In the kitchen, I was suddenly flooded with emotion and understanding. The Rabbit and the Skin Horse, I realized, were talking about the difference between superficial beauty and the kind of Real, inner beauty that we all possess as unique human beings. They were saying that in a life well-lived, where we are true to ourselves, all the struggles and challenges only make us more Real and more loveable. Others can see this quality in us, and make us even more Real with their love and nurturing.

At last I understood my reaction to the older woman at my doctor’s office. She was loose in the joints. Her hair was thinning, and her clothes were shabby. But she showed no anxiety, no shame, no worry. She accepted herself fully. She knew she was precious and irreplaceable. She was Real. She loved and accepted herself as a Real, and therefore imperfect, person.

The scene at the doctor’s office was made all the more poignant by the fact that the woman’s Real value was clear to her husband as well. To him she could never be ugly, because she was simply herself. At a moment when anyone else might have been supremely self-conscious, he was so Real that he was almost carefree. He had thoroughly overcome the superficial attitude reflected in his old tattoo and come to adore his wife for her deepest, inner self.

As the pages of The Velveteen Rabbit turn, the main characters teach us how to find the peace that comes when we focus on what matters most in life: love, relationships, and empathy for ourselves and others. The Skin Horse is a wise and experienced elder who is generous with what he has learned. The Rabbit is, like all of us, insecure and searching for his place in the world, a place he eventually finds in a rather unexpected new life.

As in so many children’s books, the human beings in Margery Williams’s tale are mostly oblivious to the intense drama affecting the toys in the nursery. In this case, the little Velveteen Rabbit stays with his owner—the Boy—as he suffers through scarlet fever. When the Boy recovers, the doctor insists that the bunny—“a mass of scarlet fever germs!”—be replaced. Though the Rabbit is discarded, it is not the end of the story. As he lies in the yard waiting to be burned with the trash, the Rabbit is transformed from a toy that was Real only to the Boy into an actual living creature who is Real for all to see. He hops off to live a splendid life with other Real rabbits, who become his friends. The words of the Skin Horse, who was wise, secure and content, are proven true. Being Real transforms us.

Out in the living room, Elizabeth and Amy paused and looked at their own stuffed animals. Elizabeth’s bear, Ted, was missing an eye. The white fur of Amy’s bear was dingy gray. Its pink thread nose was a little ragged. The two stuffed animals had both been loved so much, and so deeply, that the girls agreed that they must be Real. What was so obvious to my young daughters—that you don’t have to be perfect to be worthy—was a revelation to me.

A Realistic Point of View

Over the next few weeks I noticed that the message of The Velveteen Rabbit had stirred some long-standing and painful feelings. Even though my life was good, at least as other people might measure it, I didn’t posses the confidence, the completeness, the self-awareness of that woman in the wheelchair. As a young woman, mother, wife and professional, I was filled with insecurity and self-doubt. Every day I wore the façade of being sure of myself, but deep inside, I wasn’t sure of anything. I wasn’t completely Real.