"My Blanket And Me" -
aka
"Ego Defense Mechanisms: Necessary Supports? or Walls That Prevent Growth?"
Rev. Alison Longstaff
July 21th, 2013
Meditation: Though the human body is born complete in one moment, the birth of the human heart is an ongoing process. It is being birthed in every experience of your life. Everything that happens to you has the potential to deepen you. All the possibilities of your human destiny are asleep in your soul. You are here to realize and honour these possibilities.
-John O'Donohue-
My talk today is based on sacred texts by Charles Schultz and Dr Seuss---okay, a pretenda-Dr Seuss, but I’m pretty sure Scott Grace was channeling Dr. Seuss when he wrote today’s reading. Two excellent sages. I have to say, that one of the things that I love about Unitarians is that you accept guiding texts because they speak a truth, not because they are from an officially approved document. You recognize and honour wisdom when you encounter it, period. It need not come wearing an official, church-sanctioned cloak to be treated with respect. I find this wonderfully refreshing. And so today our lesson is from the Gospel of “Peanuts” by Charles Schultz.
Let’s take a look at Linus Van Pelt and his blanket, and decide what sort of role his blanket plays in his life. Linus is Charlie Brown’s best friend, and the bossy Lucy Van Pelt’s baby brother. (Hmmmm. Just having Lucy as an older sister explains the need for a security blanket for me.) Linus sucks his thumb, with his trusty blanket thrown over his shoulder. Wise beyond his years, Linus often manages to avoid Lucy’s bullying by outsmarting her or confusing her into submission. He comforts and reassures Charlie Brown by listening to Charlie’s endless tales of failure and discouragement. Deeply philosophical, Linus almost serves a pastoral role in the beloved comic strip. With his unswerving faith in the Great Pumpkin, he’s not unlike many spiritual leaders today---respected and loved, even if his beliefs seem a little goofy….
Despite ongoing campaigns from Snoopy, Lucy, and Linus’ grandmother to wrest the blanket from his grip forever, Linus successfully recovers his beloved blanket again and again throughout the strip; only leaving it gradually behind when he is truly ready, and by his own choice. In the mean time, Linus’ blanket takes on a character of its own, dancing with him when they are reunited after each separation, and even carrying out sneak attacks on Lucy when she repeatedly tries to throw it in the trash burner.
Linus was unapologetic and unashamed of his blanket-dependency. In one series of strips, his friend Roy warns him that he mustn't take his blanket to summer camp, for he will be teased mercilessly. Linus takes his blanket, and with a deft flick of the wrist, snaps it at a large branch, bringing it crashing to the ground. In the next frame Linus remarks, “They never tease me more than once.”
How can you not love the guy? Bright, soft spoken, flawed, yet good-hearted, Linus resonates with a part in each of us. He is a softer, wiser side. A kind side. A brave and honest side. Yet a side that is easily rendered vulnerable. He is intelligent, but profoundly disoriented if his primary comfort and defense is too far away.
My two girls each had a special blanket growing up. (Jordan had a pacifier and a wooden ukulele. What can I say? That’s Jordan.) But my girls may still have their ragged scraps of blanket somewhere. Jennie’s was crocheted with green and yellow granny squares; Eden’s was light blue and knitted by her grandma. Soft and woven with love, each blanket came on every vacation, and were the first line of defense against pain and sadness.
Those blankets offer a tender metaphor for how we adults care for the child inside each of us. Within each of us is the child we once were, with all his or her memories, fears, and insecurities. Sometimes the smallest cue can take us back to an early age, and our coping mechanisms regress right alongside us.
And if you are like me, my ego is always right there, ready to berate me and call me names, just like today’s Dr. Seussian reading. I am too stupid or too clumsy. I am too loud, or too quiet. I am a fraud, and someone is about to out me. The list is endless. And when I fall prey to those sorts of thoughts, you will usually find me moments later doing a face-plant in a vat of chocolate ice cream.
Over the course of my own therapy, and in my training to become a therapist, I have had often found myself reflecting on human defense mechanisms---their reasons for existing as well as the problems they can cause us. I have been paying attention to those things that we do to reassure ourselves, to comfort ourselves, to reduce anxiety, and to restore a sense of well-being. Some of these things are beneficial in the long run; others, not-so-much. Some of us might turn to food to feel better; some might turn to alcohol. Some of us scrub the bathroom. Some watch endless movies or whole seasons of television. Some go running, or practice yoga; and some bury themselves in work. Some of us beat ourselves up inside and resolve to try harder. (Because maybe if we impress a few more people and make a few more dollars, we’ll then prove we are worthy of love?) Some of us phone a friend, or repeatedly check Facebook for “Like”s. Some go out to a bar or coffee shop for a while. Some go shopping. Some watch sports. Some sleep, and sleep, and sleep. And occasionally, one of us might go out to find someone else’s life that we can try to control and fix. Because that feels so much better than trying to tackle our own messy life. Admit it….
What do you do? What things or activities do you turn to for security and comfort? What serves as your blanket?
From a therapist’s perspective such defense mechanisms make complete sense. Even the ones that seem destructive serve a purpose. They are attempts to escape pain. I have nothing but compassion for everyone, from the Coke addict to the coke (cocaine) addict. I know what it is like when the pain is so great that nothing can stand between me and Ben and Jerry’s “Phish Food” or Dove’s “Unconditional Chocolate” ice cream.
We are nothing if not creative and adaptive beings, and we are astonishingly good at finding ways to survive horrific experiences. I cannot judge. I don’t know what a given fill-in-the-blank addict has been through. My heart breaks for any one of us whose coping mechanisms become themselves a new source of pain.
Our job as mature adults is not to judge ourselves for resorting to less-than-ideal ways to escape psychic pain; our job is to do the best we can to gain enough perspective, that we can decide which “supports” to drop from our repertoire,and which to keep. Some coping mechanisms, like cleaning or running, can be beneficial habits for a life-time. But others only stand between us and a fuller, richer life. And then they are not truly serving us at all, they have become part of the problem.
Linus and his blanket illustrate some real truths about the very human ways we find to cope with the
Linus’ blanket never stops him from a loving choice. It actually stands by him in making courageous choices. He does, eventually leave it behind in the strip, but the separation is very gentle and gradual. When he is ready.
So what are your comfort mechanisms? Is your blankie truly your best friend? Does it support your growth, or hinder it?
No matter what role it plays, I invite you to take a moment to thank your blanket for being the friend it has been. Then thank yourself for finding creative ways to survive this crazy, unpredictable life. And only if you so choose, may you find strength in leaving the less helpful aspects of your coping behind, when you are ready. Amen.
Benediction: May the journey be rich, and the landings soft. May you ever feel supported, and may you find inside yourself the love that passes all understanding. Amen.
