Reupholstering A Life
Posted by Mari L. McCarthy
Before 1991, I existed for everyone else.
But that summer, an uninvited house guest named Multiple Sclerosis moved in, helped with my interior decorating challenges and taught me how to create a place that's definitely ME.
Back then, I was a 40-year-old head dwelling career woman. A management consulting firm owner, I came home to change my garment bag contents and run for the next airplane. But my new roommate, pulling at my pants legs constantly, demanded my attention. "Okay, okay, okay, " I'd say. "You can have a little of my time but then I've got to get back to work."
Eventually, when driving a car was not an option and getting to the bathroom on time was quite a trip, I decided (reluctantly) to give myself--- a vacation at my beach front home. Changing from a weekend visitor to live-in landholder meant challenges, concerns, and questions. What was I going to do with my life? What could I do? What did I want to do? Where would I begin to clean up this mess?
Thank goodness, most of my brain still functioned. I figured with all my business experience I could find a way to resolve my dilemmas. I decided to employ my company. I couldn't be any uglier than some of my worst clients. Could I?
Early on, I knew I was in over my head. So I called an old friend out of retirement---Transcendental Meditation. We ventured into many areas. I heard the same-old complaints, "Weak. Wimp. Lazy. Loser. How selfish you are spending so much time on yourself." But soon, louder, stronger, wiser voices began attending my daily TM meeting and contributed encouragement: like my father's favorite phrases "Time and patience" and "You can be anything you choose." They gave me confidence to continue with my home improvement plan.
As I entered the next room and the next and the next, a lot of stuff came out of my woodwork. Over the years, I had accumulated all kinds of junk. I examined what was inside my closets, drawers, and cabinets and happily trashed what did not fit or even belong to me. "How did this get in here? Where did this come from?" "What in the world did I keep this for?" I wondered and laughed. A lot.
That summer, I performed many minor repairs. Those jobs I had always meant to get around to. I changed the messages on my internal answering machine. Excellence replaced perfection. I decided hard work didn't need suffering to achieve success. Rather than continually questioning "Why?" I asked, "What's this?" and "How could I better this?" By moving out of my head and into my body I discovered seldom-used tools: intuition, feelings, senses.
One morning, "What about writing?" came up during my meditation. Hmm. What about that? I explored old journals and a memory box Mother presented me after my Father's death. He saved everything. Amazing. I was a child once. A child who aced essay exams. A young woman who was a newspaper editor.
I revisited my newspaper-clipping portfolio. Wow. I wrote that? I recalled my delight in doing feature articles. Perhaps, now was my time to write. My internal critic AKA Mic blared to differ. "Your life isn't interesting. You have nothing to say that people would pay to read" and on and on. Horrendous headaches and stomach pains. A new household challenge. How to tackle this job?
I started journaling. Daily, with pen and Starbucks in hand, I wrote my "Morning Pages." Three pages of whatever. No thinking. No editing. Just writing. Some days my entries bored me. Sometimes my brilliance baffled me. I did need some help with this task as my right hand had lost its senses. So my left hand pitched in and in time furnished some pretty neat material.
Timing is important in everyone's career.
I am grateful that my "home health aide" brought me a process that makes my home livable. Cleaning house challenges and rewards my heart and head, my body and soul. It's great exercise--I confront clutter, I rearrange furniture and I discover articles I never knew I possessed.