Stripper Stuff

I rented a short term (6 month) condo for David and me. It is a comfortable place that we can share. I love that I don’t have much stuff, as I am especially aware of it in this space.

barfbagWhen I moved into my Mini, I still had about a half of a single garage’s worth of storage that I’d not sorted through. I had those things moved here in hopes finishing my purging.

This week I, unexpectedly, found a trash bag full of my old stripper stuff. I guess I’ve dragged that trash bag from place to place, but finally got the guts to open it up. Seeing and touching those things made me physically ill. They feel like confusing artifacts from an unreal dream. The memories of ME being THAT feel so far away that they truly seem impossible.

As I think about moving toward this plan for trying to be helpful (how exactly? I don’t really know) to women who are stuck in the position I was in, I realize I probably will want to make sure I’ve really processed my own story of stripping. I think part of my failure in trying to help women before was because I was overwhelmed by their stories. I don’t feel like my stuff is too huge to deal with, but it is stuff that I pushed aside pretty radically once I had the luxury of getting away from it.

So, like the trash bag of stripper gear, unexpected memories and feelings about that time are showing up. I tried to write about them this week, but my writing comes out very juvenile, defensive, angry, knee-jerk, immature etc. I think it is not just that the memories are difficult, but that my having to experience myself as that chaotic and confused girl makes the experience of remembering it even more sickening.

I prefer to sound like a woman who is finding some sanity! I think that I am. In fact, I think the fact that I feel so much more centered is what is allowing this stuff to come up. It doesn’t frighten me, too much. It just makes me feel kind of sick.


p.s. I haven’t sent out the RV Web site link yet. I need to finish it first!

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