I started cleaning up my apartment. I am following The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. She says keep the things that bring you joy. I can hardly find anything that brings me joy but there are plenty things that make me break down and cry. There are piles of old magazines and vintage books I’ve bought the past few years to do collage artwork. Nothing wrong with doing collage artwork except I did it out of fear that I am not good at doing art like drawing and painting so I used it to avoid facing my fear: what if I am not good enough. So I keep doing the smaller stuff because my mother told me not reach for the big things. Always keeping myself small, staying little so that others don’t get jealous, so that I don’t upset someone, so that I don’t provoke others.
I can’t stop crying. All the time keeping myself small, little. Supporting other peoples dreams but not even allowing myself to dream. Never reaching out for things – as if my arms have been cut off like Venus de Milos:
Excerpt her hands were lost in transport, her pose is still graceful. Mine feel like they have been cut off by my narcissistic mother so that I don’t reach out for things. Always keeping myself small and gazing at the ground and given so many talents. No wonder, I stayed 2.5 years with a therapist who enabled me to stay small. Not much progress except safety in her office. You can’t expect someone who is blind to show you the way out of your own blindness and this therapist was blind and insecure in many ways. I have a theory that insecure people cling to each other and keep each other small.
I am afraid to keep discarding stuff because I wonder what will be left of me but perhaps I need to get rid of a lot of the junk to become who I was meant to be. Finally, I’ll be able to clear some of the clutter in my head and to open up space for my authentic self and to live life more boldly and freely.