I have been taking advantage of downtime in the summer to work on projects around the house that have been nagging at me. Tasks that have felt like burdens sitting on my shoulders. I have gotten so much done and so much accomplished. I’m quite proud of myself. I have waded through trash and Goodwill bags and been pretty brutal at purging things. I’ve attacked my bedroom closet, my dresser drawers, nightstand, the trunk at the end of my bed, and today I’ve been working on the linen closet.
Not glamorous work by any means, but I definitely feel a huge sense of accomplishment tackling my list of the most dreaded and boring chores.
There is, however, a huge drawback that I did not anticipate. My only thought was to put my grungy clothing on and tackle the tasks like a beast. I simply was not prepared for the shock of emotions that have been hitting me over and over again.
For example, in my trunk are mementos from my wedding. My veil. A random list of people to invite to the sealing and reception. I remember so well sitting at the table in my parent’s kitchen and tallying that up with my future husband nearby. I remember vividly how hard and frustrating it could be to find someone’s address pre-social media and smart phones.
Next to these mementos is a stack of journals, going back to my childhood. I feel strangely embarrassed when I see them. I glance through a few of the entries. Some are funny. Many are painful in hindsight. Seeing hopes and dreams on paper, reading “X is out of town and I am so lonely,” finding the entries while he was having an affair. Tough stuff.
I go through the linen closet and find sheets from our wedding registry. I haven’t looked at them in ages. I put them in the Goodwill bag. Decorative items from our first bathroom together. At one point I sat on my bathroom floor and stared at the wall, trying to figure out what it was I was feeling.
Loss. Embarrassment. Memories of hopes and dreams. Shame for mistakes I’ve made in the past. Grief.
Being in a better place in my life and having done a lot of work with therapists and coaches, it is mercifully easier to sit with these feelings. I can allow them to be. I feel a desire to burn my journals out of a need to hide my naiveté, mistakes, hopes, dreams, deep vulnerabilities, shame. I think of the letter from my husband’s affair partner — one of my former dear friends — her handwriting staring at me. I feel it and wonder if I need it anymore. I try to forgive my younger self. Send compassion to her. I try to forgive my husband. I wonder if one ever gets over something like this. Is it possible? And then I feel my absolute determination to. I don’t want to live my life with this around my ankles, dragging behind me. How do I do that?
Memories are a hard thing. And we have to be careful not to distort them. To see our past with harsh, judging eyes, or on the opposite end with a romanticized version of events. What do we do with these memories? How do we make peace with the past?
I have found lately Christ’s atonement taking on new meaning for me. For me there has always been the part that’s obvious: the healing of sins, transgressions, good old-fashioned mistakes. Now it is the reality that he takes on the deep, traumatic, all-consuming pain. Absolute heartbreak. Hopes and dreams shattered. A life forever changed. Fears. Shortcomings. Weaknesses.
It is all I have to hold onto sometimes. That He has told me that nothing is too much.
When I think it’s too much, all the damage, all the mistakes, all the wrong, I hear a voice in my head: “That’s the opposite of everything I’ve ever taught.”
I’ve found my self in prayer often the past few days as I’ve been working on these projects. Pleading. Vomiting my thoughts and emotions. Asking for angels, comfort, peace, strength. Miracles. There is no way I can do this without my Savior. I have had church leadership fail me at times in this process. I have had it make the situation worse. It has forced me to make a choice between being bitter or healing it so I can feel the Savior. It has not been an easy choice. It has been some of the hardest work I’ve done.
I know I need to tell you my story from the beginning. But I will have to prepare myself for it. It’s so hard, as you know.
What do you do with your memories? How do you make peace with them?
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