I have always had an issue with NEEDING personal space for me and my “stuff.” For 15 years I had two seasonal, overlapping jobs with the school district and a large tourism business. They were both generous catering to my idiosyncrasies, but moving in and out twice a year was so stressful. Overlapping with those jobs for a while, I moved back and forth between Alaska and Colorado for several years, while caring for my father.
Shipment from Colorado ready to unpack in Alaska.
When finally Dad passed, and I moved back home to Alaska, I thought my moving days were over and I could relax. Dream on. THEN came the remodeling projects, and much of the house being in upheaval at any one time: first, Devin’s old bedroom into David’s new office; before all the upstairs windows were replaced over 3 or 4 months; then Elizabeth’s old bedroom being turned into my office; and now the downstairs windows being replaced; oh, and don’t forget that the upstairs den, which has been the staging area for all the other projects, needs to become a useable guestroom by mid-August 2017!
Changing windows is major surgery.
David is very respectful and patient with my resenting disruptions. He warns me well ahead of time. He is careful to show me where my things moved to and does not throw away anything. He even ignores my chronic irritability, bless him.
The unavoidable chaos before any transition into major improvement stresses me almost beyond my limits. Intellectually, I know I am overreacting, but knowing it doesn’t help. My endless tai chi is therapeutic, but too little too late. I cannot live like this, and I don’t want to subject David to my unreasonable truculence.
Turning Devin’s old bedroom into David’s office.
Finally, I DID what all the self-help, spiritual, and psychological writers suggest; I “sat” with the issue. I literally sat in one place, looking out into space, and committed to holding still, thinking ALL the accumulated thoughts and emotions related to this sore spot, this Jungian “complex.” I looked at my life for the past 17 years of frequent moving. The Universe is harping on this theme, trying to get my attention. OKAY, okay! What am I supposed to learn from this relentless torture?!?
It took me 17 years to realize that the Universe was trying to tell me something. When I finally stopped moaning and groaning long enough to ASK the Universe about it, it told me! The answer bubbled up in my brain. Wow, I should stop and ask more often.
My lifelong problem is explained by my baby brother’s death by SIDS about 60 years ago. All of a sudden, all the pieces of the old story fell into a new picture. I have always known about the boy born between my sister and me, who died so young. I knew my parents were distraught. I knew we moved to another town before my sister was born. But I never recognized that we moved BECAUSE of the trauma.
OF COURSE my parents needed to move to a new place suddenly, to start afresh! I was only two, then. HOW COULD they have possibly explained to me what had happened and what was going on? All I could have registered then was the extreme emotions and sudden, total upheaval; my whole life was uprooted and MOVED.
Ah so!!! So it is my Inner 2-Year-Old who panics, still, whenever anyone touches my stuff. No wonder I have always required a space of my own that is SECURE from perceived attack. (I was never conscious about an attack, but that IS what it felt like.)
Turning Elizabeth’s old bedroom into MY office.
Well, that realization felt like a CURE of one of my biggest issues. I still have 60 years HABIT of taking offense, but I have matured a lot in those 60 years, and I CAN appreciate the benefits of change. I can let this go. ‘Whew! All is well, awesome, etc.
Relief was premature.
A few months later, I came home from work at the public art gallery, and my downstairs desk and the sofa were moved. WHAT?!? Grrrr!!! David had dinner cooking, and it smelled great; but that “Personal Space Complex” had triggered and had hijacked me big-time. I was furious. Grrr, HOW could David DO this to me? He’s usually so careful about this sort of thing, grrr!
He called a greeting from the living room, and I couldn’t even answer him. I knew WHY; the weekend before, I myself had cleared off the desk for the window removal scheduled soon, but the lack of warning—heck, I had seen David at work that very day and he had said nothing. Furiously, I cleared off several more things and stomped upstairs with them, and slammed up and down the stairs a few more times. Wow, I am almost NEVER that surly, and I could NOT get a grip! I knew I was acting badly, even ridiculously. Finally, my hunger forced me to join David, who had given up on me, at the table, but I STILL could not apologize, still fuming–but at least quietly.
David’s finished office.
Later that evening, the normal me was back in control, shocked at my extreme behavior. At least this time I KNEW about subconscious “complexes” that trigger suddenly, unexpectedly and hijack the personality completely. Wow, thanks, Universe, for providing me that PERFECT example! I apologized to David, from the center of my heart. He said he had been super-surprised because he had forwarded me the email announcing the early window removal, and he was sure he had mentioned it at work. But I had not checked my email that morning, and he was extra busy at work.
My almost-finished office.
Oh well, the books I’ve read about Carl Jung and his psychological teachings have said that “complexes” are never cured, really, although they can be tamed. I hoped the books were wrong, but no.
For an update, I have been much less stressed by my office project and by the downstairs windows, thank heaven. Now I know to watch for lurking triggers! (And David will probably be extra careful to tell me updates.) The downstairs windows are partly done. We hope they are finished by the time our guests arrive in a month. All is well. Life is good.