Selectively Juggling

Where do I begin to tell my story? Where does anyone ever begin to tell their stories? Do I esoterically travel back through the recesses of my innermost memories and dark corridors of my mind, peeling back the veil, the thin layers of protection and memory, peering deep into my childhood experiences, traumas, losses, and joys? Can I make sense of the experiences and their impacts on my sense of self, personality, relationships and psyche? And how the events of the past still help shape me today? Is the hotchpotch of my experiences and stories actually enough? Is it a bit like join the dot? Make the connection? Or do I trust myself, my intuition and deep sense of personal knowing? I say yes girl, you’ve got this! Yet I need to question myself, genuinely asking whether my life, my story, and my experiences is actually engaging enough to conjure up intrigue and interest in others? Does my story, my families stories really even matter, in the scheme of things? Especially considering the current social and political complexities we are all witnessing in our worlds? Am I simply making more noise in a world already screaming for silence, screaming for people to listen instead of yelling into the abyss. 

Can I, or should I carefully try to unpick and unravel those unique, memorable and illuminating moments from my past, somehow trying to weave another layer of meaning and textural understanding into my stories? Would it be insightful, or even a little interesting, to have my adult self narrate and process the past, somehow not simply tasked with recounting but reshaping and moulding those moments, ensuring that they’re viewed through a different lens, an adult mind’s eye and perspective? So in a way making sense of what my childself went through, what lessons, experience and gifts have been developed, lost or even misplaced. Are we capable of retelling our stories, being able to reconcile, make sense and soften their impact? Would you be able to clearly put your life into words, venture into the dark recesses of memory, snd bring them to light? 

Surely, it is important to challenge oneself to reflect on their lives, the events that have helped shape us. Yet at the same time being incredibly mindful that if you already have a complex childhood of trauma, the last thing that we would want is to re-traumatise, re-wound ourselves, when the overall purpose we are aiming for is the complete opposite. We aim to recover, heal and make-whole that which was broken, battered and bruised. Would revisiting those moments, those memories, help shed light on, and illuminate my particular life’s lessons, the good, the bad and the very ugly? Is it worth opening the floodgates? Am i prepared for the potential torrent of emotions, thoughts and memories? I ask myself, am I truly prepared for what may come up? Am I strong enough? Would you be strong enough? Resilient? Ready? Am I ready to doff and don my imaginary rainboots and wade through the thick sludge of memories , especially since they often resemble murky and stagnant waters? As I attempt to do this, I stand hand in hand with my inner child, allowing her the opportunity and voice to carefully and honestly guide me through the puddles, unaware of their depths or whether or not we will fall in, spiralling out of control. Is delving into one’s memory more of an exercise in trust and personal growth? I also need to think carefully about how I can protect my family, so all of our identifies are protected.

My memoir would start with ….

If I just allow myself to write, just allow my words to fall, spill forth unfiltered, unfettered, and raw, will i be able to touch others? Help other? Inspire others? Can I handle my own truths? Am I strong enough to allow myself to be vulnerable, exposing myself to experiences of my past? Would it be a cathartic journey through the recesses of my mind? Or will it be a tumultuous tiptoe along brittle, broken and half-rotten eggshells, memories that have grown tainted with time? I mean what is the difference? I’m figuratively tiptoeing at the moment, and simply being brave enough to peer into the chasm of childhood memories , relationships and experiences will allow me to do it in the light, not remain hidden in the shadows, or darkness. 

Indeed, there has to be a purpose or goal to undertake such an epic journey into one’s consciousness. Yes, it’s obviously cathartic to write, reveal and heal, but there needs to ne more. It’s time I took the key that opened the rambling mansion of my mind. I have always viewed my mind as a beautiful yet rambling mansion with different wings and dozens of rooms. I crafted the master key and have the innate ability to go into each room, each space, carefully surveying them as I go. There are rooms that I have purposely left locked, as they are the rooms that are almost hoard-like, and if I don’t keep those rooms carefully guarded, the thoughts and the junk are likely to spill out, cluttering the hallways and the rest of the mansion. These are the rooms that I carefully unpack, one box of memories and thoughts at a time. I just haven’t worked my wy through them all. I  know what each room contains, as I regularly sweep and clean them metaphorically. Well, I have an approximation of what the rooms contain. Depending on where I am in life, my understanding of their contents may change, somewhat slightly. There is a sense of fluidity to the rooms. I have also ensured that nothing lurks behind the doors and each room’s light is in perfect working order. I am the caretaker, cleaner, decorator and garbage collector. Have you ever thought about your mind as a rambling mansion with many rooms, or some other metaphor, simile or analogy? The reason metaphors and analogies work so well for me is that I am highly visual; I literally think in images. I have basically needed to develop a love of words, simply to enable greater storytelling, equipping me with the depth of vocabulary and meaning needed to do the visual imagery and thoughts justice. Words help me translate the complex images I have in my mind. I think that is why I am also a passionate photographer, it is pure visual thinking reframing and refocusing. Photography is more than a pastime, more than a hobby. It almost feels like a love-story, an obsession, 

Referring to the mind metaphorically may initially seem a little bizarre or esoteric. However, it can serve as a powerful self-healing tool, as it allows me to visualise my mind, thoughts, stresses, anxieties, and worries. It also allows me to objectively stand back, assess, reassess, and get to know my inherent strengths and weaknesses. Most importantly, I can then build upon my resilience and courage experiences. Sounds like hard work, but it’s not; it’s just about being attuned to my own thoughts, feelings, desires and needs.