When babies are born, a traditional gift that is given is a comfort item. These are typically blankets or stuffed animals. Like most, I was given a stuffed bear I named “Minnie” or “Minn-Minn.”
That bear was my entire world, and she looks like it, too. When she was first given to me, she was plump with stuffing, snow-white shell, and piercing blue stitched eyes. After 21 years of love, she has less stuffing, a muted shell, and still those piercing blue stitched eyes.
It’s been rough out here for her.
Minnie was my biggest source of comfort as a kid; she still is sometimes as an adult. She would sleep with me every night and go on every trip with us. There was a time when she left the house for errands, but that stopped after I lost her and my other bear named “Mickey” at a Mighty Taco briefly. I got Minnie back, but not Mickey.
I was distraught after Mickey didn’t make it home with me. While my mom tried her best to comfort me, all I wanted was the comfort of Minnie.
As an adult who still has her childhood comfort item, I feel a sense of security with it. When I first moved to college, I didn’t initially bring Minnie with me. Something felt off. When I brought her back after fall break, I felt like all was right in the world again. That sense of comfort she brought was back.
Being an adult with a comfort item isn’t something I’m ashamed of. I’m not exactly empowered by this either. It’s just something that has been a constant thing in my life for as long as I can remember.
Every time I came home from school, Minnie was there on my bed waiting for me. When I would return from an exhausting cheerleading practice, she was ready to give me some comfort. I could always rely on her to bring some sort of comfort to me.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Morgan, it’s a stuffed animal. I get that, but the feeling of a comfort item is indescribable. I know she physically can’t do anything to bring me comfort, but it’s simply her existence.
The way she feels and smells immediately calms me down if I were to need it.
I am grateful to still have Minnie after 21 years, and it’s been a long 21 years for her. She’s survived seven stuffed animal-loving dogs, several in-house misplacements, and three college move-ins. I hope to have her as I progress through my adult life as a symbol that there is always comfort, even if it can’t talk to you or hug you back.