Enfolded: On Comfort, Memory, and Becoming

What is the right time for us to separate from our beloved blanket? Did you have one? Then you understand the feeling of soothing comfort and pleasure that can be recalled even from just the memory—like a fresh breeze over a Mediterranean ocean at sunset, or the soft, gentle touch of a caring friend. Psychologists such as Winnicott (1953) and Passman and Weisberg (1975) remind us that these cherished “transitional objects” are more than simple comforts—they are small bridges between the safety of dependence and the courage of becoming ourselves. Perhaps we each have a special item from our childhood that helped us survive.

My wise 11-year-old student says, “Dr. Shannon, you just have to accept it,” as he shows me his precious blanket, determined to stuff it into his suitcase and bring it across the world to his home in California. I admire his clarity and persuasiveness as he convinces his reluctantly agreeing parents, who ultimately support him in packing it. Where did mine go? Through the many moves of my childhood, did my mother pass it along to Goodwill—or to the trash, like the Velveteen Rabbit?

Mine was sized for a double bed—thin, all-cotton, with little white nubs, tiny pink flowers, and a silky white edge at the top. My student says his blanket is similar, and I feel a quiet understanding between us as he shares his creative writing during our tutoring session:

Blanket is my dream; Pillow is my heaven.

Climbing over mountains, dashing over fields, swimming across oceans, braving wild

jungles—

all to reach my dream destination: Blanket Bed, which houses the love of my dreams.

Such a peaceful place,

where seasons are tranquil and inviting,

where crops are abundant and colorful,where civilization has no limit,

and where calm and love grow ever stronger and more beautiful.

A pillow paradise.

A welcoming wonderland.

All condensed inside this fabric of joy.

The silk, once shiny and golden, is now weathered and worn.

Yet the wonderland still stands—tall and proud, unfazed and undefeated—

waiting, waiting for one to come.

Ultimately, the blanket reunites with the one.

No matter how broken, no matter how destroyed, no matter what it has endured,

the blanket still shines bright.

The outer shell may seem beaten and ripped,

but the inside—the inner soul—still glows, warm and inviting,

like the night sky.

His words remind me that the blanket never truly leaves us; it only changes form. It becomes the metaphors we live inside—the touch of a loved one, the quiet of a safe space, the feeling of being held by something larger than ourselves. For me, it often appears in the sea, where I feel wrapped once again in a living, breathing fabric of peace.

Enfolded

Almost gliding

Across the silky surface of the ocean,

Swimming gently through cool, clear,

Calm currents,

Where the periwinkle blue skies

Meet the azure

Waters.

Breathing bilaterally,

Resting my cheek

Briefly

On the pillow

Of the warmed,

Glassy surface,

Filling with gratitude

To own these moments

Of deep, soothing

Pleasure,

Enfolded in nature’s fluid

Blanket

Of peace.

Connected.