I'm surrounded by stuffed pandas as I write this. There are more than 30 of them, all the same kind (KRAMIG, from IKEA), and I can still tell each of them apart. Each fluffy face has a name, a personality, and often a story depending on how much we've talked. No, I don't hallucinate conversations with them; it's an intentional practice.
Does that sound strange? Do you wonder why someone grounded in reality would cultivate an inner world where fuzzy friends talk and experience rich lives of their own? I see my love of these specific stuffed pandas as both a happy accident and as a coping strategy that papers over wounds that aren't entirely healed yet.
"Overall our findings suggest that people who, in adulthood, have intense emotional attachments to stuffed animals and other transitional objects are likely to report that they have experienced chaotic, abusive, and traumatic childhoods in combination with a lack of maternal care."
It's true in my case, and I've spent a lot of time reading scholarly articles about my inner world. We're all shaped by our experiences and by the ways we frame them internally, but how many of us take the time and effort to really examine and recognize the set of causes and effects that brought us to where we are?
Literature is full of maladaptive patterns that we gravitate towards in response to trauma. Insecure attachment styles are a hallmark of people who remain attached to their stuffed friends beyond childhood. Articles describe people who project the pieces of themselves that they can't accept onto inanimate objects, or imbue those objects with the best parts of themselves that they don't believe they're worthy of or safe vessels for. As a species, we've always been very good at building fantasies to escape into.
"The projection of idealized care that they want to receive is invested in the Teddy Bear. There is a relief of their own anxieties through the mechanism of projective identification. The patient in a sense becomes identified and nurtured with the characteristics of their own idealized object relationship, much as a healthy person receives self-nurturance by the internalization of a good mothering object. The Teddy Bear is called upon to compensate for what is lacking in their other object relationships. The stuffed animal provides a sense of security during traumatic separations, and helps the patient to feel a sense of cohesion in the self, as well as a temporal coherence from the past to the present."
My experiences have left me with a lot of internal "disaster" to recover from, and that cleanup effort will probably be a permanent part of my life. I feel that it's important for all of us to recognize where we are, mentally speaking, and to recognize the context for it. Attachment disorders and childhood trauma are more common than you might think, and coping strategies like these aren't necessarily bad; they allow us to survive difficult times and keep going in the aftermath.
“... the transitional object may be conceived of in three ways: as typifying a phase in a child's development; as a defense against separation anxiety; and, lastly, as a neutral sphere in which experience is not challenged.”
I love my stuffed pandas, and given my history this tells me that I probably fear abandonment and find emotional regulation challenging. I can use that!
Each panda's personality represents one or more aspects of my conscious and unconscious perception of my own personality. Every time I snuggle with them or show them affection, I'm telling those parts of myself, "It's okay, I love you. You're safe, you're important, and we'll grow better together."
"In recent years the rediscovery of the power of the child within each person, young and old, male and female, has encouraged mental health workers to use play therapy and other experiential therapies for all clients"
As I re-learn how to play - something I knew instinctively as a child - I can see the interactions between my stuffies grow more meaningful and complex. The way they talk to each other, the things they like and don't like, the ways they handle conflict or anxiety or joy, and the ways they show love are all incredibly informative. I get to facilitate and watch the parts of myself learn how to fit back together, and I've gleaned so many valuable lessons from it.
These little fuzzy toys are cuddly catharsis, always there with a soft little smile and a listening ear. I'm going to tell you about them, about their world and their stories, and I hope you'll be able to see how powerful it can be to see things like this as opportunities instead of just adorable maladaptions.