Part 6: The Importance Of Skin

The therapeutic relevance of clients' (alterable) appearances in virtual worlds

An unexpected boon for working with clients has been their virtual appearance, their avatar.

Clients often use avatars to express their internal experiences outwardly during our sessions. In Minecraft, many clients switch between different "skins" – their virtual appearances – not only arriving in a new skin each session but also modulating between skins within a session.

This ability to embody internal fantasies so clearly in Minecraft is incredibly beneficial for our clients.

Many clients choose to appear as monsters in sessions. For instance, one child initially appeared as an Ogre Monster – scary, violent, aggressive, and frightening, as he described it. After processing his inner conflicts through therapeutic play, he transformed into a Thunder Boy in the next session, as we'll see. This change, though subtle, reflected a significant shift in his self-perception – his teachers reflected in case files filled with misunderstandings, year after year, that the small boy was a kind of monster. Other adults meant to protect him, too, elsewhere, left him to live under bridges of misunderstanding and weep alone — furious at pain he couldn't stop on his own — in dank caves of despair, like an ogre. Adults wanted him to change, to transform, to become something new. But there was no way that could happen until someone first loved in him what everyone else had misunderstood; until someone welcomed the monster to step out from the caves of despair and into the light of healing. What had looked monstrous was only a boy, bent into disfiguring postures to scare away what fear told him closeness would bring — more hurt. What the confused adults were reacting to was truly and simply and profoundly the misshapen shadow of a small child protecting himself. He needed someone to show him there was nothing in him to be afraid of — in at least one place in the world, and one place in the world he wasn't alone.

These were the virtual worlds we inhabited together, when he invited me.

From a salient session

In his virtual world, he invited me to look at his house. His avatar's face was an oozing amalgam of juniper and cerulean. He suddenly turned to face me, holding up his iPad closer to his mom's computer camera, through which our session occurred, showing me his new skin. Today, he emerged as a monster unlike any I'd seen in this game.

“Wow,” I said, earnestly impressed.

On the screen, he jumped and spun around. “Look!” he demanded. His avatar was covered in clobbered welts of cobalt.

“Are those bruises?” I asked genuinely.

“No!” he corrected fiercely, “it’s pus!”

“Woah! Pus,” I reflected.

“Yeah,” he verified, then settled back into his snuggled repose, displaying the screen comfortably on his chest for me to watch clearly while he played [laying down in front of the laptop, the computer's glare gently cast a soft glow on his head.

Him being a monster covered in pus was an intense and not unfamiliar metaphor. "That reminds me of the Ogre Monster you used to pretend to be back in the office." Before quarantine, this child would role-play as an Ogre Monster, raging on the floor and groaning. By his rules, when he touched me, I would turn into an Ogre Monster too. It felt like a sad game, one I was hesitant to entertain for fear of reinforcing his belief that he was too much for people. Yet, I also felt a deep responsibility to provide a sanctuary for his metaphoric expressions, to honor even his most painful feelings — including the dread that his touch might bring ruin, that seeking connection with an adult would inevitably lead to their mutual downfall. He feared being seen as a monster, acutely aware of how he seemed to change in the eyes of adults compared to other children. There was a possibility, too, that he sensed I could understand him deeply — that a part of me had felt monstrous before, and so I was like him. He wasn't totally alone. He wasn't entirely wrong about that. He couldn't articulate these fears in words, but through the language of play, he conveyed his internal struggles with poignant clarity. In his monstrous form, he revealed his deepest fears and vulnerabilities, showing me a world where his touch was toxic, and connection seemed impossible. Through these shared moments of imaginative play, we navigated the dark, jagged edges of his inner world, seeking glimpses of light and understanding amid the shadows.

I watched him contort his face and body into ghoulish postures, expressing what he needed in one of the few ways he could.

Through the video call now, months later during the pandemic, I notice him adjust his head almost imperceptibly, signifying recognition, remembering the therapeutic games we would play in my office. He says nothing, but I feel he understands. He continues to play this virtual game now, guiding me through his world.

On the way to his virtual abode, I see an amazing purple gate emanating a magical flow of violet ruby snowflakes: between the gate’s jambs, instead of a door is a flowing orb seemingly breathing the iridescent colors in and out like a purplish black hole.

“Wow, what is this?” I asked. “It’s beautiful!”

