Decluttering My Way

 I have a confession to make.

    I hate housework. Yes, me - the proprietor of Busy Bee Domestic Wizardry, where I cleaned other peoples' houses for six years. It's true. Oh, I know how to clean, I just don't like to do it. And I live with someone who has self-admitted mild packrat tendencies; which is not to say that I'm any better. My craft room looks like Michael's barfed all over my space. And we have kids who, to one degree or another, have difficulty parting with belongings because they attach so must sentimental value to the objects, feel overwhelmed when facing cleaning due to executive dysfunction, get anxious, or like me, have a serious case of LazyVision­. When we put an object down, if it stays there long enough, we just stop seeing it altogether.

    Over the last few months, the topic of decluttering has come up on my social media feed a lot. I've developed a method that borrows from a few sources that I have found inspirational in my own  (ongoing) decluttering journey, and also takes my undiagnosed ADHD and associated executive dysfunction into account. I've spent the past few years refining it, and I'm pretty happy with how it looks now. Is my family perfect? Certainly not. Friends have told me that it sounds like a good method, so I decided to share it here, and I hope that it - or at least parts of it - are useful for you. Please feel free to keep what is useful, and ignore what doesn't work for you or your situation

    So here are the principles:

    1. Preparation Is Key

    In order to have a really successful decluttering session, you need to be ready for it. This was a trick that I gleaned from The Flylady. She sells cute purple bins that are for the "Keep/Toss/Give Away" process, but you really don't have to spend anything beyond your regular household budget. Another important thing I learned was not to do it when I'm tired, or hungry, or stressed. That having been said, there are going to be times that you can't avoid this, and that's okay. But be aware of your personal condition going into it, and make the necessary allowances for it. Remember: it is always right to be kind to yourself.

    With that in mind, this method works whether you have five minutes, or a whole day. You will need the following: a garbage bag, a recycling bag or box, a bag or box for donated items, a refreshing drink with a spill-proof container, and a list if you find that sort of thing helpful. My particular flavour of ADHD means that I live my life by a series of lists, as that is what keeps me on track and avoid devolving into a chaotic mess of "startitis". Now you're ready to dig in.

    2. Start With The Easy Decisions

    If you're decluttering, your space has clearly become more than you can easily or comfortably cope with. Don't beat yourself up about it; it happens to all of us sometimes. Again, go back to my Golden Rule of Decluttering - Be kind to yourself. If you are planning to go through things that have great personal significance or sentimental value for you, or that you anticipate will be difficult to face, such as going through a deceased loved ones' belongings, you may want to ask a family member or a friend to help with the process; someone who isn't emotionally invested in your stuff can help you see things more clearly, and be able to make decisions quickly and with conviction.

    So, what are the "easy decisions", anyway? I break these down into five smaller jobs: garbage/recycling, stuff that doesn't belong in here, dirty laundry, clean laundry, and books. If you haven't guessed by now, my family has a lot of these things in the spaces that need decluttering!

        A. Garbage: This one is really easy. Just toss anything that is obviously garbage. Snap open that garbage bag, and toss that crap!

        B. Stuff That Doesn't Belong In Here: This is the only time I disregard my "Only touch an item once" rule. Set it aside *OUTSIDE OF THE ROOM YOU'RE WORKING IN* and put them all away in their proper home when your decluttering session is nearing its end.

        C. Dirty Laundry: Gather it up, and put it in the place closest to getting them washed, dried, folded, and put away. For our house, that's in the large bins in the laundry room. Do what works best for you.

        D. Clean Laundry: You have no idea how many times I've walked into a kids' bedroom to find the laundry I've lovingly washed, dried, and folded sitting in increasingly untidy stacks on top of dressers, beds, desks, or on the floor. If I had a nickel for every time, I'd probably be able to retire. Just put it away. 

        E. Books: Put them where they belong in the room, be that a bookshelf, or a tidy stack on the bedside table, or the donate bin. Our kids all have a bookshelf in their rooms; oddly, Hubby and I don't have one in *our* bedroom, and we're both bibliophiles, so I have a feeling that this will be changing as I go through the process of decluttering the master bedroom this summer.

