Over the past couple of years I’ve noticed that whenever I’m going through a creative phase or a growth phase of some sort, my house tends to get very messy.  I’m normally a very tidy person, not because I think I should be that way, but because I’ve learned that my whole being (body, mind, spirit) does better when dwelling in an environment that is harmonious and organized.

So it’s my normal and natural desire to have my space stay tidy.  I thrive in a space where things are put away and stuff doesn’t pile up or get too disorganized.  However, when I’m in the midst of a big change or a special project, I usually notice, a day or two into the zone, that my house has become much more messy.

When we moved in June, we literally eliminated half of our belongings by donating them, giving them away, selling them, or tossing them in the trash.  It was a radical clearing of the literal decks, of reclaiming physical space.  So we now have a lot less stuff to keep tabs on, less to pick up and put away, less stuff to create a mess.  Which is great!

But I noticed last night that during this week’s push to launch the My Remembering Place website (which was very much like a mother bird nudging her young one to take a tentative first flight out of the nest), my house had turned into quite the mess!

I stood in my bedroom–the floor haphazardly covered by my daughters’ dirty laundry, my husband’s discarded dress shirt that had been tossed aside after break-fast on Monday night, shoes missing their spouses, a scattered toy or two, a stray sock that fits only a tiny little foot, and a couple of hair elastics–and laughed.  I’ve learned to accept the cyclical nature of our home’s environment.  And I even gave myself permission to NOT pick everything up right then and there.  And I actually felt completely okay with leaving it!

Which indicated to me right then and there just how far I’ve come with accepting the mess in my home, when it feels right to me to accept and even embrace that chaotic state.

In the late nineties I was spending quite a bit of time actively working on my mental health.  I was developing a relationship with a new therapist–Wendy–in one-on-one sessions and during one particularly challenging phase of 1998 or 1999, I was also spending the bulk of my day at an outpatient day treatment center.

In both settings I spent almost all of my energy focused on one primary task.  First and foremost I did whatever it took to keep my emotional house tidy.  I wasn’t about to let anyone see my MESSY MIND.  People were welcome to come on in and spend time in my mental house.  I’d sit and talk to any therapist in the center about anything and everything.  I’d talk for 50 minutes straight during a session with Wendy, saying quite a lot but never letting anything out.

I refused to let the truth come out.

I refused to let tears fall.

I refused to let it get messy.

I even had a very special counselor call me out on my unwillingness to let down my neatness guard, even just a smidgen, even while surrounded by many other people who were just pouring their stuff out on the table, the floor, and into the air for all of us to witness and observe.

His name was Don D’Agostino.  I remember his name, clear as day.  I remember staring at it, the raised glossy font of letters on his business card, which I held in my hand and stroked over and over with my thumb while he reached out to my heart.

My heart was listening to him speak and the veneer started to crack.  I felt a swell of emotions so intense that I was afraid the dam was going to break, once and for all… that all those nasty feelings and thoughts and fears and memories were going to start rushing out of me like a flood.

I couldn’t do it.  I was too scared.  I wasn’t ready.

I was more comfortable keeping all of that mess wrapped up neatly inside of me.  Yes, I was the proud custodian and this mess was to stay behind closed doors, thank you very much.  I figured it was my job to somehow work all that stuff out, on the inside, without ever letting anyone in on what was hidden.

Years went by.  I kept working with Wendy, and one day, sitting in a chair in her office, it happened.

I cried.

I cried hard.

I cried so hard I was sobbing and gasping and almost (it felt) unable to breathe.

And then, it stopped.

And Wendy was still sitting there, with the expression I’d come to take great comfort in still upon her face.

I was shocked.  I had always felt and BELIEVED that if I opened the door and let someone see just how incredibly messy it was inside of me, that bad things would happen.

I believed I’d never be able to stop crying.

I was certain no one else would want to stay near me while I sobbed.

But I’d been wrong.  That moment was a turning point in my healing and in my life.

I  now have a special chair in my bedroom that I call my Remembrance chair.  Sometime in 2008, while working on my business and my life during Mark Silver’s classes, it occurred to me that I wanted to create, in my home, a space dedicated to my Remembrance practice.

Because for me, one of the greatest benefits of my daily spiritual practice is making that space… that placeholder in space and time when I get to sit down and honestly and authentically ask myself, “What’s going on with me right now?”

And whenever I sit in that chair, which is at least once per day, I make space for the mess.

Sometimes I check in with myself and find that I’m doing fine, truly fine.

Other times I do sit and cry.  Or feel sad.  Or feel scared.

But it never lasts too, too long and my heart always knows what is coming next.  There’s comfort in the process.  There’s space to let it get messy, knowing that no matter how messy it gets, I’m going to be okay.  I already am okay.  Because messy isn’t bad, it’s just a phase, a stop along the way, a landmark on my path.

I’ve learned that when I don’t engage that old pattern, that formerly super intense urge to stuff what I’m feeling deep down inside and walk away from it, as if it doesn’t exist… that when I actually embrace the messy, and meet those feelings head, or rather heart on, my internal house tidies itself right up.

It’s actually like working a bit of magic.  It’s like the way my physical house gets into disarray when I’m creating something special.  Once the process has unfolded naturally, we’re back to neat and tidy in no time–genuinely looking AND feeling good.

And if that’s the result, well then I am wholeheartedly willing to accept and embrace letting it get messy!