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?