“The room that is my mind”

Where I want to start my personal journey is with the drawing of my mind’s room, choosing to actively design the space I spend my entire life. In my copy of the book, this is described in Book 8, “Dynamic Indwelling” (though in other records, it appears to be listed as Chapter 7).

21. We typically do a poor job of self-regulation. We indulge thoughts that don’t serve us and may even prefer to think that we can’t self-regulate. However, that’s just a shame and not an argument against the possibility of self-regulation.

22. We can do better. We can use our available freedom to indwell in ways that serve us. You can enter the room that is your mind not as a victim of consciousness but as a talented creator equal to defining and designing what goes on in there.

My work starts with understanding that my past has made the room that is my mind a cluttered and chaotic mess.

I grew up somewhat poor. Though I never went without dinner, it was often discounted Hamburger Helper without ground beef. We ate off hand-me-down Corningware and drank out of mismatched cups. Chipped mugs without handles were kept in the cabinet, as long as they were water tight.

I learned to never let go of anything I thought might come to have value in the future. Shoes with holes in them, a size too small, were known to come in handy, when a sole fell off one that had been the right size.

It suffices to say, I learned to hoard things.

This included painful memories and emotions, I came to understand. Over the years of hurt and sadness, I held onto the experiences that caused them, kept tight in my own Pandora’s box. Eventually, this box busted open, and each memory multiplied in strength and size.

I could not see beyond my pain, remembered no joy, but I held onto each memory with all of my power, thinking if I let go, I would come to regret it. I would be hurt again in a way I should have foreseen. I would be hit with a trauma response without understanding why. I would hurt someone else like I had been hurt.

This has been my mind for the past 25 years. And all my fears have come true. I have been hurt again. I have triggers I do not fully understand. I am far from innocent when it comes to other people’s pain.

Something has to give, so I’ve decided Maisel has provided an inspiration I had never considered. Time to spring clean (ok, winterize) the room that is my mind.

If I wait to clear out all the junk, though, I fear that I will stall. Will my miserly mind allow me to get rid of memories, moments, experiences that I have identified as defining? Or will I die in my hoarded riches of wounds, secure in a frail nature that restricts me from growth?

Instead, I have decided to start in a corner. I’ve cleared it out, and in it, I am creating a safe space for myself to do whatever form of processing I need to, with clear boundaries between what was and what is. That clear boundary is a simple as a piece of masking tape on the floor right now, but it’s sticking. I can see the delineation, and I am proud of it.

In my corner, I have an oversized chair, a barrister’s cabinet of books, and a spot to rest my coffee mug, no chips and with a full handle. There is a window, clean of smudges and dust, with just a few drops on the pane from a light shower that has passed. It is slightly open, enough to let a light breeze and the smell of a fall campfire drift in.

There are no clocks, no calendars, no pressing appointment reminders in this corner. There is no list of what is yet to be done. There is an old payphone, and a roll of quarters standing by. No one has this number, but I can call out whenever I need connection.

For now, I am going to sit, breathe, and allow a sense of quiet calm to feed my soul for the next session of clean out.

Leave me a message. I’ll call when I can.