    Once these five things are done, I promise, you will be struck by how much better your room looks already. What may have seemed a truly insurmountable task now feels achievable - and it is.

    3. Touch Each Item Only Once

    I'm a big fan of not doing more work than is necessary, and this principle really feeds into that. When your easy decisions are done, it's time to settle in for the "Keep/Toss/Give Away" portion. When you do this, you should be able to make a pretty definitive decision about your belongings within five seconds. Once the decision has been made, either put it in the garbage, the donate container, or, and this is a key thing I learned from Dana, aka A Slob Comes Clean, go put it in its home *right now*. This all but ensures that you only have to touch each item once. This is also the stage where Flylady's two questions come into play ("Do I love it? Do I use it?" If you can say yes to one of these, by all means, keep the item), as well as Dana's decluttering questions ("If I was looking for this, where is the first place I'd look? GO PUT IT THERE NOW", and "If I needed this, would I know that I already had one? No? Put it in the donate bin. Yes? PUT IT THERE NOW."). Likewise, Marie Kondo suggests that you ask if the item sparks joy for you, and if it doesn't, you thank it for serving its purpose in your life and let it go.

    4. Progress, Not Perfection

    This principle was probably the hardest for me to embrace. I am, by nature, a perfectionist. So having to leave a project unfinished used to give me a great deal of guilt. But with the idea that you're seeking progress, and not perfection, even five minutes of decluttering is still progress. And try not to get hung up on things if you have someone helping you that does things differently, or forgets a step, or makes a mistake. If it's not done to the standards you expect from yourself, that's okay. As FlyLady is fond of saying, "Housework done incorrectly still blesses your family."

    5. Wrap It Up

    However long you've been working, the time has come to wrap it up. The whole idea behind this method is that you never leave a room in a state of chaos - at least, no more so than you found it in! Put the garbage and recycling bags outside,  the donate container in your vehicle for the next drop-off day, and your things that don't belong in that room it their proper places. By putting things away as you go, you are always making progress, and you're never putting yourself further behind.

    So there it is. If you find any of this useful, or have any questions, throw me a comment!

New Skills Emerging

For some years now, Hubby and I have been talking about writing a children's book series. Well, last week, I wrote the first one. It was an assignment for school, and I figured, since we had to write a story anyway, maybe I could get the series underway.

The main character is named after a beloved friend, and the idea was to write about her experiencing some of the more difficult things that children might face, to teach kids how to navigate those turbulent waters.

The first book in the series is titled "Amanda Panda and the Sad Day". It is about Amanda Panda's best friend losing her dog to a car accident, and how Amanda Panda learns about sympathy, empathy, and how to be a good friend to someone who is grieving. For some reason, this book poured out of me; it felt like it wrote itself. I suppose that's the way all of my best writing has come about.

Anyway, I just wanted to mention this. I'm proud of how it turned out, and my instructor printed, laminated, and bound it into a book, so if you ever want to read it, let me know!

Finding My Way

Note: This is a long, rambling post, that gives lot of history to get to a very short point. If you don't want to slog through it, just skip to the last two paragraphs.

I feel lost in my hobby.

I have been playing in our medieval hobby group for 17 years, and Hubby has been playing for 13 years. When I first started playing, it was on my own. I was married and had a toddler, but he didn't play (long story). Even so, between Primus staying home with his father and the help of friends minding him, I was able to do a lot of service, teaching, and art. And I had big dreams: to advance my art to the point that the people I look up to and admire in Society would find my artistry acceptable, and that the way in which I conduct myself and serve others would enrich this game we all play to the absolute highest standard. In the next few years, I had a second child, and my friends continued helping me to do everything that brought me joy. In early 2007, BD and I broke up, and several months later, I met and began dating Hubby.

