HelenzArt-life-musings

Tag: Acceptance

  • To sit in the cool of late winter….

    To sit in the cool of late Winter, seeing miniscule signs of the Spring to come.  A leaf bud, a nodding Snowdrop is to feel a hopefulness.

    I want signs of hopefulness as I  feel that this work with Chris is going to plunge me deep within.  To take me beneath my surface of understanding and perhaps unmade what I think I am.

    Why would I feel that?  Because I have felt a depth of my world where there is no bottom, that walk to the deepening slope of a swimming pool where you begin to float. Where only you can save yourself by starting to swim.  Yet all I actually have to do is surrender to the water, allow myself to enter the flow and trust that by relaxing into that I will float or atleast not sink. 

    That’s a scary moment.  Can I trust myself with this?  I feel  that I can, and that is a hope. 

    I’m still edging round emotions  about my mother and brother.  Perhaps a way of becoming accustomed to seeing them in other ways. 

    I’m brought to memories of the split with my husband.  The lonely, desperate race through the streets to reach a shelter that may give me a room to stay in.  Trying to get to the office so I can get social help to feed myself.  Adamant that my husband has done the right thing to protect our children and himself.  Such overwhelming feelings of total loss of all I knew.

    The body can only sustain such feelings for so long.  Become exhausted and shut off or down. Yet the thinking in the head can be so continuous that there feels little respite.

    Once I had a room and a little money.  I started to sort through things, and I was drawn to journal for awhile.  In that, I returned to what I surfacely remembered of my brother.  That was as far as that went yet it was like an invitation to feel deeper which I denied as I was so consumed with setting things right for my family.  I’ll admit that suicide was considered, and strangely it came quite easily to make those considerations of How’s and where’s.  That too was denied. I needed to take the consequences of my actions of fraud. Stand up and be the right person.  In that fraud I did have sensation s that this was being done by a different me.  Of being in a sealed room whilst another signed the papers. Lied and made false bank statements to show my husband.  A more remoteness of action. 

    In my next session with Chris,  I took me to this time of my life, or rather my subconsciousness did. This time, Chris asked whether my subconscious has a name.  He said it didn’t matter if it did or not, but she does. Eileen, it’s good to know that.  It allows a familiarity.  She shows me how things then might well have surfaced, yet I hadn’t been ready then, but seeds had been planted that are pertinent to what arises next. 

    So in that session I revisited those feelings of having lost it all. The overwhelming substance of having nothing.  Tears and sobs. The shame and guilt for having done that to my world of family. To hear the disappointment in my father’s voice. The pain in my mother in laws words.  The husband that can’t bear to look at you. 

    So much pain. Yet survived. Perhaps that was the purpose of the session to see what one survives.  Preparing me to revisit so much and yet understand that it was survived then, and will be again in any revisiting. 

    Again, the utter relief of spent emotions when returning from inner world to Chris and his safe and comfortable room.  It’s a lot to take in and needs time to sift and sort.  The skipping in time frames was surprising, though necessary to my inner world and I will go with that. I trust that.

  • Well, here I am!

    The beginning of 2025, a new year, not a new me.  A different me? Perhaps yes. Physically, there has been a renewing and replacing of the biological cells, so yes, in a way. There’s certainly changes in perspectives.

    Integrations of that which has gone before. Mulling over ones personal history. Even considerations of ones parents’ histories, ancestral history too, if known or surmised. 

    Partaking in therapy with Chris was to be an adventuring into history.  Now history can be taken as that which has been recorded.  That often assumes that to be a written record.  Yet there is arguably an authors perspective in that. It is said that battles will only be written about by the Victor’s rather than the losers.  Not entirely true perhaps, but discernable differences in accounts may be seen.

    There is an accounting in the body, too, though.  To read ‘The body keeps the score’ by Bessel van de Kolk can be helpful when the time is right to find an understanding of this.  And what I was to bring to my therapy sessions was my inner coded history. Written indelibly with invisible ink, where the light needed to be shone on it in a particular way.  There were also multiple layers where the light needed to come from one way and then another. 

    That first discovery session was an easing into a new way, learning how to read myself. To not take others’ narrations and perspectives to adopt as my own. 

    Admittedly, after that first session  and the overwhelm of emotion, to then actual partake in a finding of a potential source for those in the second session was to teeter on the edge of considered madness.  Yet that strangeness of feeling that all ‘felt’ right and sound was to feel how sane it was. 

