Sunday Scribblings {...with baggage}

Unpacking the baggage I find...

the pink dotted-swiss dress of a little girl who didn't understand what divorce was. she cried at night for her daddy, missing him terribly, and slept with his picture under her pillow.  she waited for him to come home.  he never did.

a navy blue smock.  she wore it to kindergarten.  she thought she'd be all grown up, learning brand new things.  but one day she found a boy's hands in her panties and she learned to feel scared and uncomfortable in her own body.  it stayed with her because it was just the first...the first time feeling this kind of fear based paralysis, the kind that keeps you from yelling, "NO," or standing up for yourself.

an over sized purple shirt used to hide the weight she was ashamed of.  she was eleven.  she wanted to be thin and pretty like the other girls.  she wasn't ready for the bras and the shaving and the periods and everything else that came with puberty.  she wasn't ready to be developed before all her classmates.  she wasn't ready for the boys' jokes and jeers, the snickering behind her back.  she wanted to disappear into the folds of the purple shirt and pretend she didn't exist.

an old camp t-shirt.  she was crazy about him.  she followed him to youth camp hoping he'd notice her but he was too cool, too popular.  her heart broke into chunky, jagged pieces when she realized he would never even talk to her.  he was embarrassed by her attentions and even though everyone else told her that one day someone would be crazy about her, she began to doubt it.

a pair of worn wranglers.  it was those terrible high school years.  she just wanted to fit in.  she quit eating to loss the weight that kept her from getting the boys' attention. she wanted to be pretty but instead became tired and sick and lethargic.  she learned all her tricks from a made-for-tv-movie about karen carpenter.  she knew what she was doing.  she just didn't know how far she would go.  she didn't realize her periods would stop, her hair would fall out, she would want nothing but sleep.  she didn't realize it wouldn't keep her from hating her body.

a brightly colored floral dress worn one easter, the easter she hated herself so much she wanted to die.  the easter she realized all the weight she had lost was back and she was drowning in shame, anger, and disappointment.  she tried to purge the shame just like she purged the food but it was wrapped too tightly around her heart. 

a blue sweater with a beautiful floral motive lining the neck.  this was worn during the college years, those years she was relieved to finally be out of the high school scene. but she found she still couldn't find a place of belonging.  she was still on the outside staring in.  still wanting to be seen.

a gorgeous beaded ivory wedding gown.  the marriage only lasted two years.  he wanted out from the beginning.  she thought she could make him stay.  she couldn't.  her dreams were shattered.  she had to learn to live without him, knowing he was out there somewhere and didn't choose her.  knowing he would haunt her dreams for years to come.

the capri denim overalls worn during the summer of 2000.  she built up the courage to date again.  she met someone at a 4th of july bar-b-que.  before she knew it they were a couple.  it moved too quickly.  this wasn't what she wanted but she didn't know how to tell him no.  she was more afraid of hurting his feelings than saving herself.  she stayed in the relationship far too long.  she didn't know how to get out.  so she cheated on him.  she knew she wouldn't go back if she betrayed his trust.

the size 4 jeans she wore the night he took her to dinner and the man at the next table told him he was lucky because he was with the most beautiful woman in the room.  that weekend he was going to pick her up and they were going to have 3 full days together.  he never showed up.  he never called.  she found out he decided to get back together with his ex.  a few weeks later he left a rose on her porch for her birthday, apologizing for his disappearance.  she wanted to hate him but couldn't bring herself to.

a black maternity dress that tied on the side, and all the shame that was tied up with being a single mother, all the judgment that came with choosing to bring a child into the world but choosing not to marry his father.  having to explain it over and over again until she wanted to disappear, taking her baby somewhere safe and loving.  night after night of feeling the heaviness.  feeling completely alone and frighteningly overwhelmed. fighting so much within and around, trying to build blessings around herself and her son.

I'm unfolding each item.  Holding each haunted piece closely.  Smelling the years of mildew, and tears and musty perfume.  The fabric holds these smells so well.  One by one I take each item and hang it on the clothesline with wooden pins, the kind that would bite my fingers when I was a child.  I'm tired of carrying it all.  I pin each piece to the line and let the warm summer air blow away the voices, the echos still stitched into the seams, the voices that said, "You're not good enough.  It's your fault.  No one will ever love you. Nobody wants you.  You're fat and ugly.  You don't deserve good things.  You don't deserve love.  You must keep your head bowed and your eyes down.  It's not safe.  You're worthless.  You're nothing.  You can't, you can't, you can't.  You're not enough."  I'm pinning each piece to the line, letting the sun's love warm the dark, wounded places--the tattered sleeves, the worn out knees, the ripped pockets that had been stuffed with doubt and fear, letting the golden rays bleach each garment, leaving them fresh and white.  I'm letting it all breathe.  I'm letting it find light.  I'm hanging them on the line in order that others may know they're not alone.  I've been there too.  The filled clothesline is a welcome mat for others to come and sit, holding each other's hand through the healing journey.  I'm letting the wrinkles fall away.  I won't keep it all in the dark where it can either decay, filling my life with the stench of death, or weigh me down until I forget how to move. 

Each item has been stitched into my heart.  I can't change that.  Every memory will always cause me to feel a little pain.  I can't undo that.  But I can unpack the baggage.  I can let it flutter in the breeze like a flag of surrender.  I can listen to each item whipping in the wind and know I have a choice.  I have some power in deciding how to wear (or not wear) my tattered, too tight, outdated shrouds of heaviness.  I can sit in the grass and listen to the bird that's resting on the clothesline and know it's song is a promise: I am enough.  I deserve love.  I am loved.  I am wanted. I deserve good things.  I'm beautiful.  I can be proud of my life and my choices.  I can, I can, I can.  I'm more than okay.  I'm precious. I'm special. I'm safe.  I'm valuable. I am whole and complete.   I can choose to see each piece as my own colorful Buddhist prayer flags, my kite in the clouds of healing.

