Through the Eyes of the Childlike Empress: Play Therapy with Refugee Children

• A Newcomer to the Reception Center
• Even Bastian Did Not Feel Worthy
• A Very Special Play Time
• Facing the Bah
• Recovering Lost Play Time

A Newcomer to the Reception Center

Rayan’s story has so much in common with those of hundreds of children I (IC) have met over the years when I worked for a major humanitarian organization as a social worker and head of social services. When I met him at the Reception Center (“Center”) for asylum seekers and refugees, I knew nothing about what had happened in his life and that of his family before they sought asylum in Switzerland. I would simply receive a referral, confirm the possibility of hosting the family, record basic data, and read observations from professionals they met before me.

Rayan was a 5-year-old boy from a conflict-torn area, the eldest of four siblings. Before he had lived for short periods of time in many different locations where no one spoke his native language or shared his culture of origin. Reading the few notes about him reminded me that we might have to deal with a little “Hulk,” the fictional character from American comic books who, when angry, loses control and unleashes superhuman strength. Those notes read, “The child is unsettled, too reactive but too insecure, he is already behind on everything. He is unmanageable and dangerous to other children; he cannot be included in a formal preschool program or in group activities. He has already broken two chairs; we can't risk having him with us.”

As had happened to me before, I had the feeling that much of the world around this child was constantly reminding him that he did not fit in, and that he had now accumulated a series of labels: clumsy, dangerous, unsuitable, incompetent, irredeemable. Can anyone be cumbersome, unlovable or lost at 5 years old? Some time ago, my colleague (and co-author of this essay) Claudio said to me, “It’s okay for a little child to have never won anything, but it's not okay for others to make him think he's already a loser.” Simple as it is, this statement resonates perfectly with what I believe.

What Rayan had (or had not) learned so far did not make it any easier for him in this new context. He had come to a safe place, but his life had not really improved his feeling of safety. Compared to peers, some opportunities were blurring in front of him: play and recreational activities, kindergarten, afternoons in the park with other children—nothing was within his reach yet. He was spending some time in adult contexts, discourses, and rhythms. A vicious cycle was in place: Rayan seemed to be inadequate for any activity, his learning opportunities were reduced, and consequently he became less and less adequate to benefit from future activities.

In my work at the Center and in international crisis contexts, I grasped that one of the main goals of an intervention with displaced children was to help them improve the quality of their lives, and that this depended on having more opportunities and choices in daily life. This is positively influenced by having the chance to acquire new knowledge and skills (1). As with other children, Rayan’s difficulties did not end once his family filed for asylum. On the contrary, the world seemed ironically to be closing down his possibilities.   

Even Bastian Did Not Feel Worthy

With the parents’ consent, we started Child Centered Play Therapy sessions. While I was setting up the playroom in anticipation of Rayan’s seventh visit, I wondered what he would come up with today. Would he throw the toys all over the room? Would he want to hit me with the sword very hard? Would I have to use again all my skills and patience to get him out at the end of 40 minutes? Wait a minute, I thought. Was I too, treating him the ways others had in the past?

There he was. Mom holding his hand. They were late and she seemed to be dragging him a little. He was sullen. I couldn’t tell if he had put his sandals on wrong or if he was actually twisting his feet a little. The tight tank top highlighted his few extra pounds. He glanced at me furtively. His eyes were hazel and his hair short and very dark. No, this was not “public enemy number one,” not to me at least. While very dynamic and physically strong for his age, he was, after all, just a 5-year-old.

As I kneeled to greet him, Rayan immediately sat beside me. In that moment, I reflected that it is experience that changes people, and for Rayan, a key aspect of those experiences so far in his little life was being seen differently, a bit like Bastian in The Neverending Story, by Michael Ende. Bastian did not feel he could be part of the adventure. He was afraid of the unknown, of being laughed at, of not being right. He felt he was not brave enough, thin enough, and handsome enough, and yet in the eyes of the Childlike Empress, he suddenly saw himself reflected in a new way: the image of a young prince, proud, agile, and competent, cut out for adventure.

I think Rayan needed new eyes that reflected a different image of him, one that would allow him to put aside the collection of refusals and negative labels and instead be able to develop his full potential.

A Very Special Play Time

Before we started our seventh play therapy session, I repeated to Rayan, “We are about to enter the special playroom. In this room you can do almost anything you want, if there is something you cannot do, I will tell you.”

Even though we already had a few visits, perhaps he didn't fully grasp what I was saying. I opened the door and this time, rather than walk in, he paused for a few moments in the doorway. I would have loved to tell him:

This is a space of exploration and knowledge where you can do what you want as long as it doesn’t hurt you. Here, you can be whomever you want despite what some think of you. This is your space, and I am not going to tell you what to do and what to change. In your own time, you can discover who you are, who you want to become, and have the adventures that make you feel your best. I am here for you.

All human beings need to be co-regulated, let alone this little boy about whom I knew so little, and whose future was so incredibly uncertain.

“You’re not sure what you want to do today. You’re interested in those swords. You're intrigued by those little cars.”

Suddenly, Rayan fell to the ground in a very theatrical way. I tried to understand as quickly as possible what he was communicating to me. Feeling that I had been invited into an imaginary play, I rescued him.

