I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I have a security blanket. I suspect that most of us do. Our parents may have taken away the old flannel rag we carried around and slept with, but we found some kind of substitute.
It might be corn chips or ice cream or a ratty old sweatshirt, but now that we’re grown up nobody can take it away. For me, my security blanket is, well, a blanket. Call it arrested development, but don’t take it away.
When I was a little girl, I had a blue wool blanket with satin trim. As I was falling asleep, I would run my fingers along that smooth, cool satin and feel safe under the weight of wool.
My mother replaced the satin trim twice and then I left for college, embarrassed to take the blanket with me. Years later, I had a daughter of my own who found security in stuffed animals. I told her about my blue blanket and she asked, “Why don’t you get another one?”
I said I was too old. Then, in junior high, she took a sewing class and made me a small blue blanket with satin trim.
That was many years ago and I still have it—always near me on the bed. I could tell you it keeps me warm but lots of things can keep me warm. Security is something else.