The Things We Don’t Grow Out Of

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Warmies in the Training Room

On a recent Year 3 training weekend when we were exploring suicide, self-harm and addiction, one of the trainees brought a Warmie along on the first day. As we settled into the weekend and began engaging in some challenging exercises and conversations, it was clear that he found it comforting to hold and sometimes stroke the soft, furry parrot.

The following morning he returned with two more and quietly offered them to some of the other trainees in the group. Throughout the day they were passed around and some trainees sat holding the Warmies on their laps, stroking or just holding them as they listened, reflected and participated in the discussions. There was something quietly touching about how readily they were embraced.

If you haven't come across Warmies they are soft, cuddly animals filled with lavender that can be warmed up in the microwave. They smell comforting. They feel reassuring and they are rather endearing.

Over the course of the three days something interesting happened. The Warmies were passed around the group. Not everyone had a go and there was no explicit invitation or expectation to do so, but several trainees found themselves holding them, stroking them or just having one on their lap whilst listening, reflecting and engaging with difficult material.

Nobody seemed to need an explanation.

There was humour and tenderness towards the Warmies; the parrot, a magpie and a hen.

I suspect that if most people had imagined a room full of adult trainee psychotherapists sitting with cuddly teddy bears on their laps, there would have been some scorn or raised eyebrows. In fact when I did share our decision with some people, their response was far from positive.

This fascinates me.

Children Know How to Soothe Themselves

Children are remarkably good at finding ways to soothe themselves. They wrap themselves in blankets. They carry favourite toys. They stroke soft fabrics. They smell familiar scents. They rock, hum, cuddle and play.

Then, somewhere along the line, we teach them that they should grow out of these things. Not because they stop being helpful but because they are seen as childish and immature.

Play and comfort objects become things for children only. Looking for softness, warmth, familiarity and reassurance in this way is treated as something we are supposed to leave behind.

Why is it that as adults we are so concerned about appearing childish? We seem remarkably eager to distance ourselves from anything associated with childhood, as though seeking comfort somehow undermines our maturity. Children are far more instinctive in recognising and responding to their emotional needs than adults. They seek out what soothes them without worrying whether it looks silly, immature or socially acceptable. Even when adults discourage these behaviours, insisting they stop sucking their thumb, leave their comfort blanket at home or give up the teddy they carry everywhere, children will find other ways to comfort and regulate themselves. There seems to be something deeply instinctive about the drive to seek out comfort when we are distressed.

Perhaps what we call childish is simply a natural and unselfconscious response to being human. The difference is not that children need comfort and adults do not. It's that children have not yet learned to judge themselves for the ways they find it.

The adult nervous system is not fundamentally different from the child's. We still become overwhelmed. We still feel frightened. We still need help regulating intense emotional states. The only difference is that we are usually expected to do it quietly, invisibly and independently.

Comfort Objects in Adulthood

Psychology has long recognised the importance of transitional objects, items that help us feel safe, grounded and connected. Whilst the concept is usually discussed in relation to childhood, there is growing recognition that adults also benefit from comfort objects, particularly during periods of stress, grief, anxiety or emotional challenge.

Perhaps the real question is not why adults might find comfort in a Warmie. Perhaps the question is why we find that surprising or unacceptable.

There is something deeply sensible about reaching for warmth when discussing painful subjects, and something profoundly human about wanting to hold something soft and comforting when exploring experiences that are anything but.

The lavender scent, the warmth, the weight, the tactile experience of stroking soft fur, and even their friendly, endearing appearance all engage the senses and can help bring us back into the present moment. We are often reluctant to admit how much comfort can come from what is considered a lovable children's toy and yet it seems undeniable to me that there is something deeply reassuring about holding an object that feels safe, gentle and lovable.

These qualities give the nervous system something soothing to orient towards when uncomfortable or intense feelings arise. There is a reason that photographs and videos of kittens, puppies and other cute creatures are among the most popular forms of content on social media. We often speak about being drawn to them as though it were a guilty pleasure, evidence of procrastination or a harmless form of escapism. But perhaps we are overlooking something important. In a world that can feel relentlessly demanding, people are drawn towards images that evoke warmth, tenderness and care. Far from being frivolous, this may be one of the many ways we instinctively seek moments of emotional regulation and connection.

As a training organisation, we made a decision to buy a set of 8 Warmies. We want to create an environment in which trainees feel free to seek out the forms of comfort and support that help them stay grounded, present and emotionally resourced whilst engaging with difficult material. Warmies are only one possibility, we also provide cushions and blankets and fidget toys. The larger point is that adults, like children, benefit from having access to things that help them feel safe, comforted and able to stay present. The fact that such things are sometimes regarded as childish says more about our cultural discomfort with vulnerability than it does about their value.

Many of us have learned that comfort is something to be hidden, that self-regulation should happen quietly and out of sight. Human beings have always needed comfort from one another and from the world around them. Perhaps the real maturity lies not in pretending we no longer need it, but in recognising that we always will.

I suspect children would find our decision entirely unremarkable. I think they know something that we adults have been taught to grow out of.