    Now, having arrived home, with a relief of spent emotions, to be with my hubby, I could be an observer for a while. Bring a distancing to that which I had experienced, or rather re-experienced with Chris.  To be honest, and in retrospect, I have always had an ability to compartmentalise, segregate, and isolate.  Part of my genetic makeup both known and unknown, its my innate survivor mode, as well as, perhaps, a cultivated coping mechanism. To feel deeply and compassionately, but without ‘falling apart’.  I can be moved to tears, emotionally engaged,  yet with an engaged resilience too. 

    OK, it still felt like a bomb had blasted my world apart. Not dissimilar to my grief at the loss of our son. There was also a disbelief that these things could have occurred and not been recalled at the surface of memory. Yet, in that observational space where I could monitor that response, it felt an absolute truth of my experiencing.  Non deniability.  It actually made sense of other events.

    Yes, the questioning in and of myself was…  ‘Am I fantasising, or deluded, or insane?’ And I kept coming back to the absolute certainty of ‘this happened to me’. 

    As the following day dawned, I had things, well, images and suggestions of happenings,  arise in my mind.  Not thoughts as much as feelings. Echoes of events and occurrences that did add to actual thinking of ‘I’m going insane’ yet these too were simply those encoded writings held deep within. Held within my subconscious, in the phenomena of being a bodied person. 

    These etched moments were to be followed as I continued into finding me and another session with Chris.

  • A seasonal musing.

    I haven’t continued with my ramblings around taking therapy for a bit.  There’s not one reason that can be given but a combination of excuses perhaps. 

    Not feeling that the timing was right mostly.  yes, I go with my intuition on that.

    Yet, I am prompted to write today, it’s Christmas day here in the UK. For many, a day to gather with family whether we enjoy their company or not.  My own family is much smaller now.  Parents have passed on. The passing of our son, Gavin. That’s been 6 years now and still sometimes feels like yesterday.  My husbands siblings have their own things and families to be with, and that could make me feel excluded.

    So I’ve pondered on that this morning whilst sat in my back garden. Surrounded by dormant plants and flowering plants. Listening to bird song and flutterings. Feeling a breeze on my face.

    All around,  in their houses, people are going about their festivities and celebrations perhaps or maybe feeling a bit lost and sad as they too have fewer loved ones than last year. Trying to shape new traditions as loved faces no longer gather at the table, or laugh at the old jokes.

    It’s OK to miss them, but perhaps remembering them brings them closer, to share in the day anyway.

    I’m grateful to this quiet day.  The birds that visit, my dogs dozing on the grass.  The vast sky above in greys and blues.  A small sliver of moon setting.  I’m at peace with who I am and where I am.  I’m at peace with where others are in their lives, too.  That is the best gift at any time of year!

    As the sun comes out, I’m grateful that my family has other places to go and their own traditions that don’t require my inclusion.  When I’m gone, they will be fine with what they have. They can raise a glass to the memory of me.  Until then I shall enjoy their company when I see them. Hold them and tell them of my love for them. Laugh and cry as needed with them through all my remaining breaths.

    Smile, as every day is a good day.

  • When I was just a little girl.

    There’s a Doris Day song, ‘Que sera sera‘, (‘what ever will be will be’) that, though written back in 1956 when my mum was 21 years old, fits with these retrospective views. I’m going to share my first experiencing of a therapy session with Chris so as to give an insight as to how there can be an opening up to what lies beneath.

    I was walking into the realm of what ever will be, will be. I had no preconceived notions about where this next meeting with Chris would take me.

    As I walked up the stairs to his office, there was trepidation for sure. A small knot of not wanting this in my chest and a clenching of muscles. Tension. Yet my intuition was saying ‘go for it’. It’s hard to explain that ‘gut’ feeling’ when you haven’t really listened to it much before. Yet I felt it and heeded it, just as I had when I traversed the terrain of grief, I was listening to that guidance.

    Chris has a wonderful warmth to him and as he took my jacket and invited me to sit in the squishy, comfy, reclinable chair. I had no doubt that I was where I needed to be. We chatted around my experiences through my week. The sadness and tears, the presence of my mother. He shared how hypnotherapy may work by allowing a quietening of the known consciousness., the working, accessible, memory. To perhaps let my subconscious show me what needed to be seen. I start to relax and as the session begins the chair is reclined, my shoes are kicked off and he counts me under.

