If her instincts had been intact…

4 Comments / Linda Tuxford-Adams / By
An ornately tooled, old leather-bound book titled 'The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen' is prominently displayed on a wooden table. The cover features intricate embossing and gold lettering. Beside the book, a candle with dripping wax burns softly, casting a warm glow that highlights the book's details and creates a cozy, antique atmosphere. The background is dimly lit, emphasizing the candlelit ambiance of a bygone era.

"If her instincts had been intact..."

A retelling of The Little Match Girl through the lens of late-discovered neurodivergence.

By Linda Tuxford-Adams

This is my adaptation of Clarissa Pinkola Estes retelling of The Little Match Girl from Women who Run with the Wolves told through the lens of neurodivergent experience. 

 

It is a very old tale and told the world over in various ways. Stories so old and so shared are rich with theme and interwoven with whisps of undiscovered spark waiting to be discovered by curious minds. So much more than what they seem…

The Little Match Girl

Long ago there was a little orphan girl who lived in the forest on the outskirts of a busy town full of bustling people and lots of noise.

Close-up of a young child's dirty, outstretched hands holding a partially eaten, discolored apple and a piece of moldy bread. The child's legs are visible, clad in large, drab-colored pants, and their bare feet are soiled. The background features the grey, unfocused texture of a city street.

Most of the time she was ignored, but when they did see scorn shot from their eyes causing her being to retract in pain. Children threw rocks at her and laughed at her unusual ways. They jeered at her only clothes, which were patched and worn, and her feet, which were wrapped in newspaper bound haphazardly with scraps of twine.

Photorealistic image of a young Asian girl seen from behind, with her hands covering her ears in the middle of a historical cobblestone street. She wears tattered clothing and appears distressed. Behind her, a group of children can be seen pointing and laughing at her, contributing to a scene of bullying. The old-fashioned buildings and clear sky create a stark contrast to the somber mood surrounding the girl.

So, she remained as much as she could in the forest in the outskirts of the town. By day she would wander the forest among the leaves and at night she would curl in the hollows of trees.

An image from behind of a little Asian girl exploring a lush forest. She is dressed in ragged clothes, indicating a life of hardship. The girl's long hair falls down her back as she walks away, with her hand extended towards the vibrant foliage. Sunbeams filter through the canopy, casting a serene glow on the scene and illuminating the path before her.

During the warmth of the year the forest was her sanctuary. After foraging for food she would escape betwinxt the boughs, deliciously connected to nature and content in her own company.

But when the air began to chill, the wind to howl, and the snow blanketed down, one by one, the trees were sawn down, and she was left without companionship and shelter. She was forced from her haven and fled for shelter of the town.

A young girl kneels in a desolate landscape amidst a severe snowstorm, with all the trees around her cut down, leaving only stumps and fallen logs. She shields her face with her hands, her ragged clothing dusted with snow, as the blizzard rages around her. The scene conveys a profound sense of vulnerability and isolation in the face of nature's overwhelming force.

All she had was a box of matches that had been a sacred gift from her grandmother. She loved to gaze into the flicking glimmer of the flames and feel the warmth tickle her nose.

A close-up image of a child's grubby hands presenting an open, ornately carved wooden matchbox. The matchbox appears aged but treasured, with detailed etchings and a worn patina. It contains several matches with pristine white tips, signifying their unused state. The child's hands and the matchbox are the focal point, symbolizing a stark contrast between the evident poverty and the small valued possession.
Close-up of a young Asian girl sitting barefoot on a snowy ground at night, wearing oversized, worn-out clothing. She holds a lit match that casts a warm glow on her face, highlighting a contemplative expression. Her hair is dusted with snow, and the dimly lit, snowy background suggests a desolate, old village setting.

But as the winter storms set in, food became scarce and she was forced to sell her precious matches for whatever was offered.

Pinched strangers who barely met her gaze, offered a meagre penny and snatched their prize. It hurt her each time to sell these precious gifts for barely anything to people that didn’t understand their magic…but she was desperate and it is all the world believed they were worth.

Photorealistic image of a young Asian girl in a winter setting, extending her hand to receive a coin. She is dressed in a weathered coat with a scarf, her hair sprinkled with snow, symbolizing the cold environment. Her face expresses a mix of hope and resignation. The coin, offered by an unseen person, rests on an open palm, signifying an act of charity. In the background, the snow-covered streets and old buildings of a village evoke a historical context.

But to her, they were precious and comforting and regulating. She would peak longingly through windows at families gathered around fireplaces lit by her match. As they basked in the glow, warmed by the glittering flame, longing and despair dragged at her bones. So alone, so unseen, so misunderstood. This was her lot; the world was cruel, there was no warmth for her, and eventually, she only had one match left.

As she struck the last match and gazed into the glittering flame her heart opened and her being was flooded with light. The flame danced and weaved and it was like she was no longer here in this harsh world but somewhere warm and safe and glimmery. In the flames she saw the smiling face of her grandmother the only one who had ever made her feel loved and accepted. Her heart yearned to join her.

A close-up image of a young Asian girl in tattered clothing, holding a lit match that casts a soft glow on her contemplative face. Her small, dirt-smudged hands and frayed sleeves are sharply in focus, highlighting her impoverished condition against the backdrop of a dimly lit, snowy night in an old village.

But all the while her unshielded body was being buried by snow. As her eyes slowly closed, a single tear trickled down her cheek… and she died.

A close-up portrait of a young Asian girl with her eyes closed, suggesting she is asleep or at rest. Dellicate snowflakes are settled on her eyelashes and cheeks. There's a tear rolling down from one eye, and her skin is marked with patches of dirt. The dark, cold background is blurred with falling snow, enhancing the sense of a harsh winter environment around the child.

