Russian Dolls & the Layers We Carry
In the therapy room, Russian dolls quietly do more than sit on the shelf looking charming. They become a metaphor. A visual language. A surprisingly effective roadmap of the self.
Each doll opens to reveal another layer, and with it, a familiar human truth.
There’s the outer shell — the version of us that shows up to work, family dinners, and casual “How are you?” conversations. The “I’m fine” layer. Polished, functional, doing its job.
Beneath that sit the middle layers. The feelings we half-know. The ones that surface late at night, in the shower, or when the distractions fall away. These parts are often quieter, more conflicted, and a little harder to pin down.
And then there’s the smallest doll at the centre. The core. Tender, protected, and rarely shown. This is where the deepest truths live — the fears, needs, longings, and experiences we guard most carefully.
Carl Jung might describe this as meeting the shadow self: not the “bad” parts of us, but the unseen, unheard, or unintegrated ones. The parts shaped by experience, adaptation, and survival. Exploring them isn’t about self-criticism or over-analysis. It’s about wholeness.
In art therapy, Russian dolls offer a gentle, creative way to approach this inner landscape. There’s no pressure to explain everything with words. The process is tactile, symbolic, and paced. We don’t force dolls open — we notice which ones feel easy to hold, and which feel harder to approach.
Whatever the outside looks like — brave, bubbly, quiet, guarded, or effortlessly “chill” — there is always more beneath the surface. And that deeper self doesn’t need fixing. It needs noticing.
Sometimes, simply acknowledging the layers is enough to create movement.
Gentle reflections to try
You might like to sit with one or two of these — no need to do them all. Consider it low-stakes inner research.
If you imagined yourself as a set of Russian dolls, what would the outermost layer look like right now?
What qualities or emotions live in your middle layers — the ones you’re aware of, but don’t always share?
What does your innermost doll need protecting from? And what might it need more of?
Are there any layers you feel curious about but hesitant to open? What feels important about that hesitation?
How do you usually know when you’re operating from an outer layer rather than your core?
You could write, sketch, collage, or simply sit with these questions. There’s no right or wrong, just gentle exploration, at your own pace.
Layer by layer, the inner world becomes a little more familiar. And that’s often where real change begins.