Confession: I Miss My Security Blanket

I had a security blanket until I was about ten years old.

I might still have it today had it not disintegrated into small pieces. I don’t even remember it being an actual blanket. Supposedly it had Winnie the Pooh on it and was given to me by a friend of my mom’s. I only know this because every year when her Christmas card arrives, my mom says, “that’s who gave you your blanket.” It wasn’t a blanket in my memory, but a nubby grey piece of cotton with a tail that smelled equal parts fabric softener, love and safety. Its pieces broke off one by one over the years, until there was no security left to speak of.

The largest piece was lost during a week at the Jersey shore, in a house we called the Amityville Horror because it was falling down, looked like a place where bad things might happen, and made noises that sounded like it was sighing at night. It was during the summer I was too sick to go to the beach for almost a week but it didn’t matter because the beaches were closed from the hypodermic needles that had washed ashore. This was New Jersey in the 80s. I spent long, hot days in my parent’s bed with my blanket, listening to Whitney Houston and lamenting all that I was missing until one day the blanket was just gone, just another sacrifice made to the Amityville Horror house.

The tail piece was lost after finally being surrendered to the washing machine, at this point both grey and dirty. My mom tried in vain to recover it, even calling in a professional to help with the job. The repairmen could not distinguish my old blanket from the grey lint that had already accumulated in the dryer. It too was gone, another piece of my beloved blanket and another piece of my security lost, strewn throughout my childhood until nothing remained but memories.

I would still wish longingly for my blanket when I needed comfort over the years. When a friend’s son died. When I didn’t get into the college I really wanted to go to. When my heart was first broken. When my parents divorced. When I fell into a deep financial hole. When I thought I had failed at work. When I moved across the country.

When I stopped feeling safe.

All I would have needed to do was pick up that grey blanket, nothing more than a rag really, and smell it to be comforted. To know that things would be ok.

Lately I have found myself wishing for that blanket again, while not wanting to acknowledge to myself what that really meant: that I had stopped feeling safe. That what had started to feel like a safe space now confused me. I have been on uneven footing, unable to find balance with a broken toe and a fractured sense of self. Grasping for something to hang onto, to right myself, to regain stability. But where I had found reassurance before, there was none. Where I had once found support, I came up empty. Where I had previously been understood, I now felt misconstrued.

I see how others react to feeling unsafe, with anger, or sarcasm, or tears. I almost wish for those emotional outlets. But I mostly just felt confused, unsure of what would bring that feeling of safety back. I sought comfort in brownies and wine and cross-country flights. That didn’t work. I was left with jeans that were too tight, headaches from the hangovers, and some extra frequent flier miles. The security eluded me though.

So instead I slowly retreated, back into myself and into my thoughts, and waited. I waited for someone else to see. I waited for the inevitable conversation, the “what’s wrong?” and the “are you ok?” that I was sure would come at any minute. I dreaded that conversation, dreaded admitting how off balance I felt. And then it didn’t come, and it turned out that was even worse than what I had been anticipating.

I left the room and no one noticed. I stopped speaking and no one missed my voice. I walked away and no one stopped me.

I made myself irrelevant and unimportant and then I was.

Until someone did see, and pulled me back into the room. And reminded me that when you can’t find safety in the usual suspects, you just need to look harder. When you think no one is listening, someone is. When you think you are invisible, someone sees you. When you think no one understands, someone does. When you stop feeling safe, someone is there to tell you that you are. And that person can become your ratty grey security blanket, smelling like fabric softener and love and safety.

Although you also recognize now that much as you love that blanket, and that person, you don’t need to hold it tightly, willing it not to get lost this time, willing it to just stay with you. You don’t need this grimy old piece of cotton to feel safe. At ten years old it may have been your savior, but at 35, you can save yourself. You understand that you may sometimes lose your footing, or your sense of self, but that you can always right yourself. And that there will always be someone there to hold you up until you feel stable enough to manage on your own.

11 thoughts on “Confession: I Miss My Security Blanket

  1. This is spot on and heaven sent. Just what I needed…… Feeling unsafe in some areas right now. Thank you xxx

    Sent from my iPhone

  2. That was so beautifully written Katie, thank you. I still vividly remember my blankie too – and love the thought that really they are still with us, that they are within us.

  3. Oh for the days where all it took to fix things was Blankie (and his sidekick Panda Manda). Though I know that I have new blankies…the things that bring me back to centre when the world feels topsy turvy. My yoga mat, a certain pair of sweatpants, a certain path I love to walk through the trees.

  4. Love this. Makes me think of Tah Tah and Foo Foo! Also wondering what item Maddy will choose for her security blanket. :). Miss you!

  5. Interesting that you write about this. I didn’t have a blanket, but I sucked my thumb for a long time (my parents let me since I wasn’t hurting my teeth). It didn’t really dawn on me about missing it until I started confronting the life and the reactions to that life I had built up as a fort around myself. As I started to pull away from my co-dependent relationship with my mom, and stopped relying so much on my husband to “rescue me”, I felt alone, vulnerable, and confused and unsteady like you mentioned. And I did still have my “security” there, after all, my thumb is still attached and I had the strangest want to use it. But its not the same anymore, I mean, even the thought of putting it in my mouth does nothing for me. And then I remember I’m an adult now, with adult emotions and reasonings, and maybe, just maybe, I’m able to stand on my own two feet.
    Your sentence: “I made myself irrelevant and unimportant and then I was.” really hit me. I fought that idea that I backed myself into the corner I made, no one else. Thanks for being so open and saying it too. Its so hard to admit, but I don’t believe things can change without knowing how it happened. Maybe not the why, but the how?
    Anyway, thanks for writing about the security blanket! Its a big deal to realize when its not needed, and I hope you keep feeling things out on your own. I shall do the same! 🙂 It CAN be done!

    • Elyza, thank you so much for your thoughtful response. It’s reassuring to know that I’m not the only one struggling with not always feeling safe. Thank you for reaching out!

  6. My daughter, who is now in her twenties, had a blankie, and whenever a piece would fall off I would put it in a safe spot in her dresser or in a jewelry box. I don’t know where her main chunk of gray twisted blankie is now..but there are many pieces in the dresser.
    When she comes home, I’m certain she looks at them…
    On another note, one time I washed her and her friends blankie with hot water and bleach after a sleepover with nosebleeds…I don’t think her friend has ever forgiven me…I didn’t realize the smell thing at the daughter did not care if her blankie was clean, but her friend did, and I should have respected that…and sent it home dirty.

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