“Stop!” he demanded. “You could die if you go in there! Don’t go in there, there's ogre pus!!”

I learned later that behind the nether portal – the beautiful, frightening doorway – was a world of magical biomes. The mystical habitat to which he eventually brought me was filled with ghostly turquoise caverns and precarious mauve ledges. White tufts drifted beautifully in a kind of purgatorial peace. Cadaverous plum vines hung from tortured-looking jade trees. All of this protruded on harrowing cliffs, beneath which hellish blue fires burned wildly. He floated freely (in creative mode) through the spectral darkness but warned me to stay far away. This dynamic and world seemed to express that there was something about him – his moods and feelings – that he feared would destroy those around him. He was worried he might destroy me too; he protectively said I "shouldn't get too close."

Treatment Potentials

My goal was to follow his motives to explore and express their latent meaning, without puncturing the fantasy with premature interpretations. I tend toward non-directive approaches with certain clients. This child was most comfortable with and responsive to oblique guidance, not heavy-handed interpretations. Overt interpretations can overwhelm some clients, both children and adults. Minecraft offers another way to help them process their fears and concerns safely.

The details of these sessions are personal and confidential, but suffice to say that in them, we find healing; this is the private story of this boy's life, and will be protected as such. But what results is non-identifying, and can — in the roughly hewn ways of deidentification and anonymization — both protect his innocence and honor the great gifts of his perseverance and presence. And share with the world what good he builds, even to this day.

Generally, the goal is to help clients learn that their non-fixated motives are wonderful and that their fixated motives are welcome for reflection without judgment. All their thoughts and feelings are welcome. Slowly, change and healing occur. [And such was the unfolding in this case]

Following Session

“Oooh, what’s that skin?” I asked, curious once we logged into the virtual world he chose. “Is that pus again?”

“No,” he chirped, as if the truth were obvious. “I’m a Thunder Boy, the colors are midnight!”

“Woahhh :) A Thunder Boy!” I exclaimed, noting the powerful transition. “You were an Ogre Monster last time, and now you’re a Thunder Boy.”

“Yep,” :) he responded sprightly.

“What’s it mean to be a Thunder Boy?” I questioned, careful not to puncture the fantasy.

“That I’m a Thunder Boy,” he clarified impatiently.

The message was clear. I didn’t ask anything more. Still, I marveled at the wonderful transition. From an Ogre Monster to a Thunder Boy

– a subtle but significant change. He was no longer expressing himself as a ferocious monster scattering toxic pus, but could see himself now as a human, as a boy. He was starting to learn that he wouldn’t always disrupt and destroy everything. He was learning that he got to choose when the thunder boomed.

These were the virtual worlds we inhabited together, when he invited me. And these were the very worlds from which he emerged to become the young remarkable man he is today, many years later. His movement from a hostile self-misunderstanding and fear-based suspicion to a novel sense of his own humanity, acceptance, empowerment, connection, and understanding--was long-fought, hard-won, and well-deserved.

And the experience we shared is one powerful example among many illustrating the utility of virtual worlds. They are like paintings children create in our offices or stories adults tell about their interior worlds, fears, thoughts, and hopes. Since play is the language of expression for children, they speak to us with a special clairoyance when they allow us into their imaginative worlds, and the way they present themselves is an important motif in the stories they're telling.

Some Thoughts & A Few More Examples Of Skin

I’ve worked with many clients who choose to appear as a scary monster one day and a soft, gentle animal like a fox the next, presenting as vulnerable, shy, and a little wily.

Some children have changed their entire race and eye color, exploring their stages of racial identity formation by literally, virtually, trying on new skins. It’s a powerful way for children (and adults) to share their inner concerns in clear, safe, creative ways.

A Question For You

We all have skins. We modulate between them — at work, at home, in the dark, in the mirror. Most of us learned early which ones were welcome and which ones needed to be hidden. The children I work with haven't yet perfected that concealment, and so their skins speak loudly and honestly. What a privilege it is to be invited into those worlds. And what a thing to consider: that healing rarely begins when we ask someone to change their skin. It begins when someone is willing to sit beside the monster and see the child we've all been.

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....continued in part seven of Seven Therapeutic Benefits for Clients in Virtual Worlds: Clients Invite Someone Into Their Most Sacred Experiences...