I have a storage shed. It is filled with my clutter; it is part of my having too much in an effort to be enough. And maybe it is “padding” to protect myself. Maybe it is part of my addiction to chaos. Whatever.
In this shed, I have jars. Lots and lots of jars. Canning jars. Peanut butter jars. Spice jars. Other jars. Lots of jars. Empty jars. Jars that might be good for something some day.
Why do I have so many jars? I’m not sure. So far, the only thing I can come up with is that my mom used to can. And maybe my holding on to so many jars is an effort to somehow connect with my mom. I don’t know.
I’m not really close to my mom. I wasn’t really growing up. We were close for a little while after I was married and my dad died. But then there was a terrible, terrible time and we didn’t speak for years and years. Even though we sometimes talk now, I don’t really feel close to her. Too much has happened. She is married to a passive aggressive man, too, and it has really affected her. I don’t want to end up like her.
Back to the jars. So maybe having all these jars is a (weird) way of trying somehow in some way to connect to my mom.
I don’t need ALL of these jars. I don’t want all of these jars, even though I have kept them. Maybe they are a symbol of a relationship that I don’t have.
What will happen if I dare to fling boogie most of these jars? Freedom?
Freedom would be nice.
But I think I am afraid of freedom.
Gotta face that fear.