Invisible Therapy

When you step onto the beach there is a feeling of small infinity that wraps around you. It’s like a blanket, the heat, the salt, the tiny point you become when there is nothing but you and the everything else. And all the other points glittering past you, their own stories suddenly unfolding in rhythm with your own, slowly, with the waves. The sand is hot, the water, impossibly green.

Kat and I walk down the beach onto the path where horses carry tourists through a brief mangrove forest. Giant iguanas scuttle through the buttressed roots and falling flowers. Through a path that feels like One Hundred Acre Woods we walk without talking. We don’t have agenda on this, our first day here. There is nothing to do.

We find Pirate’s Cove, a cozy bar with a storied mural carved in teak wood on the back wall. A little girl watches us order two ice cold beers and waves without smiling as we take them to the beach.

We begin the unicorn. This is not a planned activity, but an idea that arrives as we do on the wet sand. There are children near us, here with their families, celebrating this last afternoon of 2018, unbothered by the need to let go of the last year, start afresh, resolve. Time does not yet weigh on them, it does not need to be managed or rebelled against.

In awkward Spanish I tell them we need help finding shells, conchas para los ojos. They stare blankly. Do you want to help? ¿Quieren ayudar? We are making el unicorno. Two of them nod emphatically. They run toward the water to find shells and stones. When they return we decide to build another animal, a tortugacorn.

Manuel uses a large shell to dig up sand and pile it on to the sculpture. Alison decorates the carapacio with shells and leaves. Soon other children join the project. Flowers emerge, mushrooms, mariposas. They teach us words in Spanish. They invent tools for better digging and laugh when one squishes the unicorn’s face with her foot. We make a sun, clouds, feed the animals frutas y insectas, create a story for the growing world.

The place is medicine, the play is healing. This is invisible therapy. In other words, we are using our innate curiosity to create and connect in a way that may seem too easy, lacking expertise or directive. In a world of independence and isolation, quiet subtlety and spontaneous play become even more important. Interdependence, a connection with our surroundings and the people near to us, is vital for survival. Kat and I want to experience and shed light on the invisibilities that connect us to ourselves and to one other through play, nature, and simple engagement with our environment. Our hope is to create an application of therapeutic support in a manner that every community can embrace.

It is an exciting endeavor, nuanced and filled with paradox. Here we navigate cultural differences, privilege, expectation, and perceptions of success. The simplicity of playing on the beach creates an opportunity to incorporate a host of therapeutic elements. From a clinical perspective, building a tortugacorn stimulates:

sensory processing

executive functioning

awareness

innovation

creativity

story-telling: imagination, collaboration, narrative processing

communication

gross and fine motor skills

self-regulation 

skill building - self paced learning

stress management

From a human perspective, we're playing.

How do we create an exchange between the resources that come from the north and the cultural richness that allows for a calmer experience of childhood? Can we humbly facilitate a process of mutual globalization, where the invisible therapy and social permission to simply be in this beautiful place is as valued as the educational opportunities and resources of other countries? How do we best listen to children, wherever we are, letting them lead us in their education and better teach us how to play?