Mad Hatter Lives

Living, Loving, Lasting

Archive for the tag “balance”

Cleaning and Sorting

I have been doing some cleaning and sorting.  Every so often I get this sense of being buried alive in all the crap we accumulate, and I have to get a shovel and go through and throw stuff away.  When I reach the point I have been at of late, it’s no longer sorting and figuring out what goes to trash and what goes to the second hand store.  Nope. Everything goes in the garbage.

I like the idea of living minimally.  My husband and I live in a relatively small home, and we do so because we are trying to focus more on what we need rather than what we want, and having to keep our material goods within the confines of a small space is a good way to learn to clean and sort to fit.

I was sitting in the morning light with my cuppa Jo thinking that this cleaning and sorting  thing is a great analogy for healthy emotional psychological living.

Sometimes we get so bogged down with paraphernalia we are carrying from the past that it prevents us from making a leap onto the back of something great that will take us into an exciting phase in our lives.  I have said for many years that nostalgia is very dangerous, and there is nothing productive or forward functioning about it IF you spend a lot of time accessing it.

Notice how you hear a song or smell something and it transports you back in time to a place in your past?  Very strong isn’t it?  This is the only place nostalgia is truly healthy, because it naturally occurs in life.  We cannot help when that happens and we find ourselves standing, in a very real way, in a moment that occurred decades ago.  I had this happen the other day when we had a rain storm and the sound along with the smell was so strong in my senses that I found myself at 19 standing in the doorway of a hotel room where I used to work (as a housekeeper, let me be clear :)), watching a Montana rainstorm power its way through the afternoon.

It was like I was there, so strong was the sensory experience.

But I wasn’t, and the thing to remember with nostalgic moments is that they are only moments, and it is best not to spend a lot of time engaging them.  Now, that nostalgic moment had no significance on its own; no underlying meaning. However, there was a sense of longing, a sense of loss tied to it that I can only associate with the fact that I was young in that memory.  I had my whole life ahead of me, and time was on my side.

I am over halfway through my 40’s.  It is debatable as to how much time is on my side these days, and if I had spent time on that memory and how it made me feel, I could have gone down a rabbit hole that would have left me feeling old and discontent with my life.

Memories are not bad.  They are the recordings of our past, and we need them to sometimes remind us of where we come from, what we have done, and why we have ended up where we are.  But the problem with engaging in memories with the transport of nostalgia is the danger of choosing to live in the past rather than the present because we are distanced enough from the past to sort of “remake” it into what we want or what it should have been.  Notice how the further out you get the more the past has a golden glow to it?  We can’t do that with the present.  It’s at large in the realm of reality.

The danger with accumulating has to do with the reasons we accumulate.  If I am just lazy and don’t throw things away, that is easy to remedy.  A few hours on a weekend, and I’m golden.  The danger is when we accumulate to help us remember; to take us back to a time when things were “better”.  Keeping things because they take us back to a time so that we can live in the past, produces discontent with current life, grief over what has been lost between past and present, and often leads to serious depression.  Ask yourself when you experience nostalgia, how often do you come out of it feeling uplifted and ready to face the future?

I was reminded this weekend, as I sorted through items I have kept because they remind me of someone, I am not obligated to hang on to things to remember people or times.  Many of those people are still in my life.  Because I have such a terrible memory of the past due to my illness wiping the slate every time I have a crash, I tend to hang on to certain things, as they trigger or reinforce the memories I have managed to hang on to.  Some of those items I am keeping, but some of them I determined I simply did not need in my physical space or in my mental space.

If you are a person who hangs on to things but you feel you are becoming buried in reminders of the past, maybe don’t tell yourself you are going to get rid of everything.  Maybe start out small.  Get rid of a couple of things.  Give yourself time to see how that sits with you.  Then go back and eliminate a couple more things.

I have discovered that cleaning and sorting often not only clears my living space but my head space as well, and I find I feel a bit freer and a bit more the captain of my ship.

 

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Introvert and Extrovert

I was an introvert before it was popular, and it’s funny, over a decade ago, when I was going through the drills for learning in the field of psychology, people had no idea what the difference was between introvert and extrovert.  If you mentioned the Myer’s-Briggs personality inventory, on Jung’s personality theory, people would go, “Huh?”

