Today, I took some time and cleared out some things from storage. It's been a long time coming. My mom and I shared a storage unit for nearly four years, from the time I moved out of my house, which was shortly after she had moved to an apartment nearby. I'd downsized to a bedroom in her apartment with Ali, while pregnant with Abby, and stored what was left of the four-bedroom house I left behind after a year-long divorce process. When Mom told me she'd be cancelling the storage unit at the end of March, I knew it was time to go through things I didn't even remember I had, and donate whatever I clearly didn't need.
But I knew there'd be quite a bit in that unit that wasn't exactly disposable- mementos from my childhood that I just didn't have a place for, and other items I may very well use now. It just came down to going through it all.
I elected to do that by myself today. I didn't want to be rushed when going through each box, making sure the ones with books also had my old diaries I'd planned to give to Ali one day (they had some lovely notes written about her father that I wanted her to have for when she's older).
But today I also came across old photos of myself from elementary school- among other things- but the photos are what I got stuck on. I saw this one in particular of myself standing in front of a church door, with a bright blue turtleneck, blue jean skirt, and bright blue tights to match. I'm not sure what I was there for- maybe a Brownies meeting or something- but I saw that bright smile of mine and I was reminded of my life's journey back to her. I'll post the picture on here soon. I'll have to edit the post when I get it.
But the point I wanted to make comes from this feeling that I had when I stared at that picture. I believe that the purpose of life can be summed up in one concept: Life is simply the journey we take to get back to ourselves. Who we really are. Who we were meant to be.
Another way to describe it is by framing all of my fears and insecurities in the metaphor of me housing this little girl inside of me (I like to think of the one in the photo). She doesn't know who's going to stay, who will leave, or if anything's ever going to work out. She doesn't have a clue if she's gonna be okay. But it's my job to be her protector. It's my job to reassure her when she's scared, and to comfort her when she's hurt. It's my job to look at that little girl and say, "I've got you."
I'm a grown woman now. My mama can't do it for me. My partner can't do it for me. My kids certainly can't do it for me. I've got to take care of that little girl, because that little girl inside of me is still ME.
I'm sure you might have come across this idea that when we're born, we're the purest form of ourselves in that moment. We aren't living with worry, doubt, hatred, judgment, or even an ego. We don't have any of that. We're completely present and receptive to this world and all it has to offer.
And then by the time we're about six years old, we've already had our framework of worthiness and love laid out for us by our families of origin. They've taught us through their relationships with us what's acceptable about us, what's unacceptable about us, what they like about us, and what they don't like about us. They've instilled their expectations, gender roles, and it's highly likely they've instilled some other things inadvertently and subconsciously. We watched them in their relationships, and learned what love looked like (albeit, most of it was probably unhealthy, but to us, it was our only definition). We learned about how we should relate to our bodies and what burdens we're going to shoulder one day when we're their age. I had learned all of that by the time I smiled for that picture.
And then I got older and started to make my own choices with that deeply rooted belief system. I made choices from the subconscious beliefs I learned about money, relationships, self-worth, and body image, because I inherited them without questioning them. We often don't know to question them until we start working on ourselves when things don't feel right and we want to know how we seem to be getting it so wrong. And therein lies the point of this whole life thingy- at least I think so.
I believe we were given the chance to live because we have something to contribute to the world before we leave it. I also believe that if we remained as connected to our soul as the day we were born, we'd accomplish it rather quickly.
But the thing is, we're human.
I think we muddy the waters for the lives we bring into this world when we don't challenge our beliefs and understand how we'd like to contribute to the world before making babies of our own. Odds are our parents didn't figure that out before we were born. So our journeys are cloudy because we develop from this pure, unencumbered spirit, into a human with deep-seated beliefs that steer us away from who we really are. And we spend a lot of our time on Earth wondering why the hell we're here and what the heck we're supposed to be doing.
Why the heck can't we find emotionally available men- why do we like the bad ones? Or why do we feel so insecure about our noses, or our love handles? Why do we fear losing the love and approval of others? All of those things are just big whopping signs that we haven't done the work to come back to ourselves.
The thing is, if we can pull from the most authentic parts of ourselves, we can do the great things we are meant to do with the time we have here on earth. That's the whole point of life. You come in, it gets foggy, and you work to clear the fog so you can get back to that thing you're meant to do before you die.
And finally, I believe part of coming back to ourselves is through recognizing our younger selves as the embodiment of those tricky belief systems. When I'm triggered or particularly anxious, I find it most helpful to take the perspective that I'm housing this little girl inside who still doesn't know how to make sense of her feelings.
She doesn't know why she feels so scared of being abandoned. She doesn't understand it's because her dad always left her without giving her a clue as to when he'd reappear. She doesn't understand why she's drawn to emotionally unavailable men. She doesn't know that she's scared of never making any money because she spent the late night hours of her childhood listening to her parents fight about bills. She just knows that she feels these things. And my journey back to myself is to see that little girl and say, "It's okay. I've done the work. I know why you feel this way. Don't worry, though... I'll take care of you. I know how to do it now."
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