Dumbo is not so dumb-o

There are so many things in my head at the moment, it sometimes feels like my brain is leaking out of my ears. I need to write, I can feel the words pushing like a physical pressure but every time I think about where to start, something else that seems equally important comes up and I panic. Now I have a grimly knotty migraine that won’t quite go away and I’m too wired to sleep, so I figured I’d write the first thing that springs to mind and see if that creates a little room for everything else.

Therapy this week touched on quite a few topics that have since flowered into more complex thoughts that I want to find my way around through writing. One of the things that came up and which continues to evolve as we work, is my connection to narrative and my very primal need for meaning through story. My therapist suggested I listen to an episode of This Jungian Life Podcast called Dumbo’s Feather.

In all honesty, this was not an idea that thrilled me. I have always found Disney films difficult, even as a child. There is something about them that I found and continue to find, deeply unsettling. I don’t know why. I expect that’s six months of extra therapy, right there. I also tend to avoid stories about animals, because in my experience, they can be brutally upsetting. I had never seen Dumbo and was deeply suspicious of the whole idea of listening to a podcast about something I already had weird feelings about.

Having said all that, I am firmly of the opinion that there is not much point in having therapy unless you are willing to show up and do the work. I had to go out this morning so I plugged my headphones in as I set off and settled down to hear what the Jungian’s make of Dumbo.

What really interested me was that the woman who had chosen the story for the podcast had no experience of it as a child. It was something she had come to in later life. It had moved her so much that you could feel her genuine love for the story as she and her companion discussed it.

I am very much of the belief that if you pay attention, the right stories for you will turn up when you need them, and they can often surprise you in terms of the form they take. It reminded me of the very first English literature lesson I did at university. We herded into a classroom where I expected to be confronted with something weighty, Chaucer or Dante, maybe. We spent an hour discussing the narrative and literary merit of Coronation Street. It was illuminating. It left me with the unshakeable belief that Shakespeare would definitely have written for Eastenders. It also reminded me not to be a snob about the value of what constitutes a good, meaningful story.

At one point in the podcast, there was a discussion of the symbolism of Dumbo’s ears. At first they are too big and the source of all Dumbo’s problems. Then they become his secret weapon and eventually his super power. The thing that made him different from everyone else in a bad way, suddenly made him different from everyone else in a good way. This appeals to me. I am also a great believer in the idea that within every problem are the seeds of its resolution. Sometimes all it takes is time and a different perspective to work that out. I am also a great believer in non-conformity, even when it feels agonisingly uncomfortable.

The male host made an interesting point. He suggested that Dumbo’s ears were only big when Dumbo was a baby. What if Dumbo had adult sized ears and as he grew, his ears would eventually become proportional and normal? What if, as he grew, he grew out of having a super power and became the same as all the other elephants? Would that be a good or bad thing? That raised interesting points about what happens after a story finishes, because of course, the length of a story is an artificial construct, just like the point of view from which you tell it.

Sometimes we might need to ask ourselves ‘what happens next?’ or perhaps more powerfully ‘what could happen next if I took a different path through this story?’

They discussed this in relation to real life. What if you have difficulties as a child because you have a precocious gift or talent, or an understanding of the world that is not in proportion with the rest of you? If you can weather the storm, you might be able to catch up with yourself so that you become an adult who is in proportion, where everything matches and you no longer stand out. That is, of course if you have the luxury of being able to wait for that time, or the kind of difference that becomes easier to manage with time.

For some people that can be a blessing. I think of how my voracious appetite for books meant that as a child I often read things that were technically easy to read, but emotionally way beyond my pay grade and which often led me down paths of confusion, isolation and fear I didn’t know how to resolve. As I grew older and my emotional understanding caught up with my technical ability these things resolved themselves. I just had to be patient and believe things would change. Easier said than done. I am fully aware of that.

For other people though, what if that difference was something that defined you and you enjoyed standing out? What happens when you become like everyone else? How do you understand yourself then? Or what if you just can’t find a way to understand your difference? What if you’ve been hiding your difference and blending in with other people’s narratives and you suddenly find that you have been exposed or that you want to stand up where previously you were sitting down?

And that’s where Timothy Mouse and the feather come into the story, for Dumbo and for us.

In the story, Timothy becomes Dumbo’s protector and then his mentor. The Jungian’s made the point that Dumbo’s mother wants the world to change and become less cruel, and when it doesn’t, she tries to shield her son from that world. Her love is wonderful, but it isn’t always helpful. Timothy is the means by which Dumbo learns to think about himself in a different way. Timothy doesn’t expect the world to change for Dumbo. Timothy expects Dumbo to change. The most powerful thing about Timothy is that he doesn’t expect Dumbo to change to make everyone else feel better. He teaches Dumbo to change to make himself feel better. To take his difference and celebrate rather than hide it and to turn it into something which allows him to renegotiate the story of his life on his own terms.

Timothy is given a feather by one of the crows who watches him failing to teach Dumbo to fly. He teaches Timothy about the power of magical thinking, and Timothy in turn, teaches Dumbo (they didn’t discuss the power of the crows, but the crows are the unsung heroes of this story and are pure magic, in my opinion - they need their own story). Dumbo cannot believe in himself because he doesn’t know how to. Just telling him to do it doesn’t work, because his self worth is not strong enough to support such a powerful and pivotal change. You cannot give what you haven’t got, and you need to find whatever the ‘it’ is. Often, you don’t even know what the ‘it’ is, which makes it harder. Dumbo needs a talisman. Something outside of himself that is imbued with power and which he can hold onto when he cannot hold onto himself. The feather is Dumbo’s talisman, but in order for it to work, it has to be supplied by Timothy.

The conversation turned at this point to explore this transaction in terms of therapy. The woman made the point that in order for therapy to work, you need two things. You need human connection with someone you trust to fight your corner, or hold space for you. Then you need something external to you that is a physical manifestation of the power you want to bring into being. You need someone to be Timothy Mouse and you need a feather.

She said that sometimes changing our thinking is not enough because we don’t live in our heads. We live in the real, physical world. In order to take our thinking and push it out into doing and being, it makes sense that we need proof that it is possible for us and that proof should be something tangible. We need an object which embodies the very real possibility that we can do things differently and make something good from that doing.

This made a lot of sense to me. Having done so much therapy over the years, I have often felt like I am going over old ground and not always making any progress. I have the language and the understanding, but I don’t always feel that I have been able to manifest the change to go with that understanding in my day to day life. I talk a great therapy. I have had limited success in doing all the things I talk about.

The current therapy feels a lot different. That could be a for a whole bunch of reasons, none of which are to do with a magic feather. I do believe that change occurs when you are ready for it and maybe this is my time. But I am very aware of the fact that I am in the process of manufacturing a fairly hefty magical feather of my own in collaboration with my therapist, someone who is on my side and holding space for me while I figure out how to make a talisman of myself. A tangible expression of the change I want to make, out in the world instead of in my head.

Turns out Dumbo was my story after all. Who knew?

My therapist. Clearly.