (I meant to write “suspicious,” but I like the typo — the smell really is important. Sometimes it changes over time and might signal that the slime has gone bad and it’s time to say goodbye.)

We live in a world where everyone is alone in their room, yet virtually connected to thousands. We rarely have true face-to-face encounters anymore. So there’s something deeply comforting in meeting something real — with our skin, with all our senses. Something that can spark wandering thoughts, old memories, or simply offer a moment of calm in pleasant nothingness.

When slime is made in the therapy room, I feel like part of something magical. There’s a meeting — between me and the client, and also with the material. In that moment, three exist in the room — and the dynamic between them is fascinating and deeply therapeutic.

This, by the way, is true for art therapy in general — its beauty and uniqueness lie in offering the client a meeting with someone (the therapist) and with something (the material).

For me, slime is a “super material.” It’s created in the therapy room in the way and degree that the therapist allows, from the available materials. It begins as separate parts and becomes a single mass that stimulates all the senses. It can hold everything — wet materials, dry ones, sticky, hard, pokey, heavy, liquid, colorful — anything can go into slime. Every component affects it and is meaningful.

Even if a client chooses to make slime every session for a while — each one will always be unique. It’s nearly impossible to recreate the exact same slime. Slime itself changes over time — its smell, texture, and color evolve. Every encounter with it is one-of-a-kind.

I’ve made a personal rule: to avoid clear-cut conclusions, advice, or bullet-pointed tips whenever I can. Those are abundant (and overly inflated) on social media and in the world at large. Instead, I’ll end with two invitations:
An invitation to remember the things you made for yourself as a child — maybe against your parents’ permission — the things you held in your hand and, thanks to them, felt just a little more at ease, a little more content, calmer. Maybe even… a little more alive. Try to recall when you touched them, how you discovered them.

And one more: if you’d like to share those memories in the comments — you’re warmly invited. 💫