These days every time you turn around there is a new test to take on personality, and there is just a lot of information available through social media on what it is like to be an introvert.

I think it is interesting there is not as much out there on extroverts, but maybe it’s just that my feeds are littered with information about being introverted because I am introverted.

For the record, extroverts, as defined by Jung’s personality theory, are people who need to be around other people to refuel.  They seem to come to life when they are around others.  Introverts by contrast, need to be alone to refuel.  They come to life when they have time to be by themselves.  These are the fundamental differences between the extrovert and the introvert.

I have read conflicting statistics on which is more predominate in our culture, so I’m not going to posit information on that.  What I will say is, as someone who is extremely introverted, I seem to be surrounded by a lot of extroverts!

I cannot speak from the perspective of an extrovert, for reasons indicated above, but I can certainly expound on the world of an introvert with a few things for extroverts to know in order to successfully navigate the murky waters of introversion.

First, introverts tend to have a rich inner life that harbors imagination, private commentary, and deep pools of thought that one can get lost in.  An introvert can be happy on his/her own for an indefinite amount of time and not need noise or any kind of distraction to create contentment.  That is not to say that introverts sit quietly staring at the wall; just that they can without going stir crazy.

Second, if you have an introvert in your life, trying to bully them into joining in on all the activities extroverts love to do is most likely going to get a solid “No,” or will elicit an undesirable response that will continue throughout the activity.  On the other hand, don’t give up on asking, introverts need to be drawn out of themselves and they need to love of life extroverts so naturally possess.

Three, introverts love to have deep meaningful conversations, and if you are considering a venue where only small talk resides, you will likely find the introvert bailing on the event before it even really gets started.  Introverts are just not all that interested in talking about the weather and the stimulation we really enjoy is what results from conversation that leads to a connection with the other person in the conversation.

Four, as mentioned previously, introverts need extroverts in their lives.  Without extroverts they will struggle to find balance in the social component of their lives and can become reclusive as an extension of their need to refuel in solitude.  Introverts can struggle with depression and can very easily find themselves “unplugged” from the outside world.

Five, introverts are often mistaken as shy, and while they can be, introversion and shyness are not mutually inclusive.  In fact, introverts can seem outgoing to many.  People have often been very surprised I am as introverted as I am, but I tend to save up my energy and can appear outgoing and even extroverted for periods of time, but my tank empties pretty quickly and I must withdraw to refuel.

I suppose it is rather one-sided for me to write about introverts and not extroverts, but I am not an extrovert, and while I could expound on what I discover through research about extroverts, it wouldn’t really be authentic. But I can share a few observations I have made about extroverts as a result of having so many of them in my life, including my husband.

Extroverts do not have to have deep conversations with people in order to refuel.  That is why small talk does not frustrate them like it does introverts.  They refuel from the energy emitted from a group setting, and the more people the more they get from the environment.  That is not to say extroverts cannot have deep conversations.  On the contrary!  I have fantastic conversations with my husband all the time, but I get more hyped after such amazing conversations, whereas he can tends to feel drained or exposed.

A lot of extroverts tend to be verbal processors.  Now, again, just because one is extroverted does not mean he/she is a verbal processor.  Verbal processors tend to sort through an issue or situation through verbal dialogue.  They actually have the ability to solve while discussing.  It’s kind of amazing.  However, they can very easily frustrate an introvert who is firmly seated in processing everything internally.

Extroverts tend to have fantastic senses of humor and engage easily with all types of people, even introverts!  If you are a person who is introverted, be thankful for the extroverts in you life, for they are capable of making your exterior life as rich as your inner life.  If you are an extrovert, be thankful for the introverts in your life, for they can help you not be afraid of introspection and all the things about the inner you that make you so unique.

A Pain

I know that what I deal with is a pain for those in my personal life.  I mean, between the panic attacks and the inability to adapt quickly to new environments, and the instability triggered by it all, it just gets to them.  I would love to make things easier, and I try, but there is only so much I can do.  Because the bottom line is…

I am not normal.  I will never be normal.  I will always struggle with things that people take for granted as just part of living life.  I will never easily adapt to new things and environments.

