Bags

I’m a woman…I love bags. Now, I’m not talking about designer hand bags. No, tote bags! I like to have my stuff close at hand, my “ministrations”—they minister to whatever need I (or those around me) might have. I might need to cut, or bandage, or moisturize, or pay for, or keep dry, or brush, or identify, or carry something—and when I see a need, I want to fill it!

Let me just tell you that carrying all these supplies gets heavy! Any time I can set down my bags, I do, but I always pick them up again so that I am never without my ministrations. The problem with this practice is that I can accumulate so much stuff that it weighs me down when I want to just get up and go.

Recently, I realized that I had been carrying around some internal baggage that was sapping my energy and stealing my joy. Reflecting back over my life (we mid-life women do that a lot!), I remembered that whenever I had invested considerable love and attention into a situation and didn't think that I had received an equal amount in return, I told myself a story about how neglected and overlooked I was. Or, when someone’s actions didn't make sense to me and left me feeling confused, the story became about how rude or selfish or arrogant or foolish (I could go on, but you get the point) they were and I had just been victimized. For many years, I stuffed feelings into the bags labeled “invisible” and “victim”, eventually leaving me weak and virtually paralyzed.

A few years back, I began unpacking those bags on a journey to find my power, but the pathway to that destination was a mystery to me. My current hindsight shows me that in my quest for strength and confidence, I traded in one set of heavy bags for an even heavier one…”anger”. Anger felt strong, it felt righteous. Anger protected me from neglect and victim status, or so I thought. Carrying a bag of anger also left me no room for goodness and love and trust and joy.

While processing one of my story lines with a friend where I carried around the victim bag, then traded it in for the anger bag, I discovered that neither of those labels fit the other person’s story. Then, like a flash of light, I saw that I could put down my bags. I realized that I could totally release my anger over every story I had ever told myself, because it was the stories themselves that had generated the anger in the first place. I wrote the stories, so I had the power to set down the bags. I have the power to never grab another bag, but to trust that what I need will be Present when I need it.

I've been told that when I seek, I will find. The seeking has been painstakingly slow (“pain” being the operative word), but the finding is worth the journey, because now I truly can live freely and lightly!