January is the month of purging and cleaning. And there’s just as much of this going on inside me as well as inside my house. In many ways I feel I am starting over with who I see myself to be as the anxious me has met its match in the medicine I’m taking. I feel like the space I am making is for the new me to move in.
I have a choice.
I feel I can.
These two statements didn’t belong to me before. I courted them and they whispered their promises but they never belonged to me until now. The background noise has been quelled thanks to Lexapro, and I am intently listening to what my intuition already knows.
So I am making space for me to move back into my life my spaces. Clearing the corners out so I can expand into them. Letting go of what no longer reflects and serves me. This is not a new concept. I remember a woman named Gail Blanke who made a quick mint selling her book, Throw Out Fifty Things: Clear the Clutter, Find Your Life. And I embraces the concept then as I do now.
We are not static beings. If we evolve then that must mean that most of the flotsam and jetsum that we create from our workings becomes obsolete. We are not even the same person we were last week much less last decade. I do draw the line of discarding stuff at my journals however. Some women were discussing how they either didn’t want to burden their heirs with the collection of their life spewings or they just didn’t want anyone else reading them. I have no problem with either.
So I am continuing to decide what is important to me. What thoughts make me happy. I saw myself in a vision with a lion’s mane type aura. Pride perhaps? I need room to make that happen. So all the bins with stuff are leaving my craft room and there’s just space, glorious space for me to expand me into.
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