Comments

[Wenda]

You sure know how to unpack a bag!

[SuzeQ]

I couldn't sleep tonight, too many things running through my head. So I decided to blog surf and came across your new site and started to cry...your words made me cry. I cried for you, for the little girl I see in those words who seems so lost, so hurt. I just want to give you a hug and tell you...you are strong, you are beautiful, you are deserving of everything good in life. I applaud you for being a single mom. Toughest job on earth, single or not, but also most rewarding. It’s amazing how a little being can fill an empty heart. I wish you peace...

[~Kathryn~]

this is amazing
i am reading it at work with tears pouring down my face - you are strong, special and all those things
thank you for sharing

[Claudia]

You are so strong!

Thanks for being so open, thank you for showing your innermost feelings.
I regard my soul as a kind of cupboard. All of my thoughts and feelings, my wishes, are stored in there. Sometimes, I show a piece to someone who is dear to me - because I learned that the others just look at the item disparagingly or call it crap (so I shut the doors to them). The good friends are astonished, amazed or even delighted to see what’s in my soul cupboard and open theirs to me, too…

Thank you so much for opening your soul cupboard to us!

[Ali]

Michelle -

I identify so much with some of this baggage, especially the stuff about eating and self image. I'm sure many other women here do as well.

Thanks for putting words to what, despite my best attempts, I sometimes still feel to this day.

[Hundred and one]

Isn't it funny how simple things - like a dress or a smell - hold such poignant memories. Lovely sunday scribble.

[samtzmom]

What a powerful testament to the woman you've become. Wrap your arms around yourself tightly and know that you are, and always have been, enough. We've all been there, but many don't find this clarity. Blessings to you Michelle...

[my pink sky]

michelle, this post is amazing...full of bitter sweetness and a power that is pure strength and resilliance! you have come such a long way. thank you for touching me with your truth and beauty.

[gkgirl]

wow.

this is one of your best.
honestly.
i'm sitting here
with so many things
i want to say
and still so blown away
by your words
that i can't find my own
to express myself with.

poignant and honest.
searingly real.
wow.

[teresa]

been there, done that, wore the tshirt, and all the rest including the eating disorider. i have spent the last year unpacking baggage from a lifetime of compromising myself to try to make others happy.

I now have someone in my life who does not add to the baggage. he is just helping unpack it, air it out and either store it away for good or discard it. I am helping him do the same thing. We are best friends, no more, no less but open to the development of this as it happens.

Thank you for the open honesty of your blog. you are strong and inspirational to many.

[Colorsonmymind]

Wow

Sweetness...my how you have grown

as I read this post and let the tears fall, for the little girl, the teenager, the college student, the young woman and mother

for my own baggage..especially tied with food...

I remember some of the first posts of yours I read

and how you are handling your baggage so differently now

hanging it out...letting air flow...unloading it instead of bearing it's weight.

You my friend...your growth and beauty shine on my life and effect me.
Thank you for being so courageous
Thank you for growing

[Dana]

This is lovely, as always. You have such a beautiful way of letting us get a glimpse into your soul!

xoxo

[Nikki Stevens]

All this baggage and I still see your light and love. You are beautiful! Thank you for sharing your beauty.

[rosie]

dear M,
you're writing always moves me in ways i don't expect. today the lines you've written so resonate with me, it breminds me of that quote from Alan Bennett about reading
'...here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours'

Big thank you - especially for the last few sentences.

[duhhhblond]

I am almost rendered speechless..
amazing writing..
thanks for sharing..
you are right..
you are special :)

[meredith]

This is a very touching post, makes me want to do some unpacking...

[DebR]

You're such and amazing writer, Michelle. I love the image of dragging your baggage out and hanging it in the breeze to blow out the oogies. I cried when I read this, but by the end was saying "yes!"

[DebR]

PS....I loved the photos of Britt you posted yesterday. I tried to leave a comment, (as well as trying to leave one on this post last night) but for some reason I'm having a LOT of trouble leaving comments on your new blog. Not sure why, as I don't usually have any problem with Typepad blogs. I'll keep trying, though because I love your photos and posts.

[samantha]

You are all of those things - precious, beloved, safe - and what a beautiful way to look at each garment, making up your prayer flag...I love that.

[yolanda]

this is one of your best posts and I can so identify with it as I am doing unpacking myself.

[Bug]

I love this piece, the mixing of the figurative and the literal baggage is beautiful--and brave.
www.writerbug.blogspot.com

[melba]

You are moving.
A post like this has momentum.
Beautifully written...having the reader loving every word and image.

Amazing.

[Josephine]

This is just...amazingly written. You are incredibly talented. WOW.

As I read through your post, I could not believe how similar your story of growing up is to mine. I used to fight with my mother in kindergarten because that is when I demanded to never wear a dress again...

One thing that strikes me about what you've written is just how cruel life is to women.

So unbelievably brutal and relentless in that brutality. It's a wonder any of us survive.

[Star]

Amazing, Michelle. I can see now what you were wanting to share when we first exchanged e-mails. The food, the need for acceptance, the spiritual emptiness. Healing is a slow process but, once started, the desperation recedes and the rebuilding begins. Know I am here supporting and cheering you on each step of the way.

[Tammy]

This was amazing writing! I loved your style, strength and bravery. Speechless!