Years ago, my friend’s mom decided to move out of her house after over 50 years of living there. She was done living there and left all the stuff behind. In order to get the house ready to sell, my friend asked me to come over to clean out the attic. It was full. I wondered when we got the stuff out of the house, it just groaned from the relief of that extra weight.
It was difficult at times for her as it just wasn’t stuff, it was memories mixed in. While it might have been easier for me to just chuck the stuff, I wanted to honor her process. She was very grateful for this. We created four piles: keep, donate, toss and maybe box. We got it done.
A few years ago, my mother-in-law couldn’t live in her house anymore as she moved to assisted living. We took her through her house one last time, letting her choose items to bring for her new room. Since it was limited what would fit in her room, she became mindful in what was the most important for her. For many weekends, my husband and I would drive three hours to begin the process. He ordered the dumpster then started tossing. He didn’t have the emotional connections to mom’s stuff so it was easier to let it go. I had a few moments of feeling mom’s 50 years of memories as it was relinquished to the dumpster. Mom’s niece wanted some of her memories and things and I became the diverter so she got those memories. She lives on the east coast. Gratefully, a couple of friends came over to help and of course, we let them choose some items. Eventually we finished and her home was sold.
Last year, impacted by the accumulation of stuff at my house, especially the paper monster, I went through closets, drawers, boxes, files and more to clear out my stuff. It can be easy to shred old papers. When I got to the desk drawer where I had my wedding pictures, I hesitated. It was a rite of passage. Even though I had been divorced for many years, looking back at those pictures and reminiscing, there was a flood of emotions, sad, pain, happier at times. I talked with my son about the pictures, asking if there were any he wanted. We agreed all but a few would go so into the trash can they went. My shredder got quite the workout!
My cousin called the other night. She shared about her side of the family and the family sexual abuse that occurred. It was painful to hear. Now as adults, when there is some distance and some of the people are dead, the stories are being pulled from the attic into present time. The stories I hear do not surprise me; it does weigh heavy on my heart. It takes courage to be able to put words to the horrors of growing up in families like this. Even though those stories are near the surface, many do not have the sense of safety and not being judged to share. They still carry that burden, stuffed boxes in the attic.
What prompted this train of thought was my own attic in my head. It is filled with memories. I remember my trips as an adult, my son growing up, special friend moments and more. It is also stuffed with memories of growing up and the traumas. Trauma can overshadow the positive stuff. Some of the events really stand out and take up a lot of room. So many secrets I have stored in my limbic system that stay there, going round and round. Popping up then sliding back into that drawer until the next time. There is stuff I want to throw out or keep. Some I want to give back as it really isn’t mine. I believed if it was given to me, I must take even if it wasn’t good for me, true or my responsibility. How often has someone said something demeaning about us and we believed it? Or did some things to us and turned it around as if we were responsible. Likely we were quite young and didn’t know it was optional to say no room in my head storage facility for that junk. We carry it along as we become the keeper of the memories. They take up space without paying rent.
Some of those secrets can keep us tightly hostage. Even when it was done to us, we somehow end up owning it and then how embarrassing it is that we “allowed” someone to do that to us. I have kept those in my head and in every cell, not shared with anyone. It is taking up so my space in my attic that its clutter interferes with living. In a way, it is slowly killing me and keeps the brakes on me living life more fully with peace and contentment.
There is something to confession is good for the soul. So I have begun this new program so I can address not only those deeply hidden shameful secrets and truly begin to grieve deeply. It’s not only about my many losses in childhood, but how this has created loss in my adult life. The fear of judgment about what happened can keep me well-guarded and closed down, those secrets holding so fast and glued that I feel like I cannot even move forward. Those words are strung together, one hurtful phrase after another, hooked like a heavy chain we drag around. Giving your voice to these histories can free you up while letting go of blame, embarrassment, guilt and shame (BEGS).
A reason to release them is so the distortions about us dissolve and our true self can shine through. Those lies and misplaced damaging beliefs keep us from seeing who we are. Even when someone who loves us and lets us know our beauty, we can see it as a lie that reinforced us as be so less than.
Holding onto these secrets has also affected my physical body. Chronic pain, weight issues, digestion, allodynia, insomnia, among others. The body remembers and presents this pain in a physical way. I think it is to get our attention to address the hidden secrets. It can be a challenge for our bodies to hold onto this stuff and like shaking a bottle of fizzy water, eventually it will blow all over.
Let’s take the time to find that brave little child to take the step forward to reclaim our lives. Those hurting people who put their painful distortions onto us, those can be released into the universe and we can replace them with the loving sunshine of the truth and we can finally shine and be free.
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