A Decluttered Life, Part 4: Owning Comfort and Control
As the space within me expands and heals, the items around me become fewer. Sure, there is still a lot more than I need, but I’m getting to a place where the things I keep are there for a reason and I see their purpose clearly.
They help me care for my family or bring them happiness, they inspire or allow us to create, and they leave space to breathe. I understand more and more the pull that certain objects have on me, which makes it a whole lot easier to free myself from things that tie me down with fear or regret.
As I’ve moved through the items in my home and been honest with myself about them, I’ve identified things that I bought or held onto for unhelpful reasons, and I’ve been able to recognize their purpose and let them go. There were things tied to identity, to childhood energy, and now I come to the last hurdle: comfort and control.
Ever Vigilant
Growing up, and even into young adulthood, the unknown was a scary place. I often felt adrift and fearful, where anything was possible and nothing was certain. When I wasn’t taking myself away through my imagination, I was preparing for all possible outcomes. In bed at night, I would imagine escape routes and defense strategies in case of invasion.
I thought about responses to people’s comments and how I would navigate this or that imaginary situation. My mental preparations were somewhat soothing, at least for a short time, but they didn’t feel like a choice. It was more like being caught in a whirlpool of my own making. I felt compelled to think about those things, with no sense of a true resolution.
I did not feel safe, in my skin or my life, and leaving the house only compounded my terror. In the depths of my world, one small thing would go wrong and my panic would become so great that it was difficult to recover.
Preparation and Safety
For a long time, being prepared was one of the main ways that I tried to keep myself safe. There was a part of me that believed I would be okay as long as I thought of all the possible outcomes in life, and prepared myself for them. I found great relief in tangible preparation. Having the physical things that I needed (or thought I needed) was soothing.
If I had to go into the world, at least I could pack for emergencies. Like the magical carpet bag I loved as a child, my bag held whatever you needed: water, stapler, band aids, hair ties, books, snacks, Tylenol, pencils, notebooks, salt packets, etc. If I had a little bit of everything I felt a fraction of control, a tiny foothold.
While many of those carefully packed items were never used, I could not guarantee that the day I took them out of my bag would not be the day I finally needed them. I could then imagine the cycle of regret and shame that would follow.
Mythical Items
Looking back, I think the unused items took on a mythical quality. It was as if having them ready ensured that I would not need them, and the longer they went unused the more effective they were. Like an athlete with lucky, unwashed socks, I had my lucky, uneaten candies and my lucky, unused band aids.
This preparation/soothing took on many forms during my life, depending on what I thought was most important, what I imagined other people might need, or what I feared being without. Holding onto the “just in case” items wasn’t the only issue I faced. The larger issue arose because I didn’t actually feel better with the items I had, but somehow still believed that belongings in general were going to help me.
I still longed for happiness and comfort, so I easily succumbed to buying more items to add to the ever-growing collection. I was actively cluttering my space even as I felt so smothered by everything around me. When I was old enough, I realized the weight of all that I carried, and the unseen damage it was doing.
Contentment
I wish I could say that there was an easy solution for everything. I worked for years with therapeutic interventions that would help but not completely shift this broken perspective I had. Eventually though, the dawn started to break. I was able to get through some of the larger hurdles in my decluttering journey. I learned to let go, slowly. I started just a little at a time, giving myself a little bit of discomfort but not more than I could take.
And I was okay. I did this again and again, upping the challenge and discomfort until I found I could take it. More than that, I was okay with it. I wasn’t afraid of not being prepared or not being the person in control. Honestly, I was again figuring out that I was not in control anyway, no matter how convincing the illusion. God was in control because I gave everything to Him. It made a huge difference in my ability to let things go when I realized that they were lying to me. They couldn’t give me peace, but He could.
I thought the things would give me what I was longing for, but really they just kept me stuck. Stuck and searching, trying to fill up a bucket with holes in it. Items promise us a fix and a solution but they can't deliver. None of these things, even my favorites, are responsible for how I feel. It's me and what I bring to those things — how I choose to see them. And whether I am brave enough to step away from the lie that draws me in and give myself the space to truly hear and see what is Eternal — what is real.
Imagine a little girl, back bent under the weight of a massive bag. Now imagine that the bag you can see is actually a fraction of its true size, the rest living in her mind but weighing just as much. The longer she walks, the more she carries, the more her bag grows and grows. It fills the room she is in, but only she can feel it.
Others look at her and wonder why she is stooped and tired. They see a little girl with a little bag. They don’t know, and they don’t ask. And she doesn’t ask, either—not for help or for understanding. She doesn’t know how. She doesn’t know that she can.
Then one day, a woman appears out of nowhere and stands by the little girl. The woman looks familiar; something in the shape of the eyes and the crease of the smile. The woman is kind and warm, and she can see the bag. The woman speaks in a slow, soft voice:. “I’m so sorry that you’ve been alone and scared. So sorry I wasn’t there for you. I had to grow up first, and I had to find the One who could help. But as soon as I did, I came back for you. I’ve come to take you away, to Him, and you won’t be alone or afraid anymore.”
The woman looks the little girl in the eyes with so much love and compassion that the little girl believes her. She believes every word. The woman takes the massive bag from the girl, and to her it is as light as a feather. She sets the bag down and it seems to disappear, shrinking into nothing. Behind her is the way Home, and she is strengthened, knowing the Love that waits for her and the girl.
The woman looks around. She sees the others, moving past the little girl with unseen bags of their own, and knows that they will not understand. And that is fine. The woman takes the little girl in her arms and holds her for a long time. Then they clasp hands and walk away, into the little girl’s future.
Have you had a similar experience? Do you have any insights to share with us? Let me know in the comments. I’d love to hear from you!
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Disclaimer: This is a blog, which contains a mixture of my current knowledge and opinions. The information is accurate to the best of my knowledge but may contain omission, errors, or mistakes. I am a psychologist licensed to practice in the state of Washington, but this article does not create a psychologist-client relationship. I am providing psychological information and my own opinions for informational purposes only, and anything I present should not be seen as psychological, emotional, or medical advice or treatment. You should consult with a mental health professional or your primary care physician before you rely on this information or take any action. I reserve the right to change how I manage or run my blog and may change the focus or content at any time.