We had a vacation.  It was filled with lovely things.  I would have loved to have enjoyed all of it, but I’m not equipped to “enjoy” such events.  I look longingly at events and adventures my friends and family have, and I wish I could go and do and come away thrilled with the experience, but the truth is, I come away with much less than I had going in.

It’s not about what I want.  I rarely get what I want, because my brain does not work like it should.  I am now trying to scramble to re-adapt to my home environment so that I don’t miss a step, whilst being at a deficit from maneuvering through everything we did when we were on vacation.

People wonder why those of us with major mental illness become suicidal.  Well, let me just clue in those who don’t deal with this stuff.  Exhaustion and the inability to keep up with the demands of others wears us to the point of thread bare.  And it never stops!  We are continually expected to function like everyone else all day long, every day.  I can say with confidence here that I am going to fail every time under those expectations.

It must be difficult for people to have someone like me in their lives, trying to accommodate to make things better, never knowing which way to jump to make it easier, better.  I struggle as well, only I never get to push back from the table and say, “I have had enough; I don’t want to play any more.”  I don’t get that option.  It’s live and in color 24/7…living mental.

Me going to a social function in a strange place with thousands of people and having an expectation that I should enjoy it, is like me going to a baseball field, stacking all the plates, the pitcher’s mound, all the equipment in my arms and then telling me to “play ball”.  I’m already overloaded, so me joining in the game and swinging for the fence is just not going to happen.  I try.  I give it what I have to give, but I am not graceful about it.

And so those in my life are faced with a few options, give up doing anything social in order to stay in the environments where I optimally perform, have me come with them where they face having me drag down their fun as I struggle to cope in the environment, or go by themselves to such occasions.  It’s a difficult decision for them.  My immediate family does pretty well, but then they are all introverted so they need very little interaction in big social settings.  My husband, however, is extroverted, so it is difficult for him to get the interaction he needs and still have me with him.  I also have many friends who are very active and always doing fun things, and I just can’t do it all.

The first severe panic I had was in Kansas City at an amusement park.  There were thousands of people there. It was very hot, and I found myself in a sea of people being jostled about like flotsam on the waves.  The entire world became blurry and started to spin.  I felt I was being upended, and the closeness of the heat and bodies contributed, making me black out for a moment.  I don’t remember how I made it out of the crowd, but I ended up in a little atrium area, sitting on a bench.  A friend found me and gave me a paper bag, telling me to breath in an out of it.

That was the official entry of social phobia which quickly let to agoraphobia.  I never feel safe in public.  Even if, mentally, I’m solid on the environment, my fight or flight response will kick in and leave me in a primal state. I tend to feel guilty when I can’t be what the people in my life need me to be, but that is just hubris on my part.  It is unrealistic for anyone to expect they can be all things for all those in their lives at all times.

I’m angry because I came away from this experience feeling defeated, when in fact, it was a huge win.  I managed to survive three days with constant interactions with people in large environments  that were extremely over stimulating.  I had two issues where I had panic attacks but they were minimal in comparison to the debilitating panic attacks that wreck me for hours.

In reflecting on the experience last night I decided I was going to take this as a win for me, personally.  I would never have attempted such an endeavor in years past.  I won’t claim there weren’t difficulties, and going to the large event, much like the amusement park that kicked everything off over a decade ago, was probably not a good idea on my part.  Still, I made it through about an hour of swimming through a sea of hot sweaty people whilst being hot and sweaty as well.

The real struggle is trying to find balance with a spouse who is very extroverted.  I don’t have many options for compromise.  I can either go and fall apart at some point, be scared from the beginning that I will fall apart at some point, or stay away from such situations and let him go and enjoy himself.

I will go and attempt such places and have always done so just to stretch myself a bit.  I mentioned in a previous blog that agoraphobia is a hole that continually tries to close over me, so I am always trying to keep it open so I can crawl out.  Such events stretch that hole a bit further, even if for just a short time, so I need to continue to attempt to take such risks.

