Hello and Welcome Back to The Therapist Diaries,
When I was around ten years old, my aunt bought me my very first Matryoshka doll after we went to see Beauty and the Beast at the theatre in Blackpool. I remember sitting on the floor when I got home, carefully opening each wooden doll to reveal another hidden inside. One by one they appeared, each a little smaller than the last, until I reached the tiniest doll nestled safely in the middle.
At the time, I simply thought it was beautiful.
Years later, I found myself returning to that same little doll in my work as a therapist.
During my training, I spent much of my time working with children and adolescents. One of the biggest challenges in therapy with young people is finding ways to explain complicated emotions and experiences in a way that makes sense. Children don't learn through lectures. They learn through stories, play, curiosity, and objects they can touch and remember. If they leave the therapy room with an image or a metaphor they can hold onto, there's a much greater chance they'll use it when life becomes difficult.
The Matryoshka doll quickly became one of my favorite therapy tools.
Whenever I introduced it, I would ask the child what they noticed first. Almost every child would excitedly open it, discovering another doll inside, and then another, and another. Before long they would be laughing, trying to guess how many were hidden away.
Then we'd start talking.
I would explain that people are a little bit like the doll.
The version of ourselves that the world sees is often just the outer layer. It's the part that goes to school, goes to work, smiles politely, says "I'm fine," and carries on with the day. It's the part we show because it feels safe or because it's what other people expect.
But underneath that layer are many others.
There might be the part that feels worried all the time.
The part that remembers being bullied.
The part that learned it wasn't safe to ask for help.
The part that is angry.
The part that is lonely.
The part that still misses someone.
The part that desperately wants to belong.
And tucked right in the very center is often the youngest version of ourselves. The little one who simply wanted to feel loved, accepted, protected, and enough.
Trauma doesn't create these additional layers. It often teaches us that we need them.
Each layer develops for a reason. Perhaps becoming the "funny one" helped you survive a difficult childhood. Maybe becoming independent meant you didn't have to rely on unreliable adults. Perhaps perfectionism kept you safe from criticism, or people-pleasing helped avoid conflict.
These layers are incredibly intelligent adaptations.
The problem is that many of us grow up believing those protective layers are who we really are.
Therapy isn't about stripping them away or telling you to stop being the person you've become. Those layers have worked incredibly hard to get you here. They deserve appreciation rather than criticism.
Instead, therapy gently helps you become curious about what's underneath.
You might notice that your anxiety isn't just anxiety. Perhaps it's protecting a younger part of you that's terrified of getting something wrong.
You might realize that your anger is standing guard over deep hurt that has never had permission to be expressed.
You may discover that your need to always be busy protects you from sitting with painful memories.
As we begin to understand these different parts, something remarkable happens.
Instead of fighting ourselves, we begin to understand ourselves.
Instead of asking, "What's wrong with me?" we begin asking, "What happened to me?" and "What is this part trying to protect?"
That shift changes everything.
Even now, when I work with adults, I often think back to that little Matryoshka doll. Although the conversations are more complex, the idea remains exactly the same. We are all made up of layers shaped by our experiences, our relationships, our fears, and our resilience.
Healing isn't about becoming someone completely different.
It's about slowly opening each layer with compassion rather than judgment. It's about recognizing that every version of you served a purpose at one point in your life.
And eventually, if you're gentle enough with yourself, you begin to reconnect with the smallest doll hidden in the center.
The part of you that existed before the world taught you who you had to become.
That part has never disappeared.
It has simply been waiting patiently to be found.
Comments
Post a Comment