Diapers, Binkies, Bottles and Silence: A Voice Unheard

 What My Dolls Mean To Me

 

A few of the dolls in my collection.

 

 

    I collect dolls both as an art form and as a therapeutic coping mechanism. I am not ashamed to own up to that and in fact, my dolls are something I am quite proud of. Reborn dolls are an artistic endeavor, from the sculptors who create the blank doll kits, to the artists who paint and root the dolls and the curated collections of dolls displayed by collectors as artwork. In my opinion, Reborn dolls deserve recognition akin to works displayed in museums. We are not ashamed of Michelangelo or Magritte, why be ashamed then of artists who create dolls? The only difference is the "canvas". For that matter, we usually are not ashamed of people who choose to display sculptures or framed prints or paintings in their homes, so why then should we feel that way about people who choose to display artfully painted and rooted dolls? To me, it is the same no matter how you look at it- the dolls are an art form as well. In fact, I would venture to say that they are art with function, art that is intended to be soothing or calming. I understand that for some, the realism of the works triggers an uncanny valley effect but as an active participant in the hobby, I can assure you that that is not what is intended by the artists that make these dolls. Those people intentionally make these dolls for people who enjoy the realism as an art and for the people for whom that realism helps them to cope with something in their lives in a more positive manner. 

 

    Having said that, let me reiterate that I not only collect them as an art form, I also collect them to help me cope with a few things. First and foremost, I have anxiety disorder. Being in situations with large crowds of people, travel, leaving the house and being in unfamiliar surroundings can make me uncomfortable and taking a doll with me can help me relieve my anxiety in those situations. As an added bonus, they also make wonderful conversation starters and have helped me make some heartwarming experiences with other people while out and about with my dolls. I also have depressive issues that can sometimes alleviate a little when I hold one of my littles in my arms for a while or when I dress them up or read with them or take them out shopping for fun. But the thing that they seem to help me with the most is an old promise that has been broken. 

 

    You see, when I was a little girl, somewhere around the year 2000, I made a pinkie promise with my two best friends. We had just spent an entire day together, laughing and playing with our dolls and one of us commented that we could all three make great moms someday to real babies. All three of us agreed with that comment and someone else suggested that we should all be mothers together someday so that our kids could be best friends like we were. We all liked that idea a lot, so we made it a pinkie promise, hooking our pinkies together and smiling at the thought that someday, we would all be sitting together on some park bench, watching our kids play together. However, time always seems to change everything. At first, it looked like that was how things were going to go for all three of us. I was the first one to find a steady boyfriend willing to stick with me what seemed like forever and I assumed I would metaphorically be waiting at the marriage altar with my husband for my best friends to catch up with their own guys. This person met me when I was fourteen years old and stayed until I was twenty-one, choosing then to leave me behind for someone else after finding out that I could not do the NSFW stuff that leads to having a child. When that happened, it felt like watching my entire world, my future, walk away from me. In the brief years after that event shattered me, I watched my two best friends find their own guys and start to have their kids. I was happy for them that they finally found the love I always wanted for them! But... I also started to feel quite left out. 

 

    Suddenly, discussions about things like vampire novels and who Tohru from "Fruits Basket" should end up with were traded for talks about baby's first words or their kid's first day of school and without a child of my own, I could not keep up with that easily. I found very quickly that I could only listen. My newfound silence then paved the way for my two best friends losing interest in talking with me and eventually in hanging out with me as well. I was left behind, so to speak. Left to watch them move past me, to see them fulfilling the promise we made without me involved. I repeat, this in no way means that I am upset with them or even jealous. I just have often wished that I could have joined them. I miss them. I miss us. I miss who I was when we were closer. Eventually though, I found a bit of assistance. I found my way into the Reborn Doll collecting hobby. Instantly, I found hyper-realistic dolls that made me feel a bit less like I was missing out entirely on the promise I made with my friends. I found a way to still sort of experience the less troublesome parts of having a baby: getting to shop for baby clothes, dressing them up, changing diapers (only if I want to), feedings (if I want to) and all the cuddles. 

 

Even So, It Did Not Solve Everything

 

Little Christopher Gray 'enjoying' a shopping trip with me.

 

 

    While I absolutely love all of my dolls, there is an issue that is not often talked about by people in similar situations to my own. A lot of people in the hobby often talk about the general stigma that surrounds doll collecting and roleplay but not enough discuss the stigma that attaches itself or the issues that arise when you bring a doll with you to hang out with a friend that has their own real child. First, I have to say that I am very lucky that I have at least one friend of those two that does not pass any judgment on me for bringing my dolls to the function. She has been my unrelated sister since we met in the third grade and I love her like family still, even though we no longer often get to hang out or talk. The other however, my lifelong bestie, has sometimes given me weird looks. She never comments, she just makes faces. She's definitely my older sister without relation. I have sometimes brought one of my dolls into a restaurant in their car seat when we go out to eat and I have noticed that she never comments on my dolls, that her eyes just slide right over them. The only times she ever brings up my dolls are usually just to discuss how much her daughter loves similar dolls or how much her daughter would enjoy going on dolly outings with me. Which is difficult for me to navigate, as there can be a difference between a child doll collector and an adult one, that difference being that most child aged doll collectors put a lot of wear and tear on their dolls with frequent changes, liquid spill accidents and dark colored clothing or blankets while an adult collector like me will go out of their way to keep their dolls undamaged. The sound of spending time with my dolls with such a young dolly fanatic involved is quite risky but saying so aloud in those situations can be offensive to the parent, so I often do not quite know what to say at those times. I usually just smile, nod in agreement and say something that lets my friend know that while I think the idea from her daughter's POV is lovely, it does not mean that I am personally kosher with the risks involved for my babies. Now, I am aware that some young doll collectors are incredibly mature about the hobby and will do anything that they can to keep their dolls looking good for as long as possible as well. However, in this case, that is not true. This particular little one has one semi-realistic doll that has gone everywhere with her and is covered in all sorts of dark spots, stains and marker streaks, which shows me reason not to fully trust her around my own dolls. I might add too that the tone with which my lifelong friend often remarks that her daughter would love to participate in dolly activities with me usually makes me feel like she looks down a little on the hobby, like she infantilizes it. Her expression as she says such things also often reads like she thinks the hobby would be beneath her as a grown woman. She seems not to be aware of the fact that the hobby can actually be quite a mature one to have, as the dolls, like I have said, are both therapeutic and a beautiful art form. 