However, I need to do so without the pressure of letting someone I love down and creating disappointment for them.  I don’t want to do that, and I don’t want the stress of ruining a potentially great experience for someone else because I can’t control my body.  I may have to go with someone who is not so interested in being at the event and who will be okay with leaving, even if it’s 15 minutes into the adventure.

I could dwell on the fact that I am no longer a person who gets enjoyment out big group events base on the simple fact that my body cannot handle it, but I don’t think that is healthy. The reality is that it is what it is, and I am done trying to accommodate everyone else by performing at a level that exceeds my range of actually capability.  It’s generally me placing those expectations, though there is frustration produced by others when I am unable to perform as everyone else, so I know there is a level of expectation, albeit subconscious.  The price is too high and is generally underappreciated by those I’m trying not to inconvenience.  If you want me along, I’m a special needs case, and there will be adaptive measurements in place for me to go along.

I have a friend in a wheel chair.  It would be stupid for her to attempt to get her chair in through an area it won’t fit just because all the people in her life can walk it with ease. There has to be room made for her to get through, or she can’t go.  It is no different for me, and I’m done trying to be something I’m not.  I’m sorry this is such a pain for the people in my life, truly, but this is what I have to work with, I can’t modify any more than I have, and I must learn to accept that if I want to live a longer life.

Madeleine L’Engle, Icons and Idols, and Carrier Fisher

I am a big fan of Madeleine L’Engle.  I prefer her nonfiction to her fiction and have read her books over and over in past years.  Currently, I am rereading “Penguins and Golden Calves.”  This is one of my favs of hers, because it addresses the differences between icons and idols.

An icon is something that is a reminder of something else.  It is like a bookmark in a book on a certain section you do not want to forget.  When you look at an icon you can be transported back to a place in time.  An icon can be a reminder of something else that you hold dear.  My wedding band is an icon for me, for when I look at it, I am reminded of a moment when my husband proposed to me, but it is also a reminder to me of the love we share and the promise I made to him to always consider him when making decisions.  This is a difficult thing for me, as I was single for many years before I met him, so the symbol is important to me.

An idol is something altogether different.  An idol often starts out as an icon, but then obsession takes hold, and suddenly that which was a reminder of something we valued becomes more important than that what it was put in place to help us remember.  An idol is dangerous because we can waste time and energy on something that takes us so far away from the reality of our own lives and who we are that we become lost in, not living, but in existing for the thing we are idolizing.  Sometimes it is a person.  Sometimes it is money.  But more often it is less obvious and, as such, more dangerous.

I find it fortuitous, my reading Madeleine’s book at this time.

If you have been involved in my writing or have been on my Live Mental page, you will know I am a fan of Carrie Fisher.  She has been an icon for me about having longevity with major mental illness.  She constantly reinvented herself and her life over the years, and she was always very candid about her battle with mental illness and, by extension, drug addiction.

When she passed away, I was quite sad.  I felt like I had a kindred spirit in her; someone who has traversed this dangerous road of mental illness ahead of me.  She was inspiration for me to keep going at times when I have felt I was all alone in the dark of this living black night, and suddenly, she was gone.

When Carrie died, I confess I was relieved her death was a result of something normal, a heart attack.  When I say normal I am quantifying with natural causes vs. suicide or drug overdose.  I could rest in the fact that she ran her race, and though it was still early days, she had had a very full and vibrant life, conquering her demons as they came.

You most likely know that the toxicology report came back to reveal drugs in Carrie’s system, and not the kind you use to legally and effectively control bipolar disorder.  I was really heartbroken.  I was a little surprised at the impact the new information had on me.  I felt betrayed.  How could she do such a thing!  She had been clean for so long, as far as anyone knew, and now the focus will shift from her valiant experience with mental illness where her heart just finally gave out, to her death potentially being impacted by drugs in her system.

It seemed sordid to me, and I just really wanted my icon to have died from natural causes.  I realized this morning, as I was reading Madeleine, Carrie Fisher had been an icon for me, representing the hope that it is possible to live a long life with bipolar disorder and die of causes not related to the illness.  Nothing wrong with that, but what I realized was that I made her a bit of an idol in my life.  An idol can garner worship.  That is where obsession factors in, and when I become consumed with the grief of a person’s passing, whom I never knew, and angry with her because of her choices before her death, I have crossed a line from reminder into something unhealthy.

