If you could get inside my head and look at my baggage, you would see a large storage area, with neatly packed suitcases, all stacked up and precisely labelled.
Of course, I could go to a therapist to deal with it all, but seriously, getting inside my head would be a risky business and if someone did, I can promise that they would have nightmares for the rest of their life.
I think of my baggage as a neatly organised and catalogued war zone, with all the hurts, wounds, and scars carefully documented.
A lot of advice I have read says baggage belongs in the past, that you should leave it behind and move on – but I don’t agree. It’s my memory store of pain and reminds me of why and when I need to protect myself. Forget the past and we are doomed to make the same mistakes in the present and the future.
I am defined by my emotional baggage – without it I would not be who I am. To let it go, would be to lose myself.
Oh, I have been side-tracked as I rummage through the suitcases of my memories. Good grief, I didn’t know that was in there. Oy gevalt, you wouldn’t believe what’s in here. Oy vey, is that what’s been holding me back? I’ll just yank it out, shake it at the world and say, “Gai avek, go away and leave me alone!”
Well that didn’t seem to work, so if you will excuse me, having just found this baggage that I want to deal with, I will shove it in this oversize handbag and hit someone over the head with it repeatedly. Will that change the past? Of course not, but it will make me feel a darn sight better.