 

    The other major issue that crops up is the juxtaposition between a real child and a fake one, a doll. This one goes very unnoticed and unspoken. No matter which friend I am spending my time with while I have a doll with me, there are little things that highlight what a difference there is in me having a doll versus them having a real child. They can talk about first school days, first words, first steps, tantrums, school achievements, school plays, how a day at daycare went and I still cannot. Their little ones laugh, run and play around us while my doll just quietly sits under the blankets in a car seat or stroller. I do love hearing how the littles got their first A in class or watching them having so much fun! After all, who would not? But it still saddens me a bit that I am unable to share in that with my doll. That stuff sort of highlights, for me, the fact that I still just have a doll in my arms, not the little one I assumed I would one day have. This part of the experience makes it tough even to enjoy my time with my best friend from school, who has never made me feel less than for bringing my dolls around in any way. She may not react negatively toward my dolls but there is still a sort of quiet pain or longing for me in hearing about or watching her little one. 

 

    A third issue is that people tend to talk. Not always nicely and certainly not always where you can hear. An experience that I often get within my own family during or after family functions with my dolls. In fact, just two weeks ago, it was my stepfather's birthday, so he invited his whole family down and my mom had my grandmother and grandfather show up, too. Navigating interaction with my stepfather's family is dicey for me because of this one time a few years ago when I got my heart broken again. Before I continue, dear reader, you must know that my mother met my stepfather in 2022, when I was thirty years old, so I did not grow up with his family. My stepbrother had just gotten back from being stationed in Japan, we were close in age, we shared a lot of interests and we were both single, so we dated. I had really liked him- I thought he was cute and he's a very sweet guy. But he found out about my inability to have a child fairly quickly and told me he did not want to continue dating because he wanted someone who could do that stuff. I was fairly upset. Once again, I was made to feel like loving me was not worth it if I could not do adult things by someone I had really liked. Soon after, he found someone in town that easily could do that stuff. She already had two children and within a year was expecting a baby with him. Her two older children who are not related to any of us at all are, for lack of a better word, pretty chaotic. I will not say more except that I make sure to keep the door to my room and my nursery locked when they are over here. The most difficult challenge for me to face though is watching someone I felt romantically for choose someone else and raise a child together right in front of me. However, even with that, I simply choose to try to smile and be kind, even enjoying the adorable interactions with my new nephew at times. (He was such a silly goose this last time, playing peekaboo around corners and running around laughing, super cute.) As you might have guessed though, smiling through something never diminishes the pain and as such, I usually have to have a doll in my arms when my stepdad's family comes to visit. It helps me stay calm about the crowd of company and it also helps me face the emotions I deal with surrounding the new baby. So when everyone had gone home afterward, my mother pulled me aside and told me that she was sort of stressed because someone had commented to her during the gathering, "Here she comes now with one of her dolls..." in a sort of exasperated or mocking tone. My mother said that that comment made her start to think that people were viewing me like some kind of freak and she asked me then, "Do you take your dolls out during the family functions because the new baby makes you uncomfortable or something?" and the way that she asked it, the tone that she used implied to my ears that my mother even thought that my answer to that would be asinine, as if no one could ever have the right to feel negative feelings around a cute baby. 

 

How Do I Deal With All Of This?

 

I window shop! ... Just kidding. But I do enjoy it, too.

 

 

    I deal with all of this, in part, by writing about it as I am here but the biggest help, to me, is going back to my quiet bedroom, picking up a doll and having a cuddle or reading a book aloud. Or shopping around for things I would love to dress one of my dolls in. I find comfort in participating in the hobby. It also helps for me to be a part of online Reborn Doll groups, where I can enjoy posts from others, showing off their cute little dolls in sweet fashions or where I occasionally hear people discussing how they deal with or navigate people who judge them for using their dolls to help them cope with their own problems. I may have the unique issue of the broken pinkie promise and the front row seat to someone I really liked choosing someone else over me but it still helps to know that I am not alone in getting judged. I also find joy whenever another group member announces that they are getting a new doll like they are expecting a new baby, it's a fun little roleplay aspect to me. The bottom line though, I guess, is that there are struggles and types of grief that go unmentioned or unnoticed by a lot of people and that these can be targeted sometimes, unintentionally, by hobby outsiders who just wonder why a grown adult would want anything to do with dolls. I felt I should discuss some of my own struggles within the hobby, in the hopes of maybe opening someone's eyes to how they might be treating someone in the hobby who may be dealing with things that they do not know about and also as a way of offering some small comfort both to myself and toward anyone facing similar problems.