Sometimes it feels like I have a container for myself and I have to corral and smush all of the vulnerable parts within it, keep the weird movements, sounds, smells, sensations, vocalizations, and – most of all – feelings on the inside. But this inner world is RICH and complex, and at the same time I want to hold on to all of it, it also feels tragic to not let anyone else into it, even if some days it resembles a trash heap, disorganized, cluttered, and unruly.
When I told my therapist about this, it came out as an image of a car, driving along a highway, overlooking the ocean at sunset, stuffed so full of my belongings that the only way to contain them all is to drive with every door slammed shut and window rolled up tight. A hodge-podge of debris presses against the windows, and if they were to be rolled down even an inch, garbage would just come flying out. And I can’t let the garbage out, because that would be littering. I can’t let my waste cause harm.
What if the garbage is biodegradable?, my therapist asks. That allows me to let the windows down about half-way, I tell her. And I imagine that what flies out are pages and pages of handwritten, lined paper, torn from the volumes of composition books I’ve filled over the years.
Over and over, I’ve tried to write and share it with consistency, and every time so far, I’ve given up. Perfectionism gets in the way. The feeling that it all has to come out fully formed, that the messy bits can’t show up, that I have to have the answers or know what lesson was learned before letting it out into the world stops the words from showing up at all.
So this is the experiment: what if the garbage is IT? What if it’s actually nourishing compost, the kind of garbage that gives life? Ideas half-formed, with or without answers, where what matters is the process of asking the questions, sitting in between uncertainty and the answers, and then letting it go? What if this is the space to figure it out…and sharing it means it gets to be useful, not just tossed and lost in a heap?
The rules are: share regularly. it doesn’t have to be perfect – you win if it’s raw and real, no framework, no need for beginning, middle, or end. the questions have to be included. bodies speak in metaphors and small progress is the most important kind.
Photo: “Big Sur Sunset” is available to purchase in the Cheerful Print Shop or license on Stocksy.
(This art was made by me; thank you for supporting my work by purchasing and providing credit to @annareynal.)
Attribution: Becca Borelli introduced the idea of Compost Journaling as a practice for making art from the ideas that live in my journal – her podcast Secret Sauce also comes with my highest recommendation.