Inner-world play: A link between resilience, trauma and giftedness?

"The seductions of seeing ensure there is that which remains unseen. Evading visibility is its own fortune. If to behold is to possess, to be looked upon is to be fixed in another’s sight, static and immutable." - Jenny Xie, Eye Level: Poems. 

This beautiful quote reached me right at a time when I needed it the most, a time where I am seeking to understand my own mind and the depth of which I experience life.  One of the reasons I started this blog was because I have the growing realisation that my internal world is amplified; and perhaps there is some dissonance between what I feel or experience and what I express outwardly. At times the stark difference between my internal and external world feels so separate or paradoxical that I feel that I am not completely "real" with others or that I am fooling them by pretending to be something I am not. I am beginning to understand (with a lot of therapy!) that not being completely transparent doesn't mean that I'm being fake or that I'm not being myself, but that I still have a bit of work to do in integrating these compartmentalised views of self.

My therapist shared with me some research she did years ago on play in young girls who had been exposed to varying levels of trauma.  She observed in a subset of girls that there was a correlation between high levels of exposure to trauma and advanced cognitive skills shown in the pretend quality of their play. So if natural ability is there, traumatic experiences or exposure may provide an intense impetus to get that internal world and creativity developed very quickly. She explained it as a happy irony; that part of that resilience comes from retreating within and preserving one's sense of internal world, and that this fantasy life becomes a creative and healing protective factor. I find great comfort in this.

Growing up, my imaginary scenarios were as real and as vivid to me as anything going on in my real life. I knew that I was pretending, but I experienced all of the sensory and visual imagery with just as much vivid detail as things that really happened. That extensive inner world was a place to escape from all of the trauma and I do believe that in some ways it helped me to get through some of those experiences.

My earliest memories of play are from when I was around 4 years old at my mother's house. I collected twigs and pebbles and whatever else I could find, and I created elaborate mini villages with huts and canoes and stick people. Sometimes the weather would destroy the world overnight and I'd come back to rebuild and start the game all over again. Other times my brothers would come along and join in, but it would never quite be the same and I'd send them away for "not following the rules!"

We weren't really allowed to play at my father's house, so I think at around the same age I started playing out imaginary scenarios and games entirely within my mind. I think those "games" started out similarly to how you would play with actual dolls or props, but by the time I was 8 I was creating an entire world.  I called this place Miiran, no idea why but I later learned two things: 1. that the name Miran was derived from the Slavic element miru meaning 'peace' or 'world' and 2. translated to English the Yoruba word 'miiran' means 'other'. I loved that completely coincidentally I had given my imaginary place a name that literally meant an other world of peace.  I continued to elaborate on this "game" until I was about 12. It was where I went to feel at home, and perhaps the only place where I was truly safe.  

I wanted to share this part of my mind so I have been working on a painting to visually represent a scene from this place. I had never really considered that this imagined world had any connection to trauma or resilience, it was just how I passed time or boredom! I don't know how much of this other world was inspired by books, but it never actually occurred to me that this wasn't something that everyone did. I was an avid reader, and whenever I stumbled upon something that had elements of an imaginary world (The Secret Garden, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Bridge to Terabithia) it just confirmed to me that this was a normal thing. It's taken me a few weeks on and off to add layers to my painting, but I finally feel like I've been able to replicate what I see in my mind. So here is my favourite part of that imagined world:

When I first "discovered" this calm space I was about 8 years old. The 'game' started as imagining that I went to sleep and somehow woke up outside of this abandoned log cabin in a completely secluded place. Initially there was never anyone else there and each time I 'went back' I would make changes or build upon this space. Over time the imagined physical space of this place grew larger, there were small islands and then entire countries with characters or people who were made up/indigenous to this land. Sometimes I focused more on the setting and other times it was all about the story lines and interactions between the people and I had an entire made up language that I created/"learned" from the indigenous people over time.

At some point I changed the way I could ‘get in’ to the game, and I created an imagined portal that could be accessed through my next door neighbour’s swing. If I was not physically able to be in that space, I would have this visualization exercise that I would use to remove myself from my physical body and kind of transport myself/’fly’ along the physical pathway (the roads/map in real life that I would have had to follow if travelling in a car) to get back to the swing. Even after our house burnt down at 9 and we moved to another town, I would still have to “travel” back to that swing to get into my world. I often used a similar visualization when I was being raped to transport myself back to the bed at my Mum’s house, but I never tried to take myself into that imagined world during those moments. Perhaps that was my way of keeping it as a completely separate and safe space.

Obviously there are a lot of elements of escaping or putting myself in control, but I never really made the connection that the years that I played this particular ‘mind game’ coincided with when the abuse was much worse.  There are things that I have blocked out or that I don't recall with full clarity, but there are also many things I have always remembered happening; details I was also aware of in very real time. Whenever my dad was driving me to the horse stables I knew the fate that awaited me. Whenever I heard him coming towards my room at night I knew what was going to happen. So I am just now making the connection that perhaps my imagined world was a way for me to disassociate from some of the things happening.

I am not sure why I couldn't see the significance of this imagined world earlier, but I think that reflecting on it now and discussing some of these concepts in therapy is helping me to begin to gain a sense of appreciation for that part of myself. I like the idea that somehow this imagined world of mine still has real meaning and significance.