    I hear his voice, I can hear other noises that come through the window or movement in the building but they aren’t diverting. My breathing deepens, he asks for communication with my subconscious through my right hand. An index finger raise for yes, a little finger for no, they signal appropriately. It’s strange, as it’s like a tic which is involuntary, yet it is voluntary. Yet it’s not a thinking and doing voluntary though, by which I mean that if we played a game requiring those movements when either yes or no was called out there would be a small lag while the response was processed. This was instantaneous. It’s a suspension of what I have come to call a ‘surface thinking’ or ‘head mind’, perhaps even ‘working mind/memory suffices.

    Chris then asks if there is something that needs to be seen and if so to review it. The need to sob is irresistible, it’s a scary moment as there is little control, as there was none in the prior days. It’s an out pouring of feeling of being harmed, certainly emotionally. Not understanding why, when I was only playing. Chris guides me through a tapping exercise that starts with the side of my left hand, moves to above the eye, repeating after him that the feelings are welcome, that we are open to feel this strong emotion. To accept that it’s here and that it can move through, tap to the side of the eye, under the eye. That the pain can be released and the causes seen clearer. Tap above the lip, under the lip. To the centre of the collar bone. The sobbing subsides and as I move the tapping to the thumb there comes a sensing of a source. Chris then asks if it’s ok for subconscious me to share this with the knowing me and it is. Another reviewing happens. There’s a pause in me to see. It’s strange seeing, re-experiencing these things. Seeing what I’ve always known, yet hidden all the detail, suppressed so much.

    A reintroduction to the mother I didn’t know I knew. Survival mode for a young girl. My mother writ large. A tall woman who carried more weight than she wished for. To a young girl she appears monstrously looming.

    Had I not heard her call? Probably not, as I’d be caught up in something interesting, like ants moving eggs or the way the ditch water burbled. Had I caused offence somehow? For her, yes I had. She was a harsh handler. I was scared of her, I had always been wary of her, her long sharp finger nails of which she took great care of.

    Chris asks few questions and those he does are generally along the lines of how my body is feeling. What am I seeing, sensing? What I’m feeling. Where any feelings of tension may be? I can respond to these queries though some consideration is often required before answering. If there is a particular tension or concern with a sensed place then that can be investigated or tapped into a welcoming. Eventually there comes a sense of relief. That what was needed to be seen, heard, acknowledged and accepted has been reached for this particular session. That I have been given enough for now.

    The seeing is done, the emotion is spent , Chris counts me brings me back to the chair and the room. I am feeling at peace, even though the seeing was not pleasant, it feels right to have brought this out. It’s a lot to take into my ‘normal’ world. To ‘get my head round’ as the phrase goes.

    Chris says to allow this to integrate. Wasn’t sure what that actually meant. Though I now see that as a means of reshaping the unknowing to knowing, become more whole, accepting of one’s past to inform the now of me but not define it the same.

    I went home feeling a little different. Achy eyes, but with a sense of serenity. Little did I know that this was the beginning of revelations that would turn me inside out. Bring doubt, shame, guilt, questioning sanity, veracity and who I am.

  • Why the need for change?

    Hind sight is a wonderful thing. I’ve seen where there have been so many times in my adult years where I have been brought to a chance to make those life changing experiences deeper than before. Chances to remember who and what I am in and of myself. Places in time where situations have brought me to my knees in losing so much but not seeing and hearing that inner urge to reawaken to life’s possibilities. To be more me. To emerge from conditionings, yet those chances weren’t heeded as I knew not how to be still and listen to those.

    When, through my own actions of deception I nearly lost our roof over head, my husband having no choice but to eject and reject me to protect himself and our children. I was bereft of family and home. Yes, to terminate my own life was a consideration but I was resolved to see things right first. In doing that I came to stillness of body yet the mind still focused outwards on how to help them. There were glimmerings of seeing my hidden past yet I wasn’t ready to visit those then.

    I ought to state though that ‘my own actions’ is potentially a mis-direction, as, on occasion, it felt as though I was in a room with a window watching a facsimile of me do what was felt to be necessary for survival! I have had insight into that too which may or may not be shared as these blogs turn through my musings.

