When Bad Things Happen, I Cope Like a Child
When did we outgrow our natural ways of coping?
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My 4-year-old moves in and out of make-believe worlds with less effort than it takes her tiny hands to put on her shoes. She spends much of her time pretending that she is a cat, a dog, or another creature, and expects that everyone around her will play along with her new identity. She is rarely alone, always having one or two stuffed animals tagging along, who also serve as characters in her story. It’s delightful to watch her imagination flourish, even when I feel that I can barely keep up. Who are we today? Clementine the orange cat? Bolt the superhero dog? Or simply a flamingo, because we happened to read a book about flamingos. Given the heaviness of the real world, I can’t say I blame her for making a quick escape into an alternate reality. I was, of course, a child once, and I also relied heavily on my imagination to entertain, distract, soothe, and delight. This, I remember.
I have been thinking a lot about the ways that children cope and by extension, the way that we all innately coped as children. Recently, we went to see the movie IF, which is about what happens to imaginary friends when their human child counterparts grow up and forget about them. The premise of the film is that perhaps we never truly outgrow the need for an imaginary friend. The movie is a reminder that children are born with, or grow into, effective and powerful ways of coping with their world. I wonder if we do ourselves a disservice by outgrowing these behaviors that come so naturally when we are younger.
As I’ve mentioned, I am recovering from a particularly challenging year when my husband went to rehab, my dog died, and my father died, all within the span of 6 months. My life had become a country song. Since then, I’m occasionally asked about how I have coped, and I realized that many of the tools I used to soothe myself during this time are ones that I learned at a much younger age. Somewhere along the line, I had lost touch with the simplest, most effective, and most intuitive ways of coping. Now in middle age, in the midst of hardship and grief, I had a need for them once again.
For example, right after my dog passed away, I began reading voraciously. It was not a completely conscious decision, just an urge and an awareness that when lying in bed waiting for sleep, I did not want my mind to be unoccupied. As a child, I was an avid reader. I slowly got out of the habit as I was distracted by screens, peers, and all the assigned reading that I had to do for school. Now, I was again flying through books. I began to enjoy the process of searching out my next read and building a TBR (To Be Read) list. Rather than my usual favorites of memoirs and psychological thrillers, I found myself reading fiction about the supernatural and even some horror. I realized that at this point in my life, I was no longer afraid of ghost stories. I appreciated the fantastical story telling and the way it stretched my imagination. It was the perfect distraction. After several months, I was bored with scary stories1, and ready to return to my regular reading material. But reading had become a hobby again.
There are other ways that I noticed myself returning to childhood proclivities. My love for animals, and obsession for learning all the details about their natural lives, began when I was young. I would go to the library and check out every book they had on a certain species (and then beg my parents to let me own the real thing). As an adult, I still enjoy falling down an internet rabbit hole and learning everything I can about an animal, just for fun (most recently, octopuses. Although I have no plans to acquire one!)
Similarly, although I have never considered myself to be particularly outdoorsy, my childhood self knew that nature was a playground. I climbed trees, searched for salamanders and crawfish, collected rocks and feathers, and pretended I was surviving in the woods (a la The Boxcar Children). I feel a familiar sense of joy and curiosity when I am in nature now; it’s challenging to resist overturning a large rock and seeing what lives beneath.
From a psychological perspective, we know that children use fantasy and play as a way of making sense of the complexity of their world. They use play to learn new skills, problem-solve, and process confusing and painful situations. Children who experience a traumatic event or loss, will often manifest this in their imaginative play as they work through and make sense of the emotions. They learn and process particularly well through story, which is why most cultures have a rich history of fairy tales and fables.
Older adolescents and adults can also rely on imaginative, creative, and playful strategies to process painful emotions. Some mental health therapists specialize in the use of art, music, and written expression in therapy with clients across the life span.
Outside of therapy, playful and creative activities can serve as healthy distraction and self-soothing. Additionally, we can use these activities as a means of Opposite Action, a term developed by psychologist Dr. Marsha Linehan2, that means to induce a change in emotion by engaging in actions that are the opposite of the mood you are currently in. Every emotion comes with an associated set of action urges. For example, fear is associated with avoidance and freezing whereas sadness is associated with a tendency to slow down and withdraw.
To use the power of Opposite Action, you can purposely do the opposite of what your emotion is telling you to do. To transform anxiety, you must approach instead of avoid. To counteract depression, you must move, get out of the house, and engage with others instead of withdrawing to your bed. When feeling unhelpful anger, try to approach with kindness instead of lashing out. Even an action as simple as turning your mouth upward into a smile can help induce increased feelings of contentment. The trick here is, you do not have to wait until you are in a playful mood to play. Take playful actions and see if a change in emotion follows.
As I write this today, I realize that even the act of writing this newsletter may be another manifestation of my childhood ways of coping. When I was younger I loved to write for fun and even described myself as a poet. Maybe I was. Maybe we all were.
How to Cope Like a Child
Get in the water (even when it is cold!)
Take the dessert
Put your feet in the mud and get your hands dirty
Embrace fantasy
Cuddle a stuffed animal
Collect things
Paint, draw, and color
Learn a new craft
Pretend to be lost in the woods
Choose a topic that interests you and learn all about it
Keep a diary
Write poems
Ride a bike
Watch the clouds
Sing and dance
Swing on a swing set
What else…?
I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments!
What are your favorite creative, playful, and imaginative ways to cope?
Have you rediscovered favorite hobbies or activities from your childhood?
Have you seen the movie IF? It’s delightful!
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Disclosure: Dr. Amber_Writes is a newsletter designed to be informational, entertaining, and engaging. It is not therapy. Following this newsletter does not establish a therapeutic relationship with me. Dr. Amber_Writes, and other written communication by Amber Groomes on Substack, is not a substitute for treatment, diagnosis, or consultation with a licensed mental health professional. I assume no liability for any action taken in reliance on my writing here at Dr. Amber_Writes.
My favorite author that I discovered during my horror reading stint was Catriona Ward. I particularly loved Last House on Needless Street.
DBT Skills Training Handouts and Worksheets by Marsha Linehan, Ph.D.
I love Opposite Action. I use music a lot for this - playing upbeat music when I’m down, etc.
This is a lovely reminder Amber. We also can be so focused on the discourse on self-care and do XYZ thing to feel better that we may miss key information we already have about ourselves.