Monday, July 22, 2013

Excavations of the closet

I have been de-cluttering and cleaning.  So committed I am to this goal, I've taken pictures every other day to show myself the progress.  It's been exhausting and emotional.  I've found old pictures that make me sad.  I've rediscovered love letters from my husband, back before he was my husband.  I've relived things like my baby brother's cuteness, and I've strolled own memory lane with my kids.  At the same time, I've discovered an unhealthy fear of throwing things out.

My closet is a physical representation of a past that I have a tough time reconciling.  I loathe it, and yet, I can't seem to let go of most of this crap.  I hold on to objects I don't need because I'm afraid.  That, in turn, makes me angry at myself and at the object.  I hold on to things for fear that I might need them again and be unable to replace them (like the 12 comforters hiding around the house), which is a fear of being poor and having grown up poor.  It's irrational, and it invites fearful energy to follow me around.  It also takes up space that would be better used to put away the ugly yellow vacuum cleaner (This is the last time I let my husband choose one. He could have picked a grey one, a white one, a lavender one, or even a slate blue, but he chose yellow which means it's an eye sore, on top of reminding me that I should probably vacuum again.) or for craft supplies.

Excavation has begun into the closets, and artifacts of great emotional drainage have been found.  I'm trying to force myself to address these issues one object at a time. I don't need physical reminders of every event in my life. Souvenirs saved should represent truly momentous occasions, not every trip I've ever been on.  People who chose to leave my life should not be eating my space years later.  Right?

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