Dibs: In Search of Self

by Virginia M. Axline

He carried the doll over to the doll bed, gently laid it down and covered it carefully,

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“Why Mother!” he cried. “What are you doing down there all alone? You don’t have to build a mountain. Come here. I’ll help you.” He gently cradled the mother doll in his hands. He came up to me. “Sometimes she used to cry,” he said in a very low voice. “There would be tears in her eyes and they would run down her face and she would cry. I think maybe she was sad.”

“I’ll put her back in the house with the family,” he announced. “I’ll put them all

around the dining-room table where they can be together.”

He knelt down beside the doll house and sang softly to them.

“This means happiness,” he said. His brush swept the colors across his painting. “The colors are all happy and they are all together, nice and friendly. There will be only two more Thursdays after this,” he said.

“I’ll miss you,” he said. “I’ll miss coming. Will you miss me?”

He patted my hand and smiled.

“It’s a happy room.”

It had been at times a happy room for Dibs, but there had been some sorrowful moments for him, too, as he dug around among his feelings, reliving past experiences that had hurt him deeply.

He had a feeling of security deep inside himself. He was building a sense of responsibility for his feelings. His feelings of hate and revenge had been tempered with mercy. Dibs was building a concept of self as he groped through the tangled brambles of his mixed-up feelings. He could hate and he could love. He could condemn and he could pardon. He was learning through experience that feelings can twist and turn and lose their sharp edges. He was learning responsible control as well as expression of his feelings. Through this increasing self-knowledge, he would be free

to use his capacities and emotions more constructively.

He immediately noticed the suitcase containing the material and opened it quickly. “We’ve something new in here,” he cried. “Oh look at all these little things.” He sorted through the materials quickly. “There are little people and buildings and animals. What is it?”

“You can build a world with it,

Dibs spread out the sheet, then sat down on the floor beside the materials. He sorted through the figures carefully. He selected a church, a house, and a truck. “I’ll build my world,” he said happily. “I like these little buildings and people and things. I’ll tell you the story I’m building while you watch it grow.”

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Dibs broke off his play and sat there quietly looking at the world he was building. He sighed. He took other figures out of the suitcase.

Hmmm

Interesting

Once again Dibs stopped his activity and looked over his world. Suddenly he smiled. “I am a builder of cities,”

She will stay at home with her mother and her father and her brother. They want her home so she will not be lonesome.”

“Father is still so very, very busy,” he said. “Doctor Bill came to see mother the other day. They used to be very good friends. He stayed a long time and talked to Mommy. Doctor Bill likes my Mommy. Doctor Bill said I was all right.”

“Yep. Out of the woods, he said. Whatever that means. When I leave here today I have to go to the barber shop and get my hair cut. I used to yell and carry on, but I don’t any more. Once I bit the barber.”

“Yep. I was afraid, but I’m not afraid any more.”

“I guess maybe I am growing up,” Dibs said.

Look at my city. My world! I built my world and it is a world full of friendly people.”

Dibs had built a well-organized world, full of people and action. His plan showed high intelligence, a grasp of the whole as well as the details of his concepts. There was purpose, integration, creativity in his design. The attractive miniature figures intrigued him. He had built a highly developed, meaningful world. There had been hostile feelings expressed directly at the mother and father concepts. There had been expressions of responsible awareness. Dibs was growing up.

“I got my school yearbook today,” he said. “My picture is in it. I’m in the front row between Sammy and Freddy. And there is a story in it that I wrote. I wrote a story about my home and the big friendly tree outside my window.

“Here is little Dibs and grown-up Dibs,” he said. “This is me and this is me.”

But these four people are a family and they decide to go on an outing together and they do. They take a ride to the beach and they are happy. They are all together and they feel happy. Then Grandmother comes and all five of them are happy together.”

But this little boy is little Dibs.”

“This little boy is very sick. He goes to the hospital and he is melting away. He is shrinking littler and littler until he is all gone.”

“The little boy is gone now,”

“But big Dibs is big and strong and brave. He is not afraid any more.”

Dibs had come to terms with himself. In his symbolic play he had poured out his hurt, bruised feelings, and had emerged with feelings of strength and security.

He had gone in search of a self that he could

claim with proud ...

he was beginning to build a concept of self that was more in harmony with the capacities within him. He was ...

The feelings of hostility and revenge that he expressed toward his father, mother, and sister still flared up briefly, but they did not burn with hatred or fear. He had exchanged the little, immature, frightened Dibs for a self-concept strengthened by feelings of adequacy, security, and courage. He had learned to understand his feelings. He had learned how to cope with them and to control them. Dibs was no longer submerged under his feelings of fear and anger and hatred and guilt. He had become a person in his own right. He had found a sense of dignity and self-respect. With this confidence and security, he could learn to accept and respect other people in his world. He was no longer afraid to be himself.

She laughed softly.

“He has been wonderful,” she said. “We’ve had a wonderful summer. I can never tell you how happy and grateful we are. He isn’t like the same child. He’s happy, relaxed. He relates to all of us very well. He talks all the time.

Dibs came in with a happy step, a bright smile, shining eyes. He stopped and talked to the secretaries in the outer office who were typing and transcribing recordings. He asked them what they were doing and if they liked their work. “Are you happy?” he asked them. “You should be happy!” There was a marked changed in him since his last visit. He was relaxed, out-going, happy. There was grace and spontaneity in his movements.

he rushed over to me and held out his hand to shake hands.

There was a big smile on his face. He ran around and touched the desk, the filing cabinets, the chairs, the bookshelves. He sighed. “Oh what a wonderful, happy place,” he said.

“Oh yes,”