My mother is a firm believer in rummage sales. Throughout my
childhood I was encouraged to go on an annual purge of my toy collection, to
cull the items that I’d held onto mostly out of the comfort of familiarity and
send them off to a new home.
I was an anxious child and this task always pushed me to my
limits. I was never quite ready to let go and even the promise of jingling
coins adding up in my piggy bank was not enough to loosen my grip on the
long-forgotten and ignored items in my toy box.
As I got older, though, I began to see the wisdom and beauty
in it. When you release something that no longer works for you, you free
yourself from the burden of unnecessary clutter, and bless someone else with
your bounty. The older I got, the more easily I handed off unworn clothing,
uncomfortable shoes, and outgrown home décor.
This release did not extend to my relationships, however. I
held on long past revelations of irreconcilable flaws of character, kept a firm
grasp even in the boldness of obvious lies and the presence of decidedly
divergent moral compasses. I believed that it was my duty to give even the most
floundering friendships the benefit of both doubt and time.
The catalyst in the evolution of my ability to discard
worn-out relationships, ones that no longer fit—whether familial or friendly in
nature—turned out to be loss. In that compressed period of stressful life
circumstances when I lost my breast, my baby, my replacement pseudo-breast, my
hair, my child-bearing capacity, and the certainty of my future, I also
released the fear that had kept me grasping at the last straws of uninhabitable
relationships.
The more I lost, the easier it became to let go. I learned
that I didn’t have to devote precious time and energy in maintaining
relationships with people whose bullying behaviors—and the hurtful intent
behind them—caused me harm. I discovered that my unconditional love and forgiveness
flowed more freely when I kept a safe distance.
I stopped hanging out with casual friends and extended
family members whose own insecurities appeared as disappointment with or
critical judgment of my life. I finally recognized that their impossible
standards came from their own fear of not measuring up and found an unexpected peace
in releasing myself from their expectations.
I didn't diversify. I simplified. By cutting out the relationships that drained my energy, I found the means to invest more extensively in the ones that recharged and uplifted me.