Carrie Fisher started out as an icon of hope for me and ended up an idol I was holding responsible for letting me down.  Not good.  But seeing it is all it takes for me to reconcile the difference.  I can be sad that she, in fact, struggled with drug addiction all the way up until her death.  She did not conquer it.  But she was human, and there are many things we do not ever manage to conquer in this life.

Life is about finding balance and knowing what it feels like so that when we do go to one extreme or another for a time, we can recognize it, make an adjustment, and get back to balance, because it is a familiar place to us.  Icons help with that transition.  For me, they remind me of what is valuable.  I have many physical icons in my world.  I have a rock my friend, Lynn, gave me during a time where I was under so much stress I was collapsing both physically and mentally.  It is a symbol of the tangible being, because it is so solid, and it is an icon of a person’s ability to care about another person enough to give as a means of alleviating pain.  I have many icons that are reminders of people who are no longer with me, and I have icons that remind me of things I have achieved so that when I am doubting myself, I can look at them and remember I have made accomplishments.

I cannot recall ever intentionally embracing and idol in my life.  I have not found any healthy reason to do so, but that does not mean I have not idolized.  I know that slowly, subtly, some things have become idols in my life.  But my test is always, “If I were asked to, could I, would I give this up?”  If my answer is, “No!” I have a problem.  It is rare I have struggled violently to give up something I have made an idol, but it has happened.

Do you have icons or idols in your life?  Next time you find yourself overreacting to something ask yourself, “Is this an icon, or is this and idol?”  Icons promote health.  Idols promote decay, and I’m grateful to have both Madeleine L’Engle and Carrie Fisher as icons, contributing to MY health.

Mind, Metaphor, and Getting Tethered

It’s been too long.  It’s not that there was nothing to say, I just didn’t know how to say it.  I am ever at my best when seated with “pen” in hand, as I am not really as adept at verbal exchange as I pretend.  And, well, I have been missing a piece of my self, my soul.  I have been adrift for the past year; just feeling really at sixes and sevens with me, but there have been a few exchanges and events of late that have brought me round to remembering that the best way to get tethered to what matters again is to delve into the depths of me and what has been going on in terms of changes on my lifescape.

I have been in an all out war with mental illness for the majority of my life.  I have been a public speaker about my experiences with major mental illness, a writer, and I have worked with people who are mentally ill, as well as those who have a mentally ill loved one in their lives, for nearly two decades.  Living with mental illness rather than succumbing to it is an ongoing battle that never ends.  It permeates every single function and every singe moment of the day.  It destroys, erodes, overtakes, distorts, fractures, and decays every part of a human life…

If allowed.

In my twenties I found myself adrift on the wreckage of my life in a vast ocean of psychotic malfunction and biological disruption.  There was no compass.  The basics like cognitive control and all the other evolved limbic functions like memory, social acuity, and self-comprehension, were no longer present.  I was adrift on a vast ocean, small and insignificant, on the surface of huge illness that would never fully divulge its secrets, much like the oceanic metaphor I am using.

I determined I would either dive off that piece of wreckage and end my life, or I would commit to living the most “normal” life I could possibly procure for myself.

I was very naive.  I now understand that if “normal” exists, it is not in my sphere.  I had two things going for me,  my loved ones, and my God.  Not the God that is in a white robe with a long beard, awaiting the opportunity to smite me if I step wrong.  That God would be rendered absolutely worthless to me.  Not some nebulous universal thing that plays games with me, using chance and karma as a way to get even with me or devise a series of rewards if I pull the magic ticket or do something it agrees with.  I have no patience with such nonsense.

I needed a meaty God who would roll up his sleeves and get dirty in my life;  a God who would sit with me in the darkest, thickest, most horrible depressions (medicated depressions, mind you) that were so very despairing and hopeless that I would want to pull my skin off in order to balance the horrific pain in my mind that came from nowhere, suffocating every single light in my world with black night.

