In my last post, Hardest to Be – My anorexia relapse at 40 I brought in a metaphor to describe my current mental health status. When I refer to my broken castle in this post, I’m talking about my ongoing anorexia relapse and the struggle with grief, my mental health, including anxiety. This battle has also brought along its uninvited, terrible friends from the DSM-V, resulting in the worst rave at the castle ruins that ever existed.

While looking around the complete and utter devastation of my castle, the devastation quite similar to my living room when I have been crafting, I tried journalling to help process some of my overwhelming emotions. Frankly, I tried EVERYTHING I had put in place as coping mechanisms that weren’t destructive, but none of it worked like it had for me in the last 12 years. However, I’m grateful I tried everything because journalling led me to Pinterest, where I saw the cutest bear I had ever seen. After much frantic Googling – because I always feel like my life depends on it when I search for something – I discovered it was a Jellycat bear, and clicked add to cart immediately. Sometimes, those healthier coping mechanisms help in unexpected ways; I’m pretty sure Jellycat bears are exactly what my mental health team meant by that.

Meet Seren

Meet my first Bartholomew Jellycat bear, she is a medium-sized Jellycat. This blog is named after this bear too, her name is Seren. It means star in Welsh, which ties a few of my interests together. I love bears, being Welsh, and space. I’ve always collected plushies, but there’s something really special to me about these bears. They provide so much more comfort than other plushies I have owned, and that is exactly what I was seeking in the ruins of my castle.

As I sought comfort in my broken castle, I came to realise just how much I missed the warmth and comfort that WeeGee, my best friend who passed away, brought into my life. Without her, my days felt empty and I felt this void where comfort used to be, and I found myself turning to my Jellycat bear for comfort. Well actually, because Seren helped me so much, I ended up buying 11 more Jellycat bears, more bears, more comfort right?

At times, this urge to buy more bears could have easily spiralled into yet another destructive coping mechanism – spending too much money in search of something you cannot buy. Yet, rather than viewing them as collectables, I’ve made sure to forge a genuine emotional connection with each one. These bears have become more than just plush toys; they serve as symbols of comfort and companionship, helping me navigate the absence of the warmth I once felt with WeeGee. Collecting, however, is a wonderful hobby, and I really admire people who have large Jellycat collections, I probably follow you on Instagram for that reason because I want to come over to your house to play, but for me making sure I have a bond and connection with each one stops my love for Jellycat bears becoming just another destructive coping mechanism I have to get myself out of. I have a very addictive nature, and because of that, I have to place limits on myself. Even the most innocent hobby could turn into an obsession for me.

My very fluffy children and their outfits

To help me bond with my bears, and to gain a strong emotional connection, I really like dressing them up in Build a Bear clothes. As build a bear clothes are pricey, and my bears now literally have more clothes than I do, I decided to make them accessories using macrame. I actually got the idea from my teen, they also have plushies and love to dress theirs up. I made macrame bags initially for them to accessorise their plushies with, and decided I should make some for mine too so they weren’t left out. They are indeed like the fluffiest children that ever existed.

The emotional connection I have built with my bart bears is what makes them more than just fluffy Barties. In times of crisis, which can also be medically described as a complete meltdown, they allow me to sit with my emotions, and without judgement. They offer me a sense of comfort and calm and provide a sense of sensory soothing, which is something far more gentle and fluffy than the destructive coping mechanisms my brain tempts me to rely on. I am fully aware though, that they are not a fix for everything, and they don’t magically take away all my pain (That would be great though and Jellycat would win a Nobel Prize for psychiatry). But in my broken castle, they have become my fluffy children, helping me navigate my emotions instead of running from them, and like my teen, give me another reason to keep going just because they exist.

The Penguins

As I have mentioned previously, WeeGee’s favourite animal of all time was a penguin. She loved them so much that she would often say, “You’re as cool as penguins”, or “These socks are as cool as penguins”. We talked about penguins for many hours, and one of her favourite books was, “Death and the Penguin”. I know she too wanted a pet penguin. Penguins are my second favourite animal after bears so I would get really excited talking to her about penguins. I loved that so much, we’d have these deep discussions about life and broken castles, and then the conversation would end up with us being really excited about penguins. Obviously, that meant I had absolutely no choice whatsoever, I had to buy Jellycat penguins.

When the first penguin arrived, who I naturally named WeeGee, I guess I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be. Whilst my bears bring me warmth and comfort and fill my soul with a certain fluffiness, the penguins offer something far more complex than their fluffiness. They are a reminder of the excited joy I felt sharing the penguin love with WeeGee, but they also are a reminder of my loss. “I wish I could buy her a Jellycat penguin, and then she can finally have a pet penguin”, is a thought I think of often when I hug them. It took me a while to be able to make macrame for them, and when I did, I made them little bows. I guess it felt like I really wanted to make an effort to connect with her memory, even though it was still painful and continues to be.

When it was Weegee’s birthday, I decided it should be the Jellycat WeeGee’s birthday too, and got her a cake and a candle. I had WeeGee the penguin appear to blow out the candle and make a wish. It was very emotional, but a sense of peace washed over me like I was honouring her and our friendship. I was still celebrating her life by marking her birthday, even after her death. I also thought about how much she would have absolutely loved that I did that for her. She didn’t really enjoy her birthday, but at the same time, she did seem to like me giving her penguin-inspired gifts on the day. One of the little penguins in the image, Jellytot, was delivered on her birthday, I think about how that one is, “hers” a lot. It would have been the gift I gave her if she was still here.

After her birthday, and specifically, viewing Jellytot this way, I started seeing these penguins as more than just soft companions. They are a mark of where I am in my grief journey, like a mile marker on the road of dealing with loss and just like how mile markers tell you how far until you reach your destination, seeing them gives me more motivation to keep going. And maybe, one day, I will arrive at a destination where those penguins provide me with the same comfort that my bears do, they’ll become less about loss and more about remembering what she and I loved together, filling the absence with warmth, fluffiness (They are extremely soft and fluffy) and connection to her memory. Until I get there, I will dress them up in bows and continue to celebrate her birthday every year, knowing that they carry a piece of her with them.

In the end, my fluffy bears and penguins aren’t a fix for the cracks in my broken castle, they’re just accompanying me and providing me support as I attempt to rebuild my castle – one brick at a time. They keep me company in times I would otherwise feel isolated, alone and longing for a home that once was and that, for now, is more than enough. Actually, we have a word for longing for a home, place or time that once was in Welsh, it is “hiraeth”. Jellycats don’t solve my struggles or take away my grief, but they’ve given me a fluffy way to embrace what I feel. That’s all I could possibly hope for right now – a bit of comfort while the rave is ongoing in my castle ruins.

At the heart of it, they are just fluffy cute plushies, but they’ve become part of my emotional support system, helping me sit with my feelings without running to the nearest exit, offering me comfort when there is none to be found elsewhere.

I leave you with this song, lean on your plushies frens!