Little Brothers

Little brothers bring up such fond memories. 

They are the jewels in our crowns and the pains in our arse!

Love and annoyance perfectly entwined as only your sibling would know. 

Bound by families, circumstances and era, yet, each so vastly different.

You have been there, together, all the way.

Through thick and thin, highs and lows, side by side or apart. 

Tit for tat, a pinch and a punch, a snicker or a look.   

Fart jokes, code names, shit heads and friends. 
Inseparable.

I have two enormously huge "little" brothers.
Each their own and together one.
   

I'll admit,  I wasn't the kindest, fairest or greatest role model of a big sister. 

I most certainly gave my share of less than sisterly love. 

My two younger brothers copped a lot, and they had fun giving it back. 

Our siblings get the best of us. 

They get all of us, the good, the awesome, the ugly and the down right shit. 

and they are undeniably a part of us. 

It is here, within our families that we learn our first experiences of relationships, ourselves, life and love.
In all its mess, pain, beauty and fullness. 

It's my middle brothers birthday today and it is for him that I write this post. 

I had no idea of what I wanted to say, yet as the words hit the page I can feel where it's going. 

It's leading me into those unhealded parts of myself, waiting patiently for the light. They are ready, I can feel that they have been for years. I just like to hold onto things. 
They are Ready for release, ready for forgiveness, ready to let go and move on. 

The wound of which I speak of is firmly associated with my middle brother and his arrival into our family. My uncle had died tragically in a car accident only a few short weeks before. 

The complete cycle of life: death, birth and change all in a few short weeks. 

I didn't cope well.  

I was hurt, angry and scared and that's pretty much where I stayed, for decades. 

A fact that I was completely unaware of until recently. 

When we are ready, the truth heals.  

This hurt, I took out on my brothers and those around me and in particular the brother who we welcomed into our family at this time - the bright, cheeky shit of a gorgeous light Nev. 

So Nev,  

From your once bitch of a sister. 

I love you and I have something I would like to say. 

Something I need to say for us both.  To heal old wounds, release the past and move forward in love. 

its simple and profound and goes like this:

"I'm sorry, mate".  

I'm sorry that I took my emotional hurt out on you 

It took a while, but you succeeded in leading me to the unhealed places within myself. 

In that cheeky, always right, shit of a way that you have. 

My brothers truly are the jewels in my crown, they are also the very best pains in my arse. 
Because in every moment they take my shit with a smile and then continue to lovingly challenge me to be a better version of myself. 

I have skeletons in my wardrobe.

I have skeletons in my wardrobe, hanging prettily.

I have skeletons in my wardrobe, draping peacefully.

I have skeletons in my wardrobe, speaking quietly.

I have skeletons in my wardrobe waiting patiently.

Disguised by their beauty,

Disguised by their value,

Disguised by quality

I simply couldn’t see.

The beauty of their souls looking back at me.

Spring cleaning, de-cluttering, throwing out and letting go are not new terms.  We hear them daily.  Different phrases of similar meaning, all coined towards a singular, greater message – “Let go”,  “Kiss it goodbye”,  “The past is gone, you don’t live there anymore” and “out with the old, in with the new”.  Be it jobs, relationships, clothes, experiences or things we are encouraged to say goodbye, fare the well and move on.   

Then there’s spiritual surrender, forgiveness and releasing the past.  

Clear space, make room, be at peace and shed our skins all for moving forward into “the new you”.

I got it, well, theoretically, I did.   I preached it, I practiced it and I lived it.   Yet, somehow some things stayed firmly wedged.

I easily let go of the surface layer, happy to part with the top soil.  Yet underneath that pretty surface, a quadruple layered concrete bomb shelter held a rock solid, stead fast grasp on the past.

I love serendipities.   The more than coincidences that sneak up on us with childlike humour screaming “surprise”.   They give us fresh eyes, a damn good shake up and a new way of seeing.  There’s nothing like a good “boo” to shock you into the here and now.

My serendipity came in the form of my most hung onto skeleton.  Hidden deeply away from view in our bottom bedroom and a sleepover cleanup.   My daughter is having a friend over, and I needed to clear the spare room for their most welcome adventure.

In rearranging and reorganising, I opened the back room wardrobe and there she was.  The big black garbage bag of “I don’t want to know”.  A beautiful white satin gown of luxury lace, delicate buttons, hand embroidery and 80’s puff sleeves otherwise known as My Deb Dress.   The item that I had lovingly and begrudgingly carried around for 20 years, hidden in a giant big black garbage bag, left to die a slow death on the rung of countless spare room wardrobes.  

I’ve carried this baby through relationships, moves, children and way to many life experiences. Firmly shoved out of sight, out of mind, tightly kept in the back of my psyche all because it was all simply too hard.

My dress was beautiful, it was significant and it was loaded with the emotional attachment of the memories of that time.  Memories all too hard and painful to remember and for many, many years a source of a great big case of self beat up.  

My Debutante ball was beautiful.  I have fond memories of dancing, friends, a father daughter waltz and of feeling beautiful.  It was also emotionally catastrophic -  young love, guilt, shame and regret all firmly imprinted, entwined and reflected in beautiful white satin.

Here this dress has hung in my wardrobe, silently reflecting the emotions I have spent two decades avoiding, waiting patiently for the time when I was ready to forgive and let go.    

Clarity, clear and true.

The external reflection of my inner world.  

My wardrobe is delicately lined with emotional skeletons.  The full showcase, runway worthy collection of unfelt emotions reflected in gorgeous, beautiful and expensive fabric. Italian wool, leather, sequins and to die for boots all reflecting a big case of I don’t want to know.

In that moment I saw it all.  I sat on my bed and cried.  I gave myself full permission to remember and feel those events.  To own the emotions, to see the circumstantial nature to it all and to fully release the past.  In a way I surrendered it to something much greater than me.   I honoured those involved, said my personal I’m sorry and let it go.

The very next morning, I unhung my dress, big black plastic bag included, said my thankyous and donated her with love to a local charity.   No reflection, no attachment, only peace.  Lesson learnt, task fulfilled, both of us ready to part ways, move forward and release. 

There are many other skeletons still hung in wardrobe, hidden in cashmere, sequins and stilettos, awaiting their own personal release.

The dress I wore to my dads second wedding – emotional maelstrom.

The dress I wore to my nan’s funeral – emotional loss

Others each entwined with attachment in their own way.

One by one I release them with a prayer of thanks and forgiveness.

I’m cleaning out, I’m letting go.  

The past, I don’t live there anymore.  

What skeletons hang in your wardrobe?