Interpretation

For me, the bitter tragedy of the Little Match Girl resonates deeply with my experience as a different being, as a late-identified Autistic. It is what happens when a beautiful unique being grows up in a world were she is misunderstood

Clarissa Pinkola Estes writes, "What is Match Girl to do? If her instincts were intact, her choices would be many. Walk to another town, sneak into a wagon, stow away in a coal cellar. Wild Woman would know what to do next. But Match Girl does not know Wild Woman anymore..."

Artistic collage showing a large, vibrant matchstick flame painted in hues of yellow, orange, and red, positioned centrally against a black background. Below the flame, in the lower left corner, the silhouette of a person's face is partially visible, overlaid with a torn piece of paper. Bold red lettering on the right spells out 'if her instincts had been intact,' suggesting a poignant message or theme within the artwork.

“If her instincts had been intact…If her instincts had been intact”…those words whirl round and round in my mind echoing with poignant irony. How does one become so disconnected from the inherent biological drive to protect oneself, the wild woman instinct to fight and take up your own space. 

Well I know, as a neurologically divergent being…I know….its the many, many words, looks, actions and introjected messages that tell you, you are wrong, wrong, wrong. That your natural way of being is strange… too much…not enough…and always, always needing to be changed. 

It is interaction after interaction of seeing puzzled looks and rolling eyes. It is relationships with selfish beings who unashamedly consume your soul and wipe their feet on your corpse because they can and need to demean you… and because you can’t hear wild woman anymore…your own needs are distant, fuzzy, unfamiliar whispers.

And even if your wild woman instincts had been saying anything at all- those connections had been cut off long ago because all they did was get you into trouble. Rein her in, bind her down, lock her away. She is not ok she draws scorn and derision. Your instinctive self is wrong, unacceptable, dangerous. 

 

So over time we disconnect, tuck away the whimsy, the collection of leaves, the stories, the dances, the songs. They are hidden in a heavy wooden chest and locked away and she, that free part that beautiful instinctual part, is chained deep within, in the dark, in a hole and abandoned.

An old, weathered wooden chest with robust metal straps and a large, rusted padlock sits in a dimly lit room. The faint beam of light accentuates the chest's aged texture and the padlock's vintage design, casting dramatic shadows around it, which adds to the atmosphere of mystery and antiquity.

But inside, day by day, we’re dying. Like the Little Match Girl cut off from her instinct to protect herself until she was a burnt out husk of humanity with nothing left to give. Our gifts like hers bought for pennies and used to feed the souls of others…whilst she starves and freezes in the lane. 

She gives all she has but remains unsupported, unseen, unable to access her own fire because she has been told her instincts are wrong. Told over and over in look and deed, dismissed as only good for matches. 

Burnt out match in pieces on snow.

She has come to believe these barbs, internalized the scorn and whips at herself now, no need for the reproval of others. So, to survive she escapes into her own world away from the pain in her body and the dysregulation of her nervous system. 

 

The ‘misunderstanding’ is her wrong, her shame, something inherent in who she is. Not worth fighting for or wouldn’t someone see her? Disconnected from herself, barely surviving with only the matches to make her life worth living.

 

Until the last match and her spirit burn out.

Conclusion

So is their hope for we little match girls who have grown into womanhood and find ourselves burnt out? I say undoubtedly yes. But it is a humbling journey where we learn to honour ourselves. Where we rediscover and carefully excavate piece by piece our innate ways of moving, eating,  speaking, regulating- all our authentically Autistic ways of being. Unravelling the Gordian knot of false self to rediscover our inborn rhythms.  Sitting at the feet of ourselves and quietly listening, tuning our ears to that inner voice, our wild woman, our instinctive Autistic self. 

Then learning how to build a life that supports these ways of being. Through understanding our unique neurotype. Through accommodations and supports. Through community with others who are on the same journey. Through following the lantern’s glow in the distance of pioneers who have trod these paths before us.

 

Through connection, to ourselves, to support and to our neurokin, we can reignite.

An old-fashioned metal lantern with a glowing candle inside is delicately held in a person's hands, illuminating a dimly lit space with a soft, warm light. The image conveys a sense of guidance and warmth, possibly providing a comforting presence through the gentle, flickering light.

Note from the Author

I am Linda Tuxford-Adams. I am an AuDHD Counsellor and Educator and Founder of Neurokindred. This blog is my attempt to show the way storytelling can be used in healing and therapy for late-identified Autistic adults. 

 

Bibliotherapy is a beautiful modality to explore the experience of being a late-identified Autistic. Whether it’s fairytales, poetry, psychotherapy texts or modern lived experience narratives-the written word when it resonates provides language for our own experience. 

Rottenburg (2022) describes “The unique aspect of the bibliotherapeutic relationship is that it is based on a triangular mode of therapist-text-patient. It supplements this with the creative processes of reading, writing, and the development of the capacity to narrate”. If this is an approach you’d like to explore contact us and book a session.

References

Pinkola Estes, C. (1992). Women who run with the wolves: Myths and stories of the wild woman archetype. Ballantine Books.

Rottenberg, B. (2022). Bibliotherapy as an integrative psychotherapeutic channel, Journal of Poetry Therapy, 35(1), 27-41. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/08893675.2021.2004371

4 thoughts on “If her instincts had been intact…”

  4. Todd Payton

    I am so touched by the way you wrote it. I felt it in my inner soul. If only people could understand what it feels like with in.

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