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| Image credit: Photo by kuyman on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons |
I really don't like this task. It's dirty and dusty and sometimes there are spiders. And it's also triggering. My husband and I are not the most organized people. We generally let piles of stuff accumulate until they are about to topple over, then stick them in boxes and shove them in a closet. Sometimes we shove important papers in there, but it all works out, as other people tend to badger us about the really crucial stuff so that we don't forget. So, every year or so, when the spirit to rid myself of all this clutter possesses me, I shuffle through the boxes of stuff trying to sort out what should stay and what should go.
There are always old receipts, which slow me down because I'm tempted to check them. What is this for? When was it? Who was there? Every old receipt is a quick pinprick; I tense and then breathe, tense and then breathe. I have to remind myself with each piece of paper that it doesn't matter, that whatever has happened, I'm in a different place now. Then there are little scraps of paper with notes and cards and pictures. And there are old computer cords and discs, old toys and old clothes. And each one feels like a trap and a burden: something that could send me reeling to some dusty, dark corner of my own mind, to some memory of my husband's actions in addiction, to some new hurt I wasn't aware of yet.
I'm moving through and cleaning it all out, but it's slow, hard work when each object has so much fear tied to it: fear that drags each little scrap to the ground like a lead weight. But that burden lifts with each breath, with each paper through the shredder, with each old toy or piece of clothing in the charity bag. I'm slowly chasing the spiders out of those dark corners and reclaiming the space.
This post was originally published at The Second Road.
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