I needed a God who could break through horrific despair that left me crying out in so much pain, tears could not flow, with a handful of pills in one hand, and the other hand pulling at my hair trying to find release.  I needed a God who could handle rages that came from nowhere allowing no release; a God who would comfort me, help me find answers, and NOT condemn me.

I found him.  I found the God that helped me function not only as a viable human being, but a human being able to perform at an extremely high level of functionality, with healthy relationships, and accomplishments that mean something to me.  I found a God I am not afraid to let see every single part of my vast and open mind that alters between dark void to colors and movement so prolific as to make the Borealis appear blase’; a God that not only loves me anyway but shows me magnificent things about that which was presented in my life to destroy me.

I very much admired Carrie Fisher.  I’m not really a fan of heroes in human beings, but I have very much valued her honesty in dealing with mental illness.  She was authentic and raw, something that is very valuable in a disease that is stigmatized. I find that, since her death, I am less tolerant of excuses and behaviors from people who refuse to be accountable for mental illness they are dealing with.  I suppose the reason for the correlation between the two is because I considered Carrie a success in living with major mental illness, and in her death I find I am less indulgent of stupid mindsets regarding mental illness.  I struggle every day to function in a way that others take for granted.  There are times when I have been at work and only a few hours earlier it was uncertain as to whether or not I would commit suicide.

I maintain balance as precariously as any tightrope walker.  I stay on a schedule.  I toss unhealthy people out of my life like debris on fire, even if I like them.  I say “no” a lot, because I owe it to myself, my husband, my family, my friends, to set boundaries with myself an others in order to maintain that balance I must have to function.  My life is a series of enormous and vibrant spikes stretching beyond view but confined in a space no bigger that than a plastic milk crate.  There are no continual social interactions with limitless potential for more in my sphere of living.  I am constantly over stimulated in my work environments, where everyone else is unaffected.  Some days when I get home, I put in ear plugs to just have a break from continual noise that permeates our cultured in every crack and crevice.

I had a conversation with a young woman some time back where she assured me she had bipolar disorder.  It was cavalierly said, and I confess it rankled.  I do NOT have a casual existence with bipolar disorder.  It has become the poster child for every outrageous behavior, an excuse to be and do whatever with, “I have bp, so I can’t help it.”

Only abut 1% of the population has bipolar disorder, and just as I fall into the 1% category of those in the country with a doctorate, I also qualify in the bipolar category. One I’m proud of.  The other distinction, I could certainly do without, and it annoys me when people who have no bloody clue toss it about like a hall pass to behaving any way they like.

I am medicated, have been for nearly 25 years.  It would take about 5 days without medication for me to be rendered incapable of functioning in the world at large.  Even with medication, I am forced to make major adjustments, especially since I also have agoraphobia, a very severe anxiety disorder. I don’t have the option of partying a little too much.  I don’t have the option of staying up too late several days in a row.  I don’t have the option of jumping from one social event to another.

IF I want to be able to do all the things that healthy functioning adults do, I cannot do a lot of the things that healthy functioning adults do.

I also find I am really, really intolerant of people feeling they need justification or proof of my mental illness.  I told my mom the other day that no matter my age, 23, 34, or 50, those of us with mental illness will always be expected to expand or prove just how mentally ill we are in order to do the things that keep us the healthiest.  The difference for me is that the older I get the less willing I am to humor other people’s requirements for justification.

So if you are mentally ill, focus on health and balance.  Do not spend your time trying to convince other people that you are as sick as you are.  Because the truth is that they won’t believe you anyway, and I have found that people who require you to show them that you are in fact in need of being different because you have a very serious illness, are the people who tend to be least capable of maintaining health and balance in their own lives.

The Lesson in Tossing

minimalism

It was many years ago, but the lesson remains.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but what I learned would expand far beyond my initial experience and would shape my life. I am planning a small series of blogs on this just to limit word content.  I think this is a valuable topic and one that is being peddled all over the social world.  I hope to add something more practical to the concept, or at least address it a bit differently than I have seen from some.

