"Nothing is a waste of time if you use the experience wisely."
After asking for guidance from the Universe about whether or not I should move forward in working with a new life and business coach, the answers came back very clearly that it is indeed a good decision. And, before I inked my name on the 13-month contract, I already felt things shifting to make space for this next endeavor.
"Do a bit of spring cleaning," Jesse encouraged. "Get rid of everything that doesn't serve you in the life you want to live. Go through old photos, old emails, anything... and this might happen in stages, and sometimes, it involves really grieving the thing you're giving up."
I don't have that much as it is, having traveled around so much seeking a home internally and life experiences externally, so that all of my worldly possessions in my almost 35 years fits into a small room. Everything. I don't have anything at my parents' house anymore, so what I carry with me is everything I own. And yet, there was still more to get rid of.
As I tore through old papers and documents, donated clothes I no longer wear, or simply released the energetic attachment I have to certain objects surrounding me, I was more amazed at the letting go I experienced emotionally.
Yesterday, while driving home from grocery shopping, I began to tear up, and then by the time I pulled up to my driveway, I was fully crying big fat heartbreaking tears. These came from the sadness I have rarely let myself wallow in, about how I've had to do everything on my own for my entire life.
When I say this, I don't mean just a little bit, like having to work jobs to pay for school. I mean that since I was young, emotionally/mentally/physically/financially, the only person I have been able to depend upon is myself, because my parents were not only inept at providing care and affection — they were also often abusive about it. To never feel like I can fall back upon anyone, to feel like the foundation beneath me is a bed of marbles, to want love so intensely yet be afraid to let it in, because the people who gave me life could not offer it unconditionally is a breaking of the soul so intense that at times, it pulls my breath away and out. Not only that, but already existing in a place of lacking such vital and crucial things for healthy well-being, I was also asked to step up and become the parent, the mediator, the manager of everything before I was ever ready to do so. That created a pattern of giving to the point of breaking that I am continually working on healing.
In the midst of my cleaning, I came across several pieces of creative writing (and through away a bunch more for a fresh approach to my prose). One of these was a poem I wrote 21 years ago when I was 13.
It's called, "Just Imagine." In big, round and hopeful letters, it reads:
The night is a sheet of black velvet.
And the stars are little holes
In the (construction paper) velvet.
The heavenly bodies
Such as the planets and the sun
Are paintings made by someone's imagination.
Breathe the air,
Make another star.
Let out air, make another galaxy.
Have a dream,
Make a black hole.
Have a goal,
Make a sun.
Have a hope,
Make another planet.
And when you are happy
You make another solar system.
So much of the past can bring me to tears in an instant. Here's to spring cleaning and new beginnings.