The toys I have been installing in my tiny house remind me of the choices I can make and the reasons I need to make good ones. I have had some great days, full of making and building and eating and bicycle riding, full of old friends and new experiences.
My life has been blooming in so many corners and forgotten patches, I am excited and sometimes, unnerved by it. There are things happening and opportunities appearing that I never dreamed I would have.
But still, I struggle. Of course I struggle. My anger still flares up when I am feeling anxious or frightened and I know that the best thing to do is walk away before I say or do anything that could destroy someone. Sometimes, I can manage it. Sometimes, my rage gushes out of my mouth and into the eyes of a person who didn't see it coming.
I am always sorry later.
It's not that it happens often, but when it does, it forces me to see that these people who trigger me, who treat me like I am not worthy of consideration in any meaningful way, are actually wonderful people to have around, because I don't want them or anyone like them to have the power that pushes me to anger and destructive rage. I don't want good days ruined because someone was inconsiderate or thoughtless. I want to be able to see the behavior of others as a reflection of them, and not of me.
When I spiral downward into anxiety and fear and lack, I have nothing but to scream into the void that follows me even into my good days. I want to scream for every time I was discounted, discredited or deserted. I want to rage against the people who put my feelings at the bottom of their list of priorities because they were too weak to admit to their own horrors.
But anger, screaming, rage, they don't make me feel more important or worthy. On the contrary, my behavior only serves to validate my fears and sends me into anxiety after who I might become.
This is the real reason for the old wooden toys I have installed onto the walls of my home. The moments I take to pause before my days begin and after they are through are what anchor me to what is possible. The time I take to play with the old wooden xylophone and the wooden ball roller reminds me that at my core I am not rage or lack or anxiety. Those are the things that happen when I forget that my value is based on the joy I take in my own life.
As I run the tiny mallet across the surface of the old metal keys, I remember that there is joy blooming in me, and there are people who bring that out, who love seeing me happy, and celebrate every new opportunity that comes my way. There are places and experiences waiting to be met by my curiosity, and though I struggle with my rage, it is not what defines me, it is what reminds me that the choices I make can change my day one way or the other.
I just have to remember to make the right choices and learn from the people who tempt me to go the other way.
My life has been blooming in so many corners and forgotten patches, I am excited and sometimes, unnerved by it. There are things happening and opportunities appearing that I never dreamed I would have.
But still, I struggle. Of course I struggle. My anger still flares up when I am feeling anxious or frightened and I know that the best thing to do is walk away before I say or do anything that could destroy someone. Sometimes, I can manage it. Sometimes, my rage gushes out of my mouth and into the eyes of a person who didn't see it coming.
I am always sorry later.
It's not that it happens often, but when it does, it forces me to see that these people who trigger me, who treat me like I am not worthy of consideration in any meaningful way, are actually wonderful people to have around, because I don't want them or anyone like them to have the power that pushes me to anger and destructive rage. I don't want good days ruined because someone was inconsiderate or thoughtless. I want to be able to see the behavior of others as a reflection of them, and not of me.
When I spiral downward into anxiety and fear and lack, I have nothing but to scream into the void that follows me even into my good days. I want to scream for every time I was discounted, discredited or deserted. I want to rage against the people who put my feelings at the bottom of their list of priorities because they were too weak to admit to their own horrors.
But anger, screaming, rage, they don't make me feel more important or worthy. On the contrary, my behavior only serves to validate my fears and sends me into anxiety after who I might become.
This is the real reason for the old wooden toys I have installed onto the walls of my home. The moments I take to pause before my days begin and after they are through are what anchor me to what is possible. The time I take to play with the old wooden xylophone and the wooden ball roller reminds me that at my core I am not rage or lack or anxiety. Those are the things that happen when I forget that my value is based on the joy I take in my own life.
As I run the tiny mallet across the surface of the old metal keys, I remember that there is joy blooming in me, and there are people who bring that out, who love seeing me happy, and celebrate every new opportunity that comes my way. There are places and experiences waiting to be met by my curiosity, and though I struggle with my rage, it is not what defines me, it is what reminds me that the choices I make can change my day one way or the other.
I just have to remember to make the right choices and learn from the people who tempt me to go the other way.
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