Junk Drawers

Back in October, when we put our house on the market, we cleaned out our junk drawers.  There were two of them.  Both were located in our kitchen. (isn’t that where all junk drawers are?)  One junk drawer was on one side of the room and one on the other.  They were filled to the brim with, well, junk.  Scraps of papers, random toys, unimportant mail, broken-tipped pencils, batteries, “important” papers that I know we’ll need later, and other miscellaneous junk.  It felt so good to fill trash bags with the content of those drawers and to see them organized and worthy of public view.

I laughed yesterday as I was preparing our house for a showing and opened the drawer with my hand full of Meadow’s plastic pearls, a few broken crayons and two bouncy balls and deposited my items into the drawer. The junk drawer is back to its former state–full of junk.  It is what it is, right?

How funny is it that we have a drawer(s) designed with the specific purpose of making our lives appear more perfect than they really are? 

Earlier this week I walked into a small room where I was to have a meeting with a woman who I barley knew.  The room was perfectly lit–not so dark that you can hide, but not so bright that you feel spotlighted.  The room contained a couple of large comfortable chairs and a soft comfortable couch.  The scent of cinnamon tea filled the room as the room screamed, you are welcome here.  Sit.  Relax.  Rest.

I was unsure what to expect from our meeting.  I was there to discuss an upcoming event in which I was invited to share about my experiences with my Mom, addiction, loss, survival.  (I know, what was I thinking?  I’m a writer, not a speaker.)  However, this meeting was so much more than a discussion of details–I left this meeting inspired. 

For an hour and a half I sat across from a woman who has lived more life and has more wisdom in her pinky finger than I have in my entire body.  For those moments in that tiny tea-scented room time stood still as I shared parts of my story and she shared parts of hers.  I listened to her story of survival.  I listened to her story of imperfection.  I listened to her story of becoming authentic.  I listened as she shared her passion to help women connect. 

In an hour and a half my heart grew as I listened and as I was listened to.  And once again, I was reminded–our stories matter. 

This incredible woman asked me many questions during our meeting.  Thought-provoking questions that I am still pondering.  However, one particular question took no thought to answer–when did you start healing–after your mom’s death.  The answer came immediately–when I let go of the shame.

Yes.  Shame. 

During our meeting I shared how important the day I opened up my junk drawer and allowed the world to see–everything isn’t as perfect as it appears to be.  That was the day everything began to change.  When I learned to take off my self-made mask and began the ongoing and often scary journey toward authenticity. But really, it wasn’t the act of taking off the mask that did it–it was the connections with people that resulted. 

Truly, I believe healing comes in connection.  I believe we all need connection.  I believe that connection is as important as air and water.  We need it to live.  We need it to live authentically. 

I think connection comes when we open up our inner junk drawers and let others see what is inside.  I don’t think this is a process that is easy or comes naturally–but in the end is always worth it. 

A word that struck me during my meeting earlier this week was “free”.  As we shared our very different stories we connected in the feeling that living authentically creates a freedom that wasn’t there before.  For years, I spent so much time trying to maintain the “we’re perfect” image that I became lost.  Suddenly, when I opened the drawer the indescribable feeling of freedom overcame me and life became more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.

 
I left that meeting with a full tank and inspired to change the world.  I wanted to shout it from the rooftops–it’s okay not to be perfect–it’s okay to be who you are.  However, I am who I am and I’m not necessarily the rooftop-shouting type.  But I do have three little lives that are more important to me than life and I wonder–if I live my life authentically–will they?

I know there are no guarantees.  I know that they will be bruised and scarred by life, but I can’t help but wonder–if I let go of perfection–will they?

If they see me connecting. . . will they?

The way I see it–even if we’re not the shoutin’ from the rooftop kind of Mama’s. . . we can make a pretty huge impact right in our own homes.

If that’s not “Purpose”, I’m not sure what is.

“We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.“
-Mary Sarton