What do you have plenty of that you could give away?
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What do you have plenty of that you could give away?
On attempting to let go of the physical and mental clutter I've been hoarding.
“The tools I have acquired do not stop life throwing stuff at you. They help you to navigate, take a hit, swerve, and get back up. They don’t stop you getting lost along the way. They help you to notice when you have lost your way and bravely turn on your heel and head back to a life that feels meaningful and purposeful for you.” - Dr. Julie Smith, Why Has Nobody Told Me This Before
This past week I have felt a bit of shame centered around how much I am mentally struggling right now. The fact that I felt guilt was jarring because I feel like I have advanced well past the point of ever feeling like any of this is my fault. As if I’ve somehow caused my regression. “You have the tools!” I’d admonished internally. But like Dr. Smith said, “The tools don’t stop life from throwing things at you.” And dammit if life hasn’t been throwing every ball possible and in the midst of me trying to dodge one, another one immediately follows, it seems.
I am glad, though, that eventually after those initial moments of holding onto guilt that does not belong to me, I was able to remind myself that isolation, shame, and silence no longer serve me. I can no longer use those unhealthy coping mechanisms to carry me through the depressive episodes.
It is through advocacy and vulnerability that healing will find me.
Advocating for myself and others. Being vulnerable with my tribe and with you all. This weekend in a writing workshop one of my writing sisters said “if vulnerability was a person, it’s Ashleigh!” and it was so hard to receive that in the moment because a tad bit of that shame lingered. Yes, it has become easier to be vulnerable over the years because I know the outcome hiding will bring. But there are still things I find very difficult to open up about or admit. Namely, holding onto the mental clutter of shame in moments when my brain is telling me that my struggle is my fault.
Decluttering
I am decluttering physically, mentally, and digitally. Every year I go through a long spree of decluttering and then just accumulate more stuff. Not wanting to feel so bogged down and trapped, I want more free space. In my home, in my mind, in my files. I’ve given away so much since starting. Deleted more gigs of data than I can remember. But this mental clutter? Whew. That’s taking some time. And that’s okay.
Prompt:
“What do you have plenty of that you could give away?” Written July 2021
I have many things that I want to, and should, give away. Clothes that no longer fit my body form massive piles, blocking my path from the bedroom to my bathroom. Various kitchen gadgets that never get used monopolize my limited cabinet space. And an array of random knick-knacks that Amazon convinced me to buy are scattered around my apartment. These are all things I asked for or purchased on my own at one point in time, and most likely opened their packaging gleefully ready to make use of them.
But there’s one package that constantly finds its way to me.. one that I dread receiving and surely never ordered. I’d love to give it away, but no one else could possibly want this. I’ve done all I can to escape it. I’ve had so many changes of addresses that I won’t even try to count. I’ve moved across two states and a district. Traveled to many countries. And even went off the grid a couple of times. Yet, it always seems to find its way back to my doorstep.
The package is heavy, crippling even. It weighs me down. It takes up much more of my space than any mound of clothes, dishes, or gadgets ever could. And, it comes at the most inconvenient times, especially when I have no one around to help me lift its weight.
It is never labeled correctly, failing to warn me of its contents. No “FRAGILE” or “HEAVY” stamp on either of its sides. No bright yellow sticker signifying an explosive device. And worst of all, its packaging never looks the same, so there’s no way to avoid it. Sometimes it comes in a box so tiny that it could fit a small crystal. And other times the box is so big that I need assistance to move it. There’s no pattern to its arrival, no frequency of time. There are times when its delivery is days apart, weeks even. And the few times when a couple of months have gone by without its delivery, I almost believe that it is finally gone for good. But, no such luck. Some days, I’m so consumed by the fear of its return that I feel robbed of the ability to enjoy the packages that I actually do want to receive upon their arrival.
The package came again a few weeks ago, and I don’t have the strength to lift or shift it out of my space. It is likely that I need the help of someone much stronger than myself to make this thing disappear again. But, until that help comes, I’m stuck looking at it, feeling it, almost being consumed by it. I want so badly to give it away, but I know that there’s no one on earth who would willingly welcome a great big box of depression left on their doorstep.
🌞