Now that I had a partner that was an active participant in our hobby, the help with kids started to dry up. I'm not bitter about that; it was to be expected - we now had two active, involved, and engaged parents, and I didn't need as much help from others. Besides, everyone wants to hold a baby, but toddlers and preschoolers? Not really. After all, they want to be on the ground, running around! And then I got pregnant. We wanted four kids altogether, so this was the plan. During that pregnancy, I had the opportunity to serve in the largest capacity of my "career" in the group, in a key retinue position. I worked hard, and feel like I acquitted myself well, even with a new baby. One job blended into the next, and I took on an administrative role in our Principality. 16 months later, I had another baby, and I was a very active player until sometime in 2011, when I hit the proverbial wall. I had a "helium hand", and wanted to do as much as I could for as long as I could. I wasn't a good steward of my own resources, and as a result of that, I burned out - HARD. I no longer loved my hobby, so I took a hiatus of more or less two years.

In that time, Hubby took a brief break, then resumed playing. And I began to question my place in the group. Had I made an impact? Had the work I'd done made things better for everyone? Had my efforts in promoting courtesy resulted in a more courteous Society? I felt that there were no concrete answers to those questions, and as a result, it took me longer to come back to it than I had originally anticipated.

The collateral damage of taking a hiatus is that your "career path", for lack of a better term, tends to veer off the map into limbo. People forget who you are, what you did, that you ever did anything, or what you are capable of. And sometimes, you forget, too. In that stretch of time, I really feel like I lost touch with who I was within the greater context of Society. I was boiled down to "wife of" and "mother of", and didn't feel like an entity unto myself

I reluctantly returned, at least part-time, in 2013 because I could see how much Hubby wanted me to. My first event back was when he petitioned our local Baroness to be her Courtier. I wanted to be there to support him, but I wasn't really feeling it, and I spent a good part of the day feeling very isolated. And I know it was me isolating myself; people I hadn't seen in a year or two seemed happy to see me, but I felt nervous and shy. Hubby was playing much more actively than I was. He went to events that I didn't feel like going to, and sometimes, he went to events that we couldn't afford for both of us to go to. His arts mentor encouraged him to attend more and larger events, and these were also events that I did not attend, staying home with the kids so that he could follow his dream. I encouraged it, because he was still passionate about it. I was having a lot of difficulty rediscovering my passion, and I really needed to sit down and think about why that was. Over time, the thought of walking into an event where Hubby had a cadre of friends I didn't know became more and more daunting for this introvert. They certainly wouldn't know who I was, apart from "spouse of that Really Cool Dude Who Does The Neat Stuff"; would anybody know - or care - that I am an embroiderer, weaver, knitter, illuminator, archer? Or am I just support staff for the guy who is clearly on his way to a peerage? What would I do now?

My artistry was suffering. I had hardly picked up silk and needle, or brush and paint. Goodness knows, there isn't a lot of time in the day to create art when you have two kids in diapers. Serving for a year as Treasurer on our elementary school's PAC executive took time and energy, as did the day-to-day work of being a wife, mother, daughter, sister,friend and home-based business owner. I was exhausted. The strain that was placed on us every time Hubby entered a competition was difficult; his focus was singular, particularly in the few weeks leading up to the deadline for documentation, and then leading up to the competition itself. That singularity of purpose, often borne of procrastination and the resulting feeling of last-minute panic sometimes made him short with us, and the lion's share of the work of running and maintaining the home fell on my shoulders. The one saving grace was that he still did the bulk of the cooking - a thing that I appreciate to this day. But it was hard, and I admit that I bristled inwardly each time he announced that he was entering a competition, because I didn't feel like he considered the impact it had on everyone else in the house. It took a lot of difficult talks for him to understand that instead of announcing that he was entering a competition, talking it over with me *before* making a decision was going to go over a lot better, and result in a more supportive and encouraging spouse.

I fully came back to the hobby when I was ready. I missed eventing, and I really missed the people. I missed creating. I missed serving. Most of all, I missed the me that I was when I was doing all of those things. But by the time I came back, my path was untended, and I didn't know how to cut away the overgrowth; how to stand up and allow myself to be seen. Hubby had this whole new group of friends with common interests, and I felt very much not a part of his SCA journey. And I started to feel forgotten. Resentment crept in, which is a horrible thing, because I was truly happy for his progress. But I felt like I had sacrificed my own path in order to secure his. And really, that's exactly what I had done.

