I’m an avid believer that you should break up with anyone who makes you feel bad about your stuffed animals, and that there isn’t enough coverage on comfort items for adults. I still sleep with the same stuffed animals as I did when I was little. They’ve followed me on plane rides to China, car rides to Niagara Falls, and from my family’s first apartment in Toronto to our home of almost twenty years now.
A lot of pop culture and academic literature tie comfort items to childhood, transitional periods, or recovery from trauma, and it’s true. Years ago, my little brother had a rough time adjusting to elementary school, and I gave him one of my teddy bears to sleep with. He gave my bear back after a few weeks because he was doing better, but he’s seventeen years old now and still points out the bear whenever he’s in my room.
As adults, though, most of us don’t bring our weighted blankets and teddy-bear-shaped heating pads around only when we’re struggling with change or going through turbulence in our lives; they are constants that make us feel cozy and safe on a daily basis, and it shouldn’t be portrayed as childlike, nor should anyone be infantilized for keeping these items around. I’ve kept my stuffed animals around through thick and thin, when things are going well and when they aren’t. I can’t think of anyone my age without a stuffed animal on their bed or something else soft and comforting that they’ve had forever.
On the other end of the spectrum are listicles of “must-have comfort items!” that turn up every Christmas season, stuffed full of sponsored links that disregard the emotional significance these items have. The attachment we have to our blankets, stuffed animals, and other comfort items don’t quite distill down to a lifestyle choice—there is a level of emotional connection there, and it’s almost insulting to insinuate that there isn’t.
The comfort items we grow up with have sentimental value. I have a stuffed bunny that I’ve patched up a few times over the years, and I still remember playing puppet theatre with my parents in our first apartment. He came with a stuffed puppy that I lost on an airplane when I was four years old, and I cried so hard my mom bought me a new puppy that I’ve kept safe since. They’re reminders of my childhood and all the emotions that seem both trivial and infinitely precious now.
There must be a middle ground somewhere between these two extremes, where our comfort items are as simple as a reassuring constant in our lives, like a familiar habit we don’t need to break. The world throws a lot at us, and we’re no strangers to stress and anxiety, so if a weighted blanket helps you sleep a little better or a penguin-shaped pillow (yes, I have one and I love him) is soothing to have around, why not?