“Oh no, something has happened! Here I am, putting a bandage on you.”

I applied a bandage to his ankle and Rayan stood up. He looked around, took a few steps and again fell to the ground.

“Oh, it happened again, here I am, here’s a special medicine,” I said.

After a few moments, he got up and suddenly said aloud, “Help!” and threw himself back on the ground, stretching his arms and legs. I was again ready to rescue him and to respond in the way that seemed most appropriate.

Although I have the recording of this session, I never counted how many times he threw himself to the ground. Possibly 20 times in half an hour. Each time I rescued him as if it were the first. Was he representing a real-life moment? Was he testing my ability to play along and my resistance? Was it a way to elicit attention, care, protection, or a combination of all these things? Trying to understand what children are communicating to us is important, but what matters most is that they feel that they can let go, be themselves, and “tell their wordless story” (2). I wanted to be predictable, attuned and accepting so that Rayan realized that he could feel fully himself and find in me a valuable ally. As with Bastian, he deserved the time and space to tell his story, to create a tailored world in which he was the protagonist.

Facing the Bah

I repeated the initial play session structuring formula before opening the door. We were in the eleventh session and by then, it was clear to him what I was communicating.

“There’s a bah,” Rayan said to me out of the blue.

I had no idea what it was, but from his tone of voice and facial expression, it sounded like something scary, so I showed fear. But Rayan was no longer the same destructive and insecure child. He had begun to recognize his monsters and was now able to face them. In fact, he harnessed a sword, ran in the direction of the front door, and started a thunderous battle. Then he came back to me and let me know that he had defeated the bah. Suddenly this character reappeared, but this time, Rayan entrusted a sword to me too (the smaller one!) and we became allies against the bah.

We fought again and again, the bah moved, disappeared and then returned, and multiplied. At one point, something happened that I perceived out of the ordinary for our play. After a long battle together, Rayan turned to me and told me that the bah was me, and he suddenly hit me on the leg. The script of this version of the story as I understood it, was different. I was surprised, and feeling a bit emotionally hurt, mistakenly exclaimed, “I am not the bah!”

In looking back on that moment, I now realize that Rayan probably felt ready to see the scary character materialize in front of him, so to expand the play, he inserted a variation. Either hypothesis is good news while the video showing my mistake (a definitely directive reaction in a non-directive setting) appears to be useful in our trainings, producing laughter and relieving students’ tension before mock sessions, but above all it raises reflections on the complexity of the methodology, the role and awareness of the therapist’s person and feelings.

As the session continued, Rayan repeatedly called for reinforcements like the police who nevertheless never arrived. It was the two of us who had to defend ourselves. He had very clear ideas: he placed a dollhouse in the center of the carpet and carefully closed all the doors and windows and approached with swords and guns. Something didn’t convince him it was safe, so he slipped under a toy worktable and invited me in, but unfortunately, I didn’t fit. He spotted a large transparent box and emptied it on the ground making a loud noise, sat in it and invited me in. I succeeded but could only stand. Rayan looked around and found a black mantle, made me sit on the ground next to the box, and covered both our heads. Here we were finally in our safe space.

We stay down there, two allies whispering in amusement. Rayan was satisfied, courageous and creative. The bah was not defeated yet but had found a worthy opponent who had an ally who believed in him and would never betray him.

Recovering Lost Play Time

Like other children, Rayan took part in the project “Recovering Lost Play Time” (3) that we developed within Reception Centers for asylum seekers and refugees. After 12 individual sessions he gradually took part in a small group where he had the opportunity to further develop his initiatives and interests, but also to join other children’s play and got involved in several activities.

Mindful that what happens outside the therapy room is just as important as what happens inside (if not more so), the aim of our program was to initiate processes to expand the range of positive experiences in as many contexts as possible including family, school and recreational settings (4).

Many children like Rayan who face migration or protracted difficult circumstances learn that certain events and conditions can make them feel helpless, incapable, fearful, inadequate, unworthy. For them, recovering lost play time means regaining a feeling of safety and possibilities and accumulating, in their own time, different and positive ways of perceiving the world, others and especially their own worth.

References

(1) Cassina, I. & Mochi, C. (2023). ‘Applying the therapeutic power of play and expressive arts in contemporary crisis work. A process-oriented approach’. In I., Cassina, C., Mochi, & K., Stagnitti (eds.) Play therapy and expressive arts in a complex and dynamic world: Opportunities and challenges inside and outside the playroom, Routledge, 6–27.

(2) Damasio, A. (1999). The feeling of what happens. Body and emotions in the making of consciousness, Harvest Book Harcourt, Inc.

(3) Cassina, I. (2023). ‘Recovering lost play time. Principles and intervention modalities to address the psychosocial wellbeing of asylum seekers and refugee children’. In I., Cassina, C., Mochi, & K., Stagnitti (eds.) Play therapy and expressive arts in a complex and dynamic world: Opportunities and challenges inside and outside the playroom, Routledge, 50–68.

(4) Cassina, I., & Mochi, C. (2024). ‘Polyvagal-informed practice to support children and caregivers in war: Toward the creation of a huge and reassuring playroom’. In P., Goodyear-Brown, & L., Yasenik (eds.) Polyvagal power in the playroom. A guide for play therapists, Routledge.   

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