I had problems with wide open spaces as a kid. I loved going to the movies, it meant that we had a bit of spare change and I loved eating theater popcorn, but in the theater, I hated looking up enough to even see the back row of the room. I tried to convince myself (multiple times) that I was being foolish and, from the safety of my seat, forced myself to look at the ceiling. It always ended with me being in a freefall and having to force myself to look down quickly to avoid throwing up.
Just as much as I hated heights and the openness of these high ceilings, I loved squeezing myself into tight places. It was nice to be able to know where the space around me started and ended, nice to be able to reach out and know that I had something solid around me. It was also a bit calming to have my movements restricted a bit but know I always had enough freedom to get out. To me, being in tight and small spaces was grounding and something I needed.
In my late childhood and adolescence, it always felt so easy for me to just fly off somewhere and disappear. Looking back, I guess this feeling sort of makes sense. Just before I turned six, my family made our first move out of many. In the next three years, we would move to five different homes that sometimes didn’t have enough time to actually be home and to two different states. Things were almost constantly changing. I also was (and still am) a daydreamer, and sometimes when I looked up at the sky when walking and a strong breeze came along, I felt like my next step wouldn’t be on the ground. This feeling would haunt me for a long time after my foot hit the ground, especially coming back with a vengeance when I was trying to fall asleep. Even with all my blankets wrapped around me, I felt like it would just take one movement and I would be falling forever. I would have to lay on the floor, feeling sturdy and real ground beneath me before I trusted myself to not disappear when I fell asleep.
Even though I was more grounded in my tight spaces, I was never completely freed from this feeling of just randomly disappearing from this world. I read too many books for that. But the feeling was a lot more calming and a lot more space when I was cramped. Instead of thinking that my existence would just be erased and there would be nothing left of me besides some sweaters and hats, I would crawl into my tight little cramped space, stare into nothingness for a while, thinking that when I crawled out, I would be someplace better, with lots of laughter, magic, and adventures.
It never happened, of course, but it was nice to dream.