Digging Up Bones

I'm part of the decluttering cult. (I watch Clean Sweep, Life Laundry and read Flylady.) I was brought up by serious packrats. Serious CHEAP packrats. There was some good, but I have a lot of lousy memories that had to do with wearing outgrown, funny-looking clothes and never buying anything new or nice because "we already have one of those!" and never having enough room because God forbid you get rid of those old books or a decrepit chair.

There's also an idea in decluttering circles that when you hold onto physical junk, you also hold onto emotional junk. Completely true. In my decluttering, I find stuff with bad memories to be among the most difficult to toss. Which is just weird.

Example, I found a bunch of photos from when I was involved in a group that later split apart in a nasty fight. I feel nothing but sad when I look at those pictures. And, they're not very good pictures. I'd never frame any of them or stick them in an album. But, I find it strangely daunting to throw them away.

I think it's because the situation never was really "resolved", because there wasn't any way to resolve it. On some level, I must feel that by holding onto those pictures, and keeping my feelings alive, I'm going to change the past. Silly, isn't it?

I also feel guilty to this day. Like I could have somehow made everything all right if I'd just said the right thing or worked hard enough.

I spend a good part of yesterday thinking about this. Writing this out. Working through it. When I get home today, those photos are going in a trash bag, and tomorrow they're going to the dump. I feel wonderful writing that. Light as a feather. I'm dumping much more than photos and it feels really, really good.