I spent seven years feeling like that. So we spent some time talking about that, and getting on the same page.

This past March, just ahead of the shutdown of so many things due to COVID-19, Hubby was recognized as a Peer of the Realm. He had achieved what he had worked so hard for - recognition of his scholarship, his intelligence and his talent. And I was there, right behind him, as I always have been; I saw the look on his face when he realized what was happening, the look of pride on his mentor's face as she called him up, and proceeded to both beam and weep throughout his elevation, the looks of joy, respect, and admiration on the faces of his peers, and the look of delight on the faces of our King and Queen as they bestowed this accolade on him. The Queen was gracious in indicating that Hubby should hug me first before being embraced by his peers, but there was still a part of me that felt very much on the outside of things. He is the first to introduce me to his friends, and to try to include me in conversations with them, but invariably, the topic turns to something I know nothing about, and I get quiet and withdrawn. I still feel very much like I exist on the periphery of his world. The pandemic shut our Kingdom down the day after his elevation, so the isolation and lack of eventing that has ensued has only served to magnify those feelings of disconnect for me.

Where does that leave me? I have spent some time considering not only what I want to pour into my hobby, but also what I need to get from doing so to maintain balance and not spiral into another burnout. I need to figure out who I am in Society now, and who I want to be moving forward. I don't want to spend my days as only "spouse of Peer X"; I want to distinguish myself and be seen as a valuable member of Society in my own right.

So how do I do that?

I'm figuring it out, and I've got a lot going for me. I have the good fortune to be surrounded by beloved friends, truly the family of my heart, that are invested in my happiness and success. I get really sound advice from people I trust implicitly. I have been asked to assume leadership of a large project by a Peer that I adore and admire, that feels I am that perfectly suited for the task. It marries both artistry and service. I am also on a team of people tackling another large project.  Hubby has told me that he's ready to support me on my journey. I think most importantly, I am embarking on a new path, with a new service mentor whom I admire and respect greatly. I have set myself short-, mid-, and long-range plans for both my artistry and service that will allow me to focus my energy on the things that really bring me joy, and I'm learning where the edges of my resources are, so that I'm never pushing the envelope again.

I chose the elements of my personal heraldry when I first joined based on my interests at the time and personal preferences, but the heraldic meaning of it is so much more meaningful now: well-governed industry. So my intention is to ensure that my industry is always well-governed, that I am not taking on too much and risking burnout again, and that I am pouring my energy into activities that always bring me joy. Because if you're not finding joy in your hobby, why are you doing it?

In Over My Head

Today was my first real day of school, and I already feel overwhelmed.

We were given two projects, with due dates of March 27; once the material was presented, we were given lab time to work on them.

I felt completely lost.

This feeling was compounded by observing many of the other students finding their resources easily; one student even completed the first (and more involved) project with time to spare in the first class.

I realize that it's my first day, and that many of the people in the class have been there since last August, but that knowledge really didn't do much to assuage my feelings of failure and worthlessness. I used to pride myself on my intelligence, but I'm being served a mighty big helping of humble pie today, and to be honest, it tastes kind of bitter.

Not at all what I was hoping for.

On The Threshold of A New Life

In seven hours, I will step into a classroom where I am the student for the first time in 28 years.

Just typing those words is scary for me. I've been reassured by many people that I'll do fine, that it will seem easy, that I will be successful... and on some level, I know these things. But I am still scared of the unknown, and until I walk into that classroom at 8 am tomorrow, I'm going to be a bundle of nerves and self-doubt. I'm embarking on 43 weeks of study, and hopefully, by the end of it, I will find full-time employment as an education assistant in this school district.

I spent the last six years cleaning houses for seniors, and it has slowly and systematically been breaking my body. I started out with tendinitis in both hands, the result of working too hard, too fast, and for too long on a cross stitched piece for my best friend in my 20s. Next came bilateral tennis elbow in 2017. In January of this year, due to overcompensating for the pain in my right elbow, I managed to injure my left shoulder. The clinic doctor said biceps tendinitis with possible rotator cuff involvement, and a month later, the physiotherapist says that it's the rotator cuff, which is exacerbating the biceps tendons, left pectoral, elbow, hand, shoulder blade and neck. I'm trying acupuncture and daily exercises, so we'll see how that goes.

