Unsticking

"This is the year that I will get un-stuck," I told myself at the beginning of 2009. And I am indeed getting un-stuck. Today I am celebrating 29 years of freedom from active drug addiction. [Yes, I got clean before my traumatic brain injury. Ironically, the man driving the vehicle which had run my car into the side of a house was high on marijuana].

Getting un-stuck for me has been and continues to be a process. I am healing from the pain of losing my career in human services as a direct result of my brain injury, very slowly letting go of my obsession with the decision of the agency that I was working for at the time not to take me back in any capacity, addressing my negativistic thoughts and judgment of others, and de-cluttering with pizazz.

Organization was never a strong suit for me. In the before days-- back when my brain was still a regular brain-- I was not a great housekeeper. Since my brain injury however, my difficulties with organization, sticking to any sort of cleaning schedule or chart, and being able to pare down my possessions accelerated. With gentle encouragement by my true friends, I have begun to be able to do the things that I need to do in order to keep my home livable. I find myself discarding stuff that I no longer need or want to hold on to and that feels good. Real good. I still have to take frequent breaks due to t.b.i.-induced fatigue. Now, after I rest, I get up again. "I am getting un-stuck," I tell myself. "After I clean this or sort though that, I will go to the local diner for coffee." And it is working.

When my dad moved up here for a few months last year, in spite of his dementia he was able to get me to clean. We cleaned for an hour every weekday morning before going out for breakfast. Keeping up with housework became infused with emotions. Once dad left, I lapsed backwards into apathy and disinterest.

At a recent t.b.i. support group, I decided to try to motivate myself with the same thing that worked when my dad was visiting. Clean some, then coffee (or something social). The charts (I can make beautiful charts) of what days to de-clutter and clean which parts of the house didn't work. Similar I suppose to my inability to read a crochet pattern for five years after my t.b.i. I could write down the directions and the steps, I could read (and did) a ton of books and websites (including the flylady stuff) about how to whip the household into shape, I could create my own crochet patterns. But I could not translate planning into doing nor symbols into crocheted cotton washcloths. I can follow a crochet pattern now but progress is halting. It is still easier for me to freelance. In finding a new rhythm, I am a creator and not a follower.

One thing that is easier now is throwing out stuff. I no longer remember much of why I acquired clothing, books, artwork, knick-knacks. The false chains of sentimentality lay no claim on me. Because I do not remember why I am holding on to this or that, I can ask myself if the item is something that I love or need. And so I toss stuff merrily into the waiting garbage bag or donation box. I am not bound to hold on to something for the rest of my life because some relative gave it to me. I know other clutterers, messies, and pack rats have real problems with being able to get rid of things (and I did too in the past) due to sentimentalism. I appreciate being able to breathe. De-cluttering is a joy for me today rather than a torment. I am de-cluttering one corner of one room at a time. Several rooms are now neat and I am maintaining them.

I have also returned to blogging. Writing is my first love. I have dreams-- serious dreams. As with the housework thing, I am finding my way through the twisted and broken neurons in my brain to a new rhythm. I am looking forward to more of this un-sticking process. It is a process, a journey into healing.

sapphoq healing t.b.i.