Deconstruction

I have taken on a new remodeling project.  My goal is to create a more open concept, taking things down to the studs or maybe taking down all of it.

It is me.

In my never-ending search for myself, I have realized that while I might have had enough ego to think I was doing quite well, I have a lot of walls, boxes and closed doors that manifest as beliefs. As I began the inventory, I was surprised at the depth and breadth of my compartmentalizing. As I took each one out and began to examine it, its origins, and my need for it, I realized that our experience as humans is to build rooms within ourselves that we believe define us. Some of them may not so much define us as make us believe that the walls of the room will keep us safe. Safe from others, their opinions, past hurts and cataloguing of potential future events we want to avoid.

I have started by listening to my thoughts, something we all do, but often do not really analyze. The “that was dumb,” or “I’m too fat or thin or old or angry or gullible or whatever.” It fascinates me how many there are and even after the analysis how many more are floating around.  It can be daunting.

So, I am going slowly.  Picking the ones from the list I made that have the most “charge” or power over my mental and emotional states.  My practice is to identify the belief and go into that room and sit with all the chatter, judgement, disgust, sadness, and despair.  I remind myself that none of it is real, it is just a made-up story I have used for a long time and so it feels that it is true and correct.  Then I contemplate why I have believed it, sometimes look at how long I have held on to it and then begin the excavation into when this belief room was built.  Who helped me build the room? Who has helped to decorate it? Who is keeping the lights on? That last question always has the same answer, “Me.”

It is my house/being/life and it is mine to decorate. So many of us live with hand-me-downs. Labels we have accumulated throughout life that were foisted upon us by others who felt they had a right to judge and may have felt their judging helped us or kept us “safe.”  And the best part is they may very well have saved us at the time, but the time has passed, and we no longer need the accessories or heavy furniture of other people’s opinion.

The tough part, like with all purging of things accumulated, is picking that which we truly want to take along and that which has a memory but has served its purpose.  Separating what is mine from what was given to me is a very nuanced adventure because much of it comes from childhood and from people we loved and admired. Giving it up does not change your affection for those people, it simply allows you to lighten the load and have a bit more pep in your step as you travel down life’s road.

I have my sledgehammer in hand but shall also make sure that I have the correct support beams in place before smashing completely through. Then I shall sit until the dust settles.