I’m having a hard time settling myself to write tonight. Perhaps it’s because I just came from a writing group so I’m a little hyped up, and also a little written-out.
At the writing group we wrote about our favorite toys. The obvious choice for me was my teddy bear, Rachel. I got her on my third birthday and she is still very much a part of my life.
For a while she had been sleeping in my closet, but a couple months ago when the relationship fell apart, she climbed back in my bed again. She was the quickest fix for me to not be alone in the middle of the night. So she has firmly made her way back.
Rachel has been with me for so long that sometimes I talk to her as if she were a real person. She never responds, but when I talk out loud to her, I can hear myself a little more clearly than I do inside my own head.
She has been with me longer than anyone in my life, except my mother. Other stuffed animals have come and gone, but Rachel has always remained faithful.
She is – and has been – very well-loved. Her fur is no longer fuzzy. Her ears developed holes a couple of years ago. Some of her seams need attention sooner rather than later (since I’m pretty hopeless with a needle and thread, she still goes to my mom’s for “Teddy Bear Surgery”.)
I remember reading several times that if I wanted to manifest a partner into my life, I needed to get the stuffed animals out of my bed. I think there’s wisdom in that. There is something childlike and innocent about sleeping with a stuffed animal that isn’t a good energetic match with having a committed adult relationship.
But for right now, at this moment, I’m okay with that. For now, I’m really happy with childlike innocence. I love cuddling in with Rachel at the end of the day, knowing that she will watch over me as I sleep.