Making Room by Conlee Ricketts

Art work by Mary Anne Radmacher. Author, Artist, Actionista I Adore! 
visit www.maryanneradmacher.net

I am ending day three of re-organizing, cleaning, examining, thinking, and discarding in my writing and creating space.   It’s an “office” but I like to fill it with promise and hope of the great creations to come; creations of all kinds –both the written word and the messy artsy kind. 

I think I’m going to need a day four or even five.  I had saved a lot of “what if” kinds of things: what if I need this someday; what if my daughter could use this for school; what if I have a great yard sale.  The new sidewalk construction in front of my house has sent a clear message: NO YARD SALE, so I hauled three big boxes to Goodwill today.  That created about four square feet of new floor space. 

Piles of old receipts, tax papers and other stuff from 10 to 20+ years ago have all been shredded.  I set up my shredder the kitchen.  Every time I went out there for water, snacks, making lunch or dinner, or to let the dogs out, I stood and shredded pages.  I had to pace myself so I wouldn’t burn out the motor on the shredder.  There was a lot of paper!  It feels great to release all that paper.  There’s no reason to hang on to those documents of some younger married woman living a life I don’t even recognize anymore.

I threw out a stash of cards and notes that were a piece of my life I no longer want hanging around.  At the time they were saved because I cared.  Now I don’t.  That sounds brutal but having those memories around now only serves to remind me of something I’m actually humiliated by, so discarding them gives me permission to release the humiliation as well.

I also found a stack of letters my daughter had written me.  It was refreshing to read her perspective on our life and my mothering skills.  Apparently I “give her so many wonderful things” and I am “the best Mom ever!”  I will accept that endorsement.  I saved this little stack as my mini pep talk whenever I beat myself up for not being a better, richer, prettier, skinnier, more successful…etc. mom.  You get it.

So many times my fear of lack or my fear of never having enough to offer her gets in my way of remembering that the only perspective of childhood she has is hers—and that’s the only perspective that really matters to her.  What my parents were able to give me is completely irrelevant to her.  She could care less because my childhood was an ancient time of dinosaurs and cavemen—it was 1965-75 after all.

I can see the floor once again and now I have those tiny stacks I didn’t know where to put to tackle tomorrow or the next day.  I even found a great place for that outdated, ridiculous, Jenga tower of music CD’s that has been nervously stacked on top of a two drawer filing cabinet for 13+ months.  I hated that tower, mocking me whenever I opened the drawers, threatening to fall on me.

The site of my office, which I couldn’t even walk into, had me near tears.  I knew the only answer was to roll up my flippn’ sleeves, find the floor again, and get rid of needless shit and painful memories that met me at the door whenever I tried to get inside.  I realize now that I was avoiding the work  and not the pain.  The “painful memories” really weren’t that painful.  The problem (or pain) with some of the stuff that got tossed was the humiliation and shame I felt  being reminded of the fact that I had made these mistakes here and there—either financially or emotionally, but I am on a journey to improve how I speak to myself.  The rest of the world usually benefits from my kindness, generosity, and careful word choice long before I extend that love to myself.  So my trip down Shame Lane was more gentle than usual.  I think it’s because I believe that I keep some things because for some crazy reason or another I think I deserve this reminder as a kind of punishment for believing in the wrong person, or for being so “stupid,” or for making such a poor decision. 

I no longer feel the need to be reminded of my past goofs.  They no longer belong here in my room.  I have learned many lessons from my past experiences; I licked my wounds long enough; I am ready to move forward.

Make room.  It helps.

                   BEFORE                                                              AFTER

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