From Binkas to Bears: Our Lifelong Need for Comfort
The Need for Comfort
We talk a lot these days about nervous system regulation, childhood development, and how to cope with stress. But what if some of the answers are simpler than we think? This week, something as small as a teddy bear—and watching my granddaughter go through a transition—brought up some big questions about comfort, regulation, and the things we hold onto when life feels too big.
I am 56 years old and still sleep with a teddy bear.
It has not been the same teddy bear—it’s not about that one from childhood. For me, it’s about the comfort and security of holding onto something while I sleep, and something I can turn to in moments when I can find comfort nowhere else.
Lately, this lifelong need has been stirred up again as my daughter has been weaning my granddaughter off of her “binka” (pacifier). This transition has brought up a surprising wave of emotion in me—and honestly, this morning, it brought tears. I find myself worrying: how will she comfort herself now?
Personally, I know how hard it is to feel helpless, alone, and unable to find comfort in others. There are moments when even being touched or receiving kind words can feel like a prison, rather than relief.
Searching for Soothing
And it makes me wonder: is this deep need for comfort what drives some of the most painful choices we make? Is it behind eating disorders? Alcohol use? Self-harm? Drugs? Even toxic relationships? Are we simply searching for something—anything—that soothes us?
As I write this, I can feel myself wanting to dive down all the rabbit holes of research on comfort, regulation, trauma, and attachment. But I’m reminding myself to stay focused on the larger thought.
The Lost Thread of Childhood Comfort
Like many people, I’ve tried to go back and understand who I was before I was shaped—conditioned—by the adults in my life. But when I ask my parents, especially my mom, “What was I like as a kid?” she usually doesn’t remember much. That lack of memory has left a lot of blanks I’m still trying to fill.
I don’t even know how my own pacifier weaning was handled—or if I ever had one. But I do know this: I’ve always had a teddy bear.
I remember once, maybe when I was 8, I had a very small, 4-inch brown teddy bear that I left in a hotel room. This was before cell phones, and we were in a foreign country. Did we go back and get it? Did my parents tell me they’d replace it? Did they dismiss it altogether? I don’t know—but I remember the bear.
My teddy bear went to college with me. I think I was a little embarrassed, but I brought it anyway.
Over time, boyfriends—and even my husband—have given me teddy bears. I think sometimes it made them uncomfortable that the one I already had had been given to me by someone else. Maybe it felt odd to see me holding a gift from another man.
But for me, it was never about who gave it to me. It’s never been about a particular bear. It’s always been about the comfort it brings—quiet, steady, and mine.
A few times a year, I hit a wall where nothing soothes me. I get into bed, curl into the fetal position, grab my teddy bear, and hold it tight. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I just fall asleep. But there is nothing else—and no one else—that brings that kind of calm.
The Next Generation
So, what happens when we take away that thing—my granddaughter’s binka—that’s been her one constant for the first two years of her life? What replaces it?
Yesterday, she took her first nap without it here at my house. I laid down with her as always. She moved around a lot, trying to calm her body—just as she used to with her binka. I had my teddy bear with me, and she reached for another one I keep on my nightstand. She held it, chewed on its nose, licked its ear. Was she searching for something to suck on? Something to give her that same comfort?
She played with the bear, moved it around, but never hugged it. Then, 22 minutes in (yes, I track how long it takes her to fall asleep—it helps me stay patient and know when to give up), she pulled up the covers, laid the bear next to her, tucked him in, and fell asleep.
This morning, I found myself wondering what I could bring her—something she could choose herself—that might offer her comfort. Something that feels like hers.
The Bigger Questions
The truth is, a child can’t have a binka forever. There are dental concerns, speech concerns. But still—who cares, really, if that object helps them regulate their nervous system?
Self-regulation, or nervous system regulation, is everywhere on social media and in the self-help world. But most of us weren’t taught how to do it. So when a 12-year-old is introduced to marijuana (I personally know three who were at that age), and it makes them feel calmer… is it any wonder they return to it? Is it that different from my teddy bear?
Personally, I find little comfort in a hug or reassuring words. But give me my bear and a bed, and I’ll start to come back to myself.
Is there a better way? I don’t know. Pop culture keeps telling us to “self-regulate.” But what does that really look like?
Everyday Soothing
I think of a co-worker from 25 years ago who used to snap the fabric on her pant leg just above her knee. It was a soft snap sound, something subtle—but repetitive. A nervous habit? Maybe. Or maybe it was her way of soothing herself.
Other cultures have worry beads—objects to hold, touch, repeat. Something tangible to settle the nervous system.
Even the way kids “can’t sit still”—what if that’s not misbehavior, but an instinctive search for regulation?
And now, on every parenting reel and post, the conversation is about helping our kids feel their feelings, name their feelings. But what if sometimes… they just need a teddy bear? Or a blankie?
What Comforts You?
Do you have a habit that soothes you?
Do you turn to food, substances, people—or even something as simple as a ritual or object—to feel peace?
If you’re willing, I’d love to hear what comforts you.
Because I believe this is something we all share—a need for comfort, connection, and calm. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time we stop being ashamed of that.