Standing at the Edge

The downsizing process that I'm going through right now feels harder than my divorce (granted, that was more than 7 years ago). In my divorce, in the light of losing something I'd said "forever" to, I focused my energy on what I was keeping. Don't get me wrong, there was lots of letting go — selling carpet tiles at discount prices, choosing silverware over dishes, and dividing an art collection, not to mention the definition of "wife." I took some time to do self exploration and make decisions about where to move my life, but ultimately I held onto things — not only furniture, art and stuff of life, but also those definitions of myself that I wasn't willing to analyze as my foundation shook so deeply.I wasn't willing to consider releasing a jewelry business that crashed so hard that I had to let all of my employees go in one day. There was still a thread I held onto. What if a Phoenix tried to do that? Hold onto a piece of its past self? It doesn't even seem possible, and surely it isn't… yet I've been trying.Now that I'm consciously downsizing in a way I've never done before, I'm questioning everything — and thanks to the KonMari Method, I'm actually feeling into everything rather than getting into an anxious thought-loop around it.I have 3 weeks before my big move, and so far I've let go of my sewing machine and supplies even though sewing used to be a huge part of my life. But what's the reality of now? I haven't used my machine in years — so rarely that it needs repair every time I pull it out. So I've released it into the world where it will be used and loved, and it will be much happier for it (it's being fixed and sent to a 4H Club). That decision has freed me from a whole line of questioning in my life — do I need to keep this fabric? Will I recreate this skirt? Those things can still happen, but I bet they'll happen more quickly. The fabric will either have a specific purpose, or it will be passed along. The skirt will be done in a week with a professional seamstress rather than sitting in a pile of guilt until the shirt that matched it gets so worn and faded that it's tossed.In letting go of the physical items, I'm also releasing that definition of myself. I'm still someone who made my own wild outfits, had an MC Hammer pants business, sewed my own curtains, and hacked tshirts into more wearable clothing. I can remember those things fondly and use a friend's sewing machine if the urge comes upon me again to express my creativity in this way. Sewing — or the lack thereof — doesn't have to be part of my everyday story. By releasing it fully, I'm not just turning the page, I'm starting a whole new chapter.Now that I've released this definition of myself fully, what might this make space for? First I'll celebrate the unshackling — stretch a bit more fully by relishing in the lightening of this physical and emotional load I've been carrying rather than admitting the truth: sewing isn't sparking passion in me anymore. It had moved into guilt-inducing, should-do territory with the accumulation that comes with things we don't want to face.This downsizing process is getting me to deal with deeper layers of emotions than my divorce ever did, and I felt a weird sense of freedom after that process. Ultimately I was really hurt, so I held on to some emotionally-charged stuff that I didn't want to deal with.The story was: "at least I still have...." I held on to parts of myself because I wasn't truly ready for a complete rebuilding. I was still concerned with looking like I had my life together — as much for myself as anyone else.Slowly (6 weeks is a long time, right?) I'm addressing everything. I'm uncovering emotional ties that I didn't realize I had. I have no problem getting rid of photographs, but letting go of anything my brother ever gave me? That's been a tough one. He's the only person I've fully experienced unconditional love with, and I keep those gifts from him as emblems to prove that I'm loved (and worthy of these things — he has great taste and is very generous) to myself. As I let go of physical things, I realize I've been letting them hold my emotions rather than processing those emotions myself.And so walls start to crumble. It's still in my nature to put on a good face. I'm crying more, but not much publicly — I'm still inclined to respond, "I'm doing okay." when someone asks how I am. In many ways that's true — I am okay even as I'm confused by waves of complicated emotions, feelings of loneliness, and surges of deep sadness. Having a firm moving deadline keeps me plodding ever forward. Sometimes I sleep, sometimes I don't; sometimes I cry, sometimes I don't. I can't figure it out, but I'm "in it" and accepting and working through what comes as quickly as I can.Temptation at times has me reaching for trash bags, wanting to simply throw everything away and truly start fresh. That would be skirting the issue, running around the emotions rather than wading through the dark woods. A firm deadline keeps me from wallowing and stalling out, which feels important. I don't want to be stuck in the woods. Movement — even tiny steps — is taking me closer to freedom and my larger life goals.For the first time in a long while, my energetic emphasis is on shrinking my physical imprint rather than expanding, yet somehow I feel like I'm growing. I'm on more of a spiritual and emotional journey than I expected to be on in the middle of a move. No longer am I saying: You can deal with the emotions later! You've just got to get all these things in boxes! Because I'm firmly deciding to not rely on storage as a delaying tactic. I will have some storage for things like costumes and other items that are occasionally part of my life — I'm not trying to create a disposable lifestyle for myself. I'm keeping things that I use and love and enjoy in my life right now and purging everything else. Doing this process so strictly and thoroughly is also helping me keep tabs on what I'm bringing in. I see where my triggers for comfort and security are. I hoard food, so I'm learning to be more decisive about what I really want and how I want to be nourished and buying just those things I need. I won't buy black pants that are okay — rather I'll hold out for ones that I truly love because I won't have room for both to co-exist when I do find those amazing ones. I'm truly learning to emphasize quality — quality of emotion — rather than quantity. As the KonMari Method teaches: Does this spark joy? I'm looking forward to being surrounded by only those things.