But it was this most recent injury that served as the catalyst for a big change. I had initially considered just taking the ASL courses that our local university offers through Continuing Education, in order to better equip myself to be a silent herald for our SCA events. But after a brief perusal of the UFV website, the idea was planted to investigate the feasibility of going back to school full-time to become an EA. This was something that Hubby and I had talked about years ago; we crunched the numbers, and while going back to school to become a teacher was not worth the time and money invested, going back to become an EA was a much more reasonable proposition. But while the kids were young, and would require full-time daycare, the cost was just something we couldn't manage. But now, with Quarta being 9, and Tertius on the verge of going to middle school, it really seemed like the timing was finally right. We still didn't have the funds to pay for it, but I had an idea. I decided to approach my mother about getting an advance on my inheritance to pay for school in full, and to cover any lost income for the duration of my schooling.

Things started moving pretty quickly after the decision was made; I met with one of Hubby's EAs from last year, a recent graduate of a similar program (and longtime psychologist prior to that), and not only did she encourage me to enroll in the program, but she said that I would be great at it, and expressed the hope that I would end up working alongside her at her work site. The next step was calling the school to see what it was going to cost, and when I might be able to start. March 2 was the date. A little faster than I had anticipated, but perhaps it was better that way - less of a chance for me to chicken out. Once that was settled, I spoke to my mum and brother, and they were both fully on board. This was really happening. Then came all the paperwork: criminal record checks, TB tests, doctor's notes, and a composition detailing why I want to do this, and what I bring to the program, and the career. Also, initialing and signing my name enough times to think I was signing over my firstborn child (don't worry, Primus, you're safe).

That brings me to this moment: seven hours away from the start of school. I'm 47, and I'm terrified that my intellect has atrophied so much as to sabotage any chance at success. Maybe I'm so scared because I want this so much? I hope I am equal to the task, because if I'm successful, it means a whole new life for me.

Dad

I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot lately.

We just celebrated the first of two family Thanksgiving dinners, and it gave me pause to remember that Thanksgiving dinner was the last meal I ever cooked for my dad.

Three years. Three years that I haven't been able to call him and laugh about how ridiculous US politics are, or Canadian politics, for that matter. Three years since I got to go over the most recent BC Lions score, or rail at how easily the Canucks gave up their lead. Again. Three years since I asked for his advice about something, anything. Three years since my children crawled onto the armrest of his overstuffed recliner for a snuggle. Three years since I saw saw him smile, or heard his voice.

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving when my father  was hospitalized for the last time.

I had been feeling down for a few days before I realized why:

Grief never ends.

I found a poem today that resonated with me, so I'm going to share it below.  Hope you get something out of it.

Gasping for the Flash

A flash
An instant that is meaningless in the endless cosmic cycles
Yet so significant it changes everything
Takes the breath of life from someone you love
A lasso from heaven swept across the sky
Grasping his neck
And taking him back to the dirt and the dust
As our tears turn to rust
As they blanket our face and turn our smiles to stone
And cover our world in a fog of raging fumes
For we lost you
And we are lost with confused chaotic minds
No matter what our beliefs
It doesn’t change the pain of losing a life
A light
Every passing thought of you
Makes the world stop
For moments that seem like hours
And hours that seep into days
I see the air come out of my mouth
Sweet and steaming from a fiery body that still moves
And I feel my life intensify
For every small flash of our lives is so precious
And fragile
I still can’t believe you are gone
You are still so real here
Fresh in our mental recollections

– SHILOW

Is Anybody Still Here?

Hey.

I’m coming to the realization that I really suck at this.

But nonetheless, here I am, starting over and hoping that this time, I’ll get it really established as a habit. That’s supposed to take something like 28 days, right?

So here goes Day 1 of 28. And hopefully, many more.

Care to come along for the ride?