    As the Universe turns it will bring circumstances into view where that invitation for change comes round again. May be we listen and may be we don’t.

    Our son’s death was pivotal for me. That deep loss and the way I learned to grieve was a loosening of those ties and binds that kept the veil over my inner, as yet unknown, unseen, unfelt, reality. Small learnings through absolute devastation to find a way to rebuild remembrances of innate nature. A darkening of the soul to move toward the light. To choose to undertake hypnotherapy purely to stop smoking was serendipity, as that was going to show me how to open out what lies beneath with guidance from both inside and outside. To plumb unrealised depths of pain and torment. Yes, it hurts, yet it can also bring an intense gratitude. Therapy is of most benefit when it is undertaken of one’s own needing for relief. To do it for the sake of another or because it is prescribed by someone may encounter some resistance in the body. That feeling of non engagement in the process. I’ve seen those that have tried and have felt it to be a failure, thinking that it’s not for them and in that moment, it’s not. Why? Because when it feels right, it is right, that inner instinct of ‘I can and must do this’ will be so strong, there will be no holding back of that will to change.

    I have come to a serene space within. Where works are created and words spill forth in the hope that others can feel safe that all will be OK.

  • When you have no idea…

    I’m still setting out my ‘on the surface’ memories of my young life, simply to give a baseline for how when my world was shaken like a snow globe. A topsy turvy world of grief through which I came to question the world. Therapy that made me question reality and sanity and everything I thought I knew of my life.

    There are many young people who know from early on, where they want to head their steps towards on their life path. I saw it in my own children. Our late son declaring at just age 10 that he wanted to go to either Oxford or Cambridge, following a sciences path. Our daughter too seeing Uni on her path. Even our oldest grandson has a good idea of where he wants to go.

    Me, at that age, had no clue. That I had academic abilities was likely, even a natural talent for something’s. Yet, no drive to make the best of those, no nurturing of those from others or myself. My peers seemed more decisive. Those that were less academic still saw possibilities even if those were the manual labour or apprentice schemes. Still an era of the secretary and marry well for girls. Building and plumbing or mechanic for the boys. I had no passion for anything, a career advisers nightmare. Though by chance he gave me a Civil Service brochure and that had forestry office. Out doors and trees sounded good to me. I applied, and had to take their written exam for Executive Officer entry. That was a breeze and led to an interview. Passed so next was to get my ‘A’ levels in English and Biology, took Art but that didn’t count. Too little too late. I couldn’t summon the drive to knuckle down and study. Exams taken, failed to get a Biology pass. So I still had no idea what I wanted to do, though I did join the Civil Service at a lower grade. Which sort of fell in my lap, not a drive for it but luck.

    That having ‘no idea’ was my way. See what happens.

    The summer of my 19th year I’m in a relationship where I dress how he wants and go where he wants, spending my earnings on his car and expenses. Why? Because that’s what I do to feel accepted and wanted. I dance to others tunes as a line of least resistance. To feel like I’m human and needed. Being what I think others need of me, obedient.

    I enjoy my job but I’m still a one friend kind of person and she’s at Uni now. I drift. I drift out of the relationship as I start to see it for the poor state of affairs it is. I have met people who see more in me than I do. I have no idea how or why but time to make a move.

    The rest can be abridged to settling into a relationship with a good man. Marriage, miscarriage, children. Ups and downs. My almost losing everything through mishandling money and fraudulent deceit. Which will be the last post before I express what taking the step to therapy did.

  • What do I care!

    When the ‘boyfriend’ turned up after school, I wasn’t too bothered. The relationship hadn’t really ended as such, just drifted as I hadn’t seen him for a month or so. I’d never actually told him about being pregnant, but he had been spoken to by the police. His family made choices for him and those hurt him somehow, and he took me and I was back to being his sex on tap. As I was in a smallish town it wasn’t exactly easy to avoid him and I never really thought to try if I’m honest. I went to school, went home. If I had sport training after school I had to take the bus from town, or walk the 3 miles, by the same route, he often found me at the bus stop, or he’d step out from the houses on the route home. To take me by the arm and I’d go with him. No resistance on my part. There never was resistance. Perhaps I’d had a learning felt deep inside that resistance was futile. Just like the Borg say in Startrek! Reflecting back it’s easy to say that I dissociated and compartmentalised. I didn’t consciously do it, it’s just the way I was. He wasn’t brutal as such but certainly not gentle. He didn’t need to threaten or keep hold, I was acquiescent to his wants. Even when he invited his friends to have sex with me. Yes, that’s abuse, some of it I recall some I don’t.

