I have not written very much lately. My family is planning a move to a new house. We entered into contract a couple of weeks ago, and we move in the beginning of October. It is an exciting time, but it has also been a very busy time.
What I want to write about here today is the experience I have had of stumbling upon things while packing that remind me of my life and journey in healing. I have had some profound moments.
One day I went through my bedroom and just sifted through things trying to get rid of whatever I don't want to take with me. It was fun actually. It was like a miniature trip down memory lane. I found pictures of the kids, pictures from when I was little (good ones), an old picture from the '80's of my dad's 1928 Model A car. He purchased it, redid it, and took it to shows. He also drove around in it sometimes, and my sister and I would sit in the rumble seat. We loved it! Sometimes we used to turn around and make faces at the drivers behind us. LOL (kids...)
I found folders from when I was in the hospital (psychiatric/trauma program), and skimmed through just a bit. Saw little writings from my "littles" and remembered them fondly, appreciating their little words scrawled out in the little handwriting. Sometimes I miss that. Those things don't happen anymore, and while that is a good thing, sometimes I miss it. I know that sounds weird, but....I don't know. That's just how I feel sometimes. I shared this moment with my previoous therapist, and she asked me how it felt to see those writings again. I know I felt profound love, empathy, and admiration for those parts. The courage to face the trauma, the courage to speak when we learned early on to squelch the parts. (Yes, I remember switching at an early age and my mother berating and humiliating me for it.) I consider those parts a precious part if ME. Their words are my little words squashed for years and finally set free. When I saw them, I kind of missed them (my younger parts), but I didn't at all miss being DID! Those parts are still with me, but they are resolved and absorbed into the essence that is me. I think I only miss them sort of like when you miss when your children were little. You really wouldn't want it back like that, but there are fond memories. I think I was different than many. I never "hated" my younger parts. I was embarassed at first. Then intrigued. Then loving and protective toward them. It was weird looking at the writings in the sense that it has been so, so long since I have experienced "parts"(at least it feels long to me), and now where I stand, I can't imagine ever being "little" again. It's hard to believe I was so split for so long and now I can't even imagine being like that again.
I found letters I had written my grandmother from camp as a kid. My aunt had sent them to me after my grandmother passed away in 2006. Apparently my grandmother kept all of those things. There were pictures I colored for her, too. Very precious.... My mother didn't keep squat! She was not nostalgic at all. I have kept a lot of things as my own children have grown. They each have a "Baby Box" that has all kinds of stuff from their first years in it. We go through them periodically. They love it!
This afternoon I was packing up some things in my bathroom, and I found my hidden "stash" of razors.
I sat with them in my hands for a few moments. My desperate moments ran across my memory. I felt such sadness for "that me." I was in such a dark hole. I remember having such tunnel vision during those times. I could see no way out. Everything was just deep and dark.
I want to say that was so long ago. It seems like a lifetime ago. But it was only about 2 years.....
Wow. That was just a profound experience.
Of course I got rid of them.
It was kind of weird....It's like I have a whole new life. Like when I threw them out I was throwing out a discarded skin. Weird...
I will write more if more comes up for me as I pack. It has turned out to be a very enlightening process.
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