I’m from a family of six girls. I am so happy to have each of my five sisters in my life.
Music Person
Now, in family, I am unofficially the “music person”. All of my sisters sing. Most of them can read music and play piano. Here’s the thing, I was once a music major (voice), and so I’ve taken the most music classes. I have a deeper understanding of music, simply because I needed to so that I could pass my classes. I do love music and I do consider myself a music person. But somehow in my family I became the music person.
With the title of “music person” came a lot of music books. First came the books I gathered from my own studies. Then, my grandmother bestowed some of her hoard upon me. If it was music, a strip of blue tape was applied which was labeled “Emma”. Then came the two apple boxes full of all the music my mom had gathered over the years. I took all of these and made a dedicated music shelf: 6 and 1/2 foot tall by 20 inches wide (about 2 meter tall by 1/2 meter wide) and almost stuffed to the brim.
You would think as a music person that having all this music around me would make me happy. It didn’t. One day I realized this. I woke up, walked down the hall into my living room. The first thing I saw in the living room was the music shelf. A book at the top of that shelf was titled “Easy Piano Classics”. I finally recognized how awful that book made me feel. I could not play a single thing in that book, and it was supposed to be easy.
I know how musical ability works. It works when you work it. Practice, practice, practice. If I wanted to get better at any music skill, I know that I need to devote at least one half hour a day to working on that skill. This shelf was filled with a multitude of diverse music skills for me to work on: sight singing, dictation, learn a new song for voice, or a new song for piano. But when I looked at the “Easy Piano Classics” book, I realized that if I was serious about improving my piano skills, I would find a teacher (coach) and pay to take lessons again.
Fantasy Self
I finally realized that the pillar of music books had slowly been poisoning me with the messages of toxic perfectionism. I believed the music books to be useful objects, so I should keep them. They were useful, I was the one who needed to change so that they would be used. I needed to contort myself into an unrecognizable shape to fit the type of person who truly owned these books, not just had them, but owned them: my Fantasy Self *. Fantasy Emma wouldn’t leave these books on the shelf just to collect dust. Fantasy Emma would have just the right book for the occasion, whip it out and play from it.
I started to realize that I was keeping these objects because it felt like they said something about me. There was a belief that acquiring music books somehow made me musical. The belief that letting go of these objects would strip me of an identity, and leave me bare, vulnerable and open to shame. I collected music books to show I was musical. I collected children’s books to show I’m an educator and that I super love my children. I collect kitchen gadgets because I’m going to learn how to make everything from scratch. I collect t-shirt fabric because one day I’m going to be one of those moms who sew all of their kids clothes. But most of all, I collect things that are helpful or useful because I want to be helpful and useful. I was taught not to throw out things that were still useful. It was almost as a desperate plea that if I was useful, I wouldn’t be thrown out either.
A New Focus
I was a little horrified when I realized I had this hidden belief deep inside. I couldn’t stand to have those books in my house for another day! I boxed them up and immediately drove to a second hand store to donate them. I set aside music books that belonged to my sister and later returned them to her. I kept some music books for myself, but only a very select few. You could say that they were the ones that “Sparked Joy“. I would say that they are the ones that help me to feel connected: to myself and to my kids. I was done being a “useful person” and wanted to be a connected person.
I played around with that idea. Useful people get laid off by companies all the time. Useful people get in one sided relationships and then get tossed to the side. Useful doesn’t mean connected. The people who are connected to me will never toss me aside. They aren’t looking to drop me the moment I am no longer useful to them. There is a satisfaction in knowing that I contributed, but it doesn’t compare to the feeling of connecting with another human being. I started to play with the words and this idea came to light: useful people feel used, connected people feel connected. I want to feel connected.
It helps me connect with my kids.
Connecting to Who You Are
Do any of these questions spark something inside of you? What would help you gather courage for the next step in your healing journey? Consider talking through it with a friend.
Decluttering
- Are there objects that you see in your house every day that make you feel like a failure?
- How do the clothes in your closet make you feel? Can some of them live somewhere else?
- How do you feel in the clothes you wear? Are there better options for you with the body you have right now?
- How do you feel when you are on your different electronic devices? Does your online environment need some decluttering too? What kind of digital boundaries would help?
- What kind of objects do you feel you hide behind? How do they protect you from vulnerability and shame? Is there a healthier way to get the need met?
Fantasy Self
- How can you tell the difference between healthy striving and toxic perfectionism? What things help you to improve your ability to make that distinction?
- How is your fantasy self getting in the way of who you really want to be and what you really want to do in life?