I’m swimming in blue, inundated, drowning. Bright blue on the walls and a blue flowered bedspread suffocate me when I walk into my room. Mom almost growled at me when my mind froze, as it usually does, trying to come up with how I wanted to decorate my bedroom after we built our house, so I shut down and let her decide. For me decision making is kind of like struggling to dig my way out of a hole and then having someone come along and stamp the dirt back down on top of me; I don’t know if I’ve ever known what I want. My Granny’s favorite color is blue, and as a little girl I always agreed when she asked if mine was the same…sometimes willingly, sometimes nodding in silence. When you are a kid you do that kind of thing. I’m sure that is why Mom assumed I liked blue. Here I am a teen, and I’m still doing it…nodding my head when someone tells me what they think they know I like. It’s much easier to give in.
There is one place in my room I think I like. My closet. Its walls are covered with bright orange, yellow and green flowers. The paper was put up by me, myself and I. No one helped; no one else decided. I painstakingly cut around the brackets and became a contortionist to glue that stuff up. In spite of being laughed at (which always happens), I did it. I’m proud of it, and nobody can take it away from me. It’s also not so scary if I just see it once in a while, so putting it in the closet works out very well.
For the second time this year I have brought home a bright orange, red and gold flowered quilt and accessories to update our bland bedroom. Funny thing…the second time our reaction was the same as the first. The colors and pattern still seemed to shout and assault our senses when we spread it out on our bed, hardly creating the environment our quiet introvert souls crave. OK, said I to myself, why have I repeated the same mistake? Then I remembered the above story. Definitely a connection, don’t you think? My guess is part of me is stuck back in that blue room and bright closet. How do I get out? What needs to change? Do I need to forgive? Does a pattern need to be broken? All of the above?
Right now I want to slam the door (interesting wording considering I am talking about my bedroom and closet) on this process and walk away. I have had it up to my eyeballs with past pain. Maybe that is one of the reasons why I haven’t written for about 2 weeks. And, why life has felt so dry. But avoiding never brought healing. It’s like putting off necessary surgery; the problem only gets worse or the infection just festers.
So God, help me to continue on.