UnPacking our schtuff…

As I unpack boxes and work to create order and beauty in my new space I have been fascinated to see metaphors unfolding, about stuff and schtuff.

Listening to well-meaning folks advise me on how to hide as-yet-unpacked boxes made me wonder how many folks have boxes (of emotional schtuff) that they hide in the back of their emotional closet and hope Never to unpack.

One friend told me that he’d moved homes 3 times and that there were 5 boxes of stuff that had moved with him each time, never unpacked… I wonder what became of those boxes when he and his wife split?

I had lunch recently, with a friend who told me that she was happy but that feeling happy scared her because she was afraid the happiness would end. Yet, she won’t do the Grief Recovery work because that would mean looking at her painful emotions and she’s afraid that if she lets them out of the closet, they will never end. I wonder who decided that happiness was fragile and unhappiness was strong?

Marie Condo is a tidying and organizing expert who advises that we only keep the things in our homes that spark joy in us. (yet when it comes to emotional schtuff many folks let compliments go and hold onto slights and insults instead).

Marie advises that once we start sorting through our stuff, we keep going until it’s done so that we get through the work and get to enjoy the results. I agree with her. Being half-done any cleaning project feels like chaos… whether it’s physical stuff or emotional schtuff. (yet many folks will only clean up the most painful schtuff and leave the linty-bits to gather dust in the dark)

My boxes of stuff aren’t all unpacked yet but most of them are. I have an open, usable office that is a joy to write in and rooms that I love to live in. I’m sorting through the bits that are left and getting rid of everything that doesn’t bring joy to my new life here. (and I’m watching the emotions that ebb and flow with each piece)

I’m grateful for the Grief Recovery process… xox


One week, two weeks, one month, two months, one year or two… Our hearts seem to keep track of significant days even when our brains forget to. Or more accurately, when our brains try to tell us that these big and small milestones don’t matter.

I moved in to my new digs two weeks ago. Last Tuesday when I woke up I was feeling Capital-A Agitated and I had no idea why. Eventually it dawned on me that my body and emotions were acknowledging that it had been one week since the big moving truck shifted my life. Big changes. Once I clued in and acknowledged all the schtuff that I was feeling the day got better. Today I was a little quicker to recognize that it has been two weeks. Wide Awake at 4:30 this morning I wanted to get up, to go, to finish unpacking and get settled in this new place and I did, sorta. I gave in to what my body and mind wanted and got an early start on the day.

The boxes aren’t all unpacked yet but most of them are. I can see my desk now. I can actually sit at my desk and write. I will be glad when the piles are gone and my space feels clear again. It’s hard when you move into a space one fifth the size of what you had. It can feel chaotic as things find their new space, or get turfed out. My body and soul want some calm. There has been so very much change in the past 6 weeks, so much sifting and sorting, saying goodbye to old routines and learning new ones.

The definition of grief is: “the conflict of emotions that happens whenever an established pattern changes.” I’m grateful to have the Grief Recovery process to help me find my way through this. xo

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