    The inevitable happened again quite quickly. This time I didn’t see a doctor. I couldn’t do that again, yet what was I to do. Sort of didn’t care enough to ‘do’ anything! He stopped seeing me and at that time I didn’t know why but that was a relief. Now it was pregnant me, on my own. Me, hiding sanitary products so my dad didn’t know. I didn’t want to be a disappointment to him! Going about my life but not really engaging with school work. The usual reports of ‘could do better’. Not confiding in my best friend. Summer came and I took casual work with my dad. Working in the fields where I was happiest. Getting fatter, dad not seemingly concerned, probably thinking it’s that female, laying down fat stores or something! I was a brides maid at my brother’s wedding that summer. Him, 19, his wife to be in her 30’s with 3 kids. The dress I’d had a fitting for too tight! Almost the last time I saw my brother!

    Heading for 16 and the exam year, finally a teacher sat me down and expressed concern. My skipping classes especially sport. I told her. So that began the process, I saw a doctor, my dad was told and I was determined that the choice was for the child to be adopted. Altruism perhaps, as it would give someone a chance to be a parent. The child would have better chances, I hoped, of not having a poor start in its own life, to be wanted and chosen and cherished. Selfish, self preservation, in that there was no way I was going to be able to give it the financial and nurturing support needed, and that was important to me. I had no support network, none was offered either. I recall no discussions with social workers or other support agencies. I made my choice and that was it. So that was me, home schooling ‘til the child was born in December. Appointments at the doctors, until the time came for the hospital admission to induce me. All vague as I had a Caesarian due to foetal distress. In a room of my own, dad visiting and telling me he’d been to see that boy child I’d had delivered. I never went to see him. I signed the paperwork. My scar healed and life went on. Back to school, no questions no follow ups. Which, on my surface, was ok.

    My year of being 16. I never gave much thought then about how that could have, or even should have, changed my life. It happened, it was dealt with and that was it. Never brought up again. Did it make me shy from relationships? Not really. The only difference was that I started using contraceptives. Did I change in behaviour? Only in that I started skipping school more. Took to climbing out my bedroom window at night to take a walk and stand on the bridge over the main dual carriage way near my home. Watching the traffic, wondering where they were going. If a car or truck stopped and offered a lift for a drink or chat I’d usually get in. See! No sense of personal safety. I didn’t care for me, it seemed that those drivers cared more than I did.

    Different times then perhaps, though the people who do horrendous things have always been around. With the instancy of media at our fingertips now we just hear about it more often. Yet, I met some nice people, non threatening, gentle, lonely people looking for something too, however transient! I was always willing to have sex if that came about, but it wasn’t always the case. And it was sex, a commodity of reciprocation. Even if I wasn’t in the mood it was doable, as I could sink into the sensations. A whisper of breath over bare skin, a tease of tongue on nipple or elsewhere. The wish of some to rub their member on full breasts. Nothing kinky or truly bizarre, just fleeting connections of contact. Some even became ‘friends with benefits’. No strings, just companionship.

    The next few years were of a similar vein. Didn’t do great at those exams but I stayed on to do ‘A’ levels. A new friendship at school, her mother caring more than my own had ever done. Caring enough to express concern over my ‘careless’ behaviour. No career in mind though knowing Uni or art college not an option. I wanted to make a living, earn money and have a husband and family. Make more of life than I had.

  • Taking that step.

    Its odd when there has been such turmoil of emotion that there comes  a time where that flattens out.  The peaks and troughs of storm tossed seas lessen to swells. Not a calm but a bobbing up and down where ones  less likely to be swamped, still the occasional push under by a rogue wave that blindsides the heart. 

    In that calming, one rests,  as high emotions are tiring and perhaps to start wondering what is there to do, or be!  Where are the next steps in this life to head towards?  Because loss does that. It asked me to look at me and what I want.  I wanted Gavin to walk through the door and smile, and in a way he did.  I felt that his leaving was an invitation to walk through a door that his transition had opened within me. Could I take that first step? What was to change?

