the house is slowly, but surely getting cleaner. It’s hard to do much when 1)I’m burnt out with the cataloging books deal and 2)There’s so much stuff here.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it hasn’t, yet. I waffle between periods of great fragility and wimpyness and feeling like I can overcome anything I set my mind to. Odd contrast.
The fragility is new, raw, and much deeper than the PTSD stuff was. It’s scarey for me because most of it is really old crapola.
The key seems to be a few things: 1)This is going to take some time. It may only take a day to clean a room for most people, but I’m not just cleaning a room—I’m dealing with a lifetime of insecurity, invasion, abandonment, and betrayal. All the stuff that “home” is supposed to be and mine wasn’t. I have to be okay with the fact that the act of cleaning a room is easy, but the emotional stuff that goes with it isn’t and takes time and care. 2)Creativity is the key out. One point about a month ago I said to someone that creativity is the expression of the unconsious self, unedited by others, life, etc. which is true. It is also therefore the only real counter I can find to the nasties that I mentioned before. I can work on a rug, finding a way to display/organize my embroidery floss, set up my house plants, etc. and all of that helps me to cope with the rest. 3)I need help. Specifically, I need DH’s help and participation. It helps to counter the emotional stuff too.
So we’ve developed a sort of routine. I do whatever I do and if he hasn’t got time to help (and he rarely does these days, they doubled his work load last year) we talk about what I’ve done and he tells me what he thinks. It’s enough—mostly.
Oh! Last point, I forgot (smirk) 4)I don’t work in a straight line. I just don’t go from A to B to C to D, unless I force myself. So beating myself up because this process is a meandering one is just silly. Given a choice I never work in a linear fashion. And so that has to be okay too!