My sister and I were moving from Kansas City, Missouri to Anchorage, Alaska.  The trip would take us nearly 5000 miles with two small cars and a cat.  We realized that making the decision to move would mean culling our belongings to what we could take in our vehicles with a few boxes my parents would later ship to us.

I have to tell you that getting rid of a household of items for two people is traumatic.  I had no idea, but we were literally traumatized.  And I don’t think either of us had ever considered ourselves as especially materialistic.  But “things” mean security to many.  And letting go of that which a person accumulates up through the third decade in life is pretty difficult.

I cannot speak for my sister, but for me that experience was life changing.  We had to do the same thing when we moved out of Anchorage nearly 5 years later, and it was much easier to just walk away from all the “stuff” than it had been the first time we did it.  I have come to understand the benefit of getting rid of items and have made an effort to keep my life more clutter free ever since.

Now, please do not misunderstand me.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with having things.  And for some of us, having things is a way to stay connected with the past by having them serve as an icon of a certain time in life.  But there are times when it is good medicine to head to the secondhand store to make a deposit.

If you find at any time that the reason you do not accept new experiences in life is because you are tied to material possessions, you might want to consider getting rid of some things. Having things in life is nice, but when they get to the point where they are an albatross are around your neck, and their upkeep or place in your life keeps you from being able to have new opportunities or adventures, it is time to make a list and boldly go where you have not gone before…

To the dumpster.

I mentioned that things help us stay connected to the past as icons for a time we want to remember.  That is the healthy perspective.  The unhealthy perspective is when our having certain things causes us to accumulate heavily, even causing us to create a habit of hoarding.  But what is most dangerous with nostalgia is that those items which herald a bygone era, can assist us in the unhealthy practice of living in the past rather than the present.

Nostalgia if very dangerous if indulged regularly, as it helps perpetuate a sense of longing which can lead to dissatisfaction with present life, feelings of helplessness, and depression.  Best to not allow too may items to have a physical place unless they are functional in the environment in which you currently exist.  In other words do they “fit” in with your current life, goals, and aesthetic acumen?

I have, at various points in my life, professionally cleaned houses.  I have done so as an independent contractor and also in working for a well known cleaning agency.  The houses that made me most uncomfortable and tended to be a bit on the run down side, regardless of the neighborhood (Keep in mind that if a person can pay to have his/her house cleaned, economic hardship is not at play), were the ones piled high with clutter.  Nick knacks everywhere and multiple rows deep.  Items layered so heavily on surfaces one couldn’t even see the surface.  Those homes always seemed to me to have a stifling sense of nostalgia that made me feel choked and claustrophobic.

Now one could certainly argue that the problem was most likely me and not the house, and no doubt there is truth to that, as I tend to be very easily over stimulated, but there is no denying that those homes were the ones where the people were buried in paraphernalia of the past. And the magnitude of their accumulations sucked all light and airiness from the home.  It would take literally hours to dust everything in the rooms.

I mentioned hoarding before, but I want to touch a bit further on how a person goes from accumulating items that enhance the environment or remind us of a time past, to accumulating so much that one is claustrophobic in the space.  I must impress that just because you accumulate stuff does not mean your are a hoarder.  Hoarding is a rather too often used term that really only applies to the most extreme of cases.  It appears to be triggered by a traumatic event and often the person is abandoned by a loved one, so the act of hoarding is more about the psychological malfunction than the actual accumulation of material goods.

There is a sense of security that goes along with having material possessions, but the reality is that having things does not make us safer. Being encumbered by the maintenance of the material can restrict us from the moments in life that require us to step out of our home space to fully enjoy them.  We have the right to own what we like.  That which I might consider priceless for sentimental reasons may be worth a buck fifty in the commercial world.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with having things.

The danger is imbalance.

If you find you are being held hostage by what you own, you need to be set free from it.  Nothing is worth you being encumbered when you do not want to be.  And just to prove you are able, pick a room and liberate it, and you.  If you struggle with accumulating, and you aren’t even a hoarder, but you want to be able to walk away from things without them following you, I hope this blog and the next helps you take steps toward liberation.

The lesson in tossing rather than keeping has challenged and shape my life in a good way, and it can yours too!

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