    The biggest habit in my life is being a smoker.  Never stopped when being pregnant, and yes, I know all the reasons why it’s not good for me, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Rationally, I know I shouldn’t do it, yet I’ve tried many times and not succeeded.  Perhaps it was time to give it a try in a different way.  I felt now was the time for a different approach. One not tried before.  Hypnotherapy.

    It wasn’t going to be easy yet somehow, I sort of felt that I had done the hardest thing ever in my life, and that was to say farewell to Gavin.  Now, given what I could recall of my early life, that’s saying something! I needed help, not pills or patches or replacements but a person who could help, and I happened to find one. Serendipity, Universal coincidence, Fate, Luck, Magic, call it what you like but I found who  I needed to, when I needed too and I’m most grateful.  

    So, in my coming writings, I’m going to share my experiences of what I thought I knew and what came to be rediscovered.  A voyage to the weird and scary, fantastical imagination or deep disturbance, yet simply my truth.

    I choose to share my experiences and my perspectives.  Feel free to judge them or not, comment or not, its always your choice. Share them with others if that feels right.

    My next blog will be what I thought I knew before therapy! 

  • How that first anniversary feels.

    To be honest the firsts of anything are hard.  The first Christmas,  mothers day, fathers day, their birthday etc.  We know it’s coming and there can be a sense of dread attached to that.  We found that to do something they would have liked, or to celebrate having known them rather than think of what we have lost is better for us. Remembrances of good times. Certainly better for me, and that’s not a denial of the pain felt. That is tacitly acknowledged,  a sadness that offers gladness to have been part of their physical lives and to be better for having known them. 

    When the first anniversary of Gavins death came round, we had already made a plan. To do something most extraordinary.  To overlay that sad with very special memories of family.  We went to Finland, the family of hubby and I, our daughter with her husband and our two grandchildren.  Snow, huskies, reindeer, the whole experiences that a wonderland of snow can offer.  Did it help, absolutely yes. 

    When we meet that anniversary now it’s with those memories of family. Gavin was with us as we fell and slipped and wondered at the experiences. He was still part of it in spirit of that, I’m certain. 

    On his birthday, I recall that bond of birthing that happened as I first held him. That soul thread attachment between us, welded and melded.  I am grateful that the thread hold strong to this day.  He is part of who I am, and will remain so through this life and all transitions. 

  • Where am I going!?

    When I was made redundant from work 6 months after our son died, I was in a better position to help my husband yet I intuitively knew I wasn’t there to rescue him or divert him from his grief.  I wasn’t going to be able to drag or bully him out of his depression or helplessness or any other feeling that he was having, regardless of whether he was intent on denying them or not.   I could only help myself. To carry on embracing my emotions, and to share that, or rather my,  way of being in his environment.  To share that it’s OK to feel helpless, lost, floundering in a sea of what’s the point. 

    So, I cried when I needed to cry, and I still do that. Its not often but I do have the heaving sobs and snotty nosed cries and always feel better after.  Emotion is energy in motion, it needs to be helped in moving through.  That’s perhaps why laughter is good for you, it moves all of the body with joy. 

    Obviously I wasn’t going to hang around my hubby waiting for his next time of needed solace. So where was I going, there’s only so much busy-ness a body can do, house clean, laundry done, dogs walked etc.

    I began sitting, looking at a golden soul thread that was pulled by my sons departure. I didn’t know that I was pondering on that, but in hindsight, that’s what it was. An invitation to find a different path. To perhaps weave a different cloth in what may remain of my life.  To step out of being daughter, sister, wife, mother, all those facets that have kept me in a seeming place. Doing what I have always done, try to fit in to what I thought others wanted or needed, ‘people please’, so as to find worth from others as I had none in and of myself. Though that too is an hindsight.   How can loss shape such thoughts? Grief,  tears one apart, dismantles a lot of what one thought one knew, opens up those darkened and hidden spaces where we have hidden from ourselves.  That is an opportunity to reorganise, to fling wide the doors and windows and really have a good look into those shadows, and maybe shine a little light.  Maybe with the loss of one purpose perhaps one looks for another and at my age, the patterns can change. Survival needs change. There is a roof over head, money available, children grown.  There is less wanting to climb the social ladder,  seeing that we have enough stuff and perhaps it’s time to gather up the inner treasure and make more or better use of what is already here.

    So,  where was I going? I was going to begin finding me.