Embracing the chaos of "not there yet."

Today I walked into the bedroom and saw piles on every surface and in every direction.

Piles are the bane of my existence. They make life feel chaotic. They are one of my red flag signals that depression has entered the chat. Piles can be any collection of parts that got abandoned before the process had finished.

All the spices from last night’s dinner left on the counter. 

The contents of my fanny pack that got dumped on the coffee table when I was looking for lost keys. 

The library books that need to be returned, spilling out of a too-small tote bag. 

The summer clothes we pulled out to find a bathing suit for a last minute trip.

The remnants of previous moments are everywhere, and it wears me out.

This morning on the way to the kitchen for breakfast , I walked through a graveyard of moments past.  I immediately felt weary.

My body is like the “check engine” light of a car. Every so often, it alerts me that a part of the system needs care or repair.

When I feel weary, my shoulders feel heavy — like I’m wearing a backpack with too much stuff in it. My brain feels like it’s pressing against the edges of my skull. My legs feel like there are weights tied to each ankle. If my mind had a color, it would be bluegrey — the way the sky looks moments after a storm.

Cleaning up is the short solution. The spices go back in the cabinet, the fanny-pack gets organized, the books are returned, the clothes get put away.  

But the piles are not the problem. 

The reason for the piles is. 

Ridding myself of external chaos gives me only temporary relief. The mountains of things are indicators that something within needs my attention.

So in, I go.

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I am in the middle of many transitions right now. My mind has a lot on its plate. It makes sense that things have fallen by the wayside — I’m just a girl. 

I can only do so much.

There will always be unfinished tasks and projects. There will always be piles.

How do I make sense of all the voices in the room, shouting for my attention? 

There are so many things that need tending, and I feel like I can’t possibly tend to it all. Something always gets left behind.

Right now, some of the things waiting patiently in the wings for their moment center stage are:

A missed court date for a speeding ticket.

Not enough storage for the clothes in our now two-person bedroom.

An unanswered message from a potential therapist.

A broken toilet handle.

The garden I promised myself I would make this year.

These outstanding “must attend to’s” become a pile in and of themselves, and I am trying to figure out how to not feel so crushed by the weight.

I’m grateful I have learned my body’s language, so we can be in constant conversation. This morning’s weariness was an invitation to reflect on the current moment in my life and what I need to support myself while I journey through it.

I’m crossing a major threshold in my life right now.  I’m watching the next timeline unfold. Being on the bridge requires so much tenderness and self-compassion. I’m in between now and what’s next. It makes sense that I cannot carry everything with me as I go.

I’m traveling right now. I gotta pack light. 

I’m choosing to see each pile as an altar to where I’m going.

The spices are a spell, calling in nourishing abundance. The fanny pack contents are a reminder that life is happening, right here, right now. The books are a love letter to constant learning. The summer clothes are offerings to the energy of ease.

I release the tension in my shoulders. I allow the tears to flow. I do not judge myself for needing to put things down. I decide to be kind to myself — to be so sweet and forgiving. I exhale. I release the pressure to get it all done. 

How can I ask God to hold some of what I am carrying, if I refuse to let it go?

I’m embracing the chaos as a celebration of what is on the way.

And so it is.

From my pile to yours,

Jamila