Stories

(first published Feb 2010)

Anyone who follows my other blog knows I deal a lot with decluttering and trying to simplify, and being crabby in my small house. After reading this post by Ann Voskamp, I think I may have hit upon a reason I get so angry about my decluttering/small home issue.

I had been long pondering that issue. I mean, I feel 90% detached from stuff – I don’t care about one set of dishes vs another, for example, and as long as I have enough comfortable clothes to get me from laundry to laundry, I’m fine. I’m not a nick-nack person. Then what’s all the internal anger for when I have to declutter?

It’s the stories I feel forced to throw out because I don’t have room for anything “extra”.

Ann’s post talks about the roots, the stories that we all have and crave to hear, and how we are all creators/poets at heart.

Only growing up adopted (in the secretive, closed adoption system, at least) you have no roots, no stories that are yours. Any adoptees remember the feeling when you had to do those family trees in 3rd grade? Those stories are not my stories, those roots not my roots. I’m just *sitting* the in the tree, and while it’s fun and can be safe, it’s not the same as being a PART of the tree, especially when everyone else around you is part of the tree, and you’re the only one out on a limb. 😉

Anyway, back to the decluttering issue. I realized this morning I am furious with my circumstances because I feel I can’t keep much stuff that might help me define MY story. Being in circumstances where people don’t really care when I talk, my “stories” need to be tangible, not mind/word stories. For if I can’t share them well, they cease to be of any substance.

So I give away my clothes and books and trinkets, and force myself to be happy that I am caring for those less fortunate, and force myself to feel blessed because I *should* be detached from earthly things and focusing on heavenly treasures, but inside, I’m empty, alone, and feel like I’m dying a slow torturous death. I’m angry because I feel hopeless that we’ll get a better house to hold 7 homeschooling people. I’m angry because I am helpless to make it any better. I’m so horribly frustrated that I find myself in this (wonderful, loving, but) traditional Christian marriage, where dh calls the final shots, leaving me no power to make my life better without hurting him. Where I must choose love of my dh over a house too far for my dh to commute well to work (which would be affordable). I’m tired of being frustrated here to the point where it is spilling over into sin. I don’t want to sin.

I just want a place I can finally LIVE and settle in and create my OWN roots. Create my own story.

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