“Clutter is not just physical stuff. It’s old ideas, toxic relationships, and bad habits.

Clutter is anything that does not support your better self.”

Recently, friends and I attended a transition celebration for the Gestalt Institute of Cleveland, the original, and thus the oldest, Gestalt Institute in the United States. We were celebrating a move from the University Circle home it had occupied for forty-two years to a new location in Berea, Ohio south of downtown. This is a big and important transition of the organization that has birthed ground-breaking content in the field of Gestalt, and which has trained many counselors, social workers, coaches, consultants, managers, leaders, parents, spouses, partners, and seekers.

On a Friday evening we gathered to remember the milestones of the Institute, tell stories, support the move and future direction, and enjoy a lecture lead by Carolyn Lukensmeyer — a graduate of the program — and a leader in the field of democracy, dialogue, and civility.

It was an evening with friends and friendly folk who care deeply about the human experience and helping others to find their best selves.

As she is known to do, Carolyn started with a strong statement that I found to be powerful and true:

“We are all wounded. Some people use this pain to grow and make peace with their experience.”

Others carry their woundedness with them and it colors all future experiences. I am so very grateful that I am not afraid of my wounds or my pain but have learned to throw my arms open wide and embrace the hurt to try to understand the source. I have gotten better at this as I age. And I observed that my mother — whose pain and trauma remained unresolved in her life — found, as she lost her grip on reality and declined in health, that her stories were of those painful experiences and not of anything else.

 As I watched her inexorable demise with great concern, I came to clearly understand that when the body and mind fail we grab onto the stories we have stored in the attic we call our mind. My mother’s attic was filled with hardship. It was painful to hear the recounting.

I made note of Carolyn’s comments and committed to cleaning out my own mental attic. I found that letting go of the past wounds was easier than I thought. And the benefit was that I was now able to walk with a lightness that I had not felt in a long time, maybe ever.

Carolyn’s words reminded me of that great insight. I, of course, shared what I had learned many times this past week. Everyone with whom I shared my learning was touched deeply; and we had profound conversations. My uncle responded with, “We can carry a great deal.” I knew that there was more to this quietly expressed statement.

I have always said to myself and others, “Life isn’t easy or fair.” And “We are hopelessly flawed and wondrously brilliant.” These are my attempts to be realistic and put life and human behavior into perspective. Having navigated many life challenges and wounds, I know that most people I meet are carrying a rock on their shoulders that I cannot see. This causes me to extend more empathy and compassion even when — and especially when — they behave badly. I choose not to add to their woundedness.

What I know, with Carolyn’s reminder, is that in the understanding of the source and context of our wounds, we can grow; we can be positively transformed and expansively giving.

 I want to remember to choose this response. I know that it requires intention because the natural, human, primal response is force, fear, judgement, comparison and escape. None of which allow enough space for the calm that replaces the pain when you learn to let go.

So, I am going to be selective of what I take in and hook into in my interactions. I am going to remain curious and look for what is showing up in my life. I am going to assert gratitude daily, especially in my trying moments.

• How does this conversation about ‘woundedness’ strike you?
• What rocks do you carry that no one can see?
• When will you declutter your life from all the mental anchors that weigh you down?

I relish that life lessons continue to rain down upon me and I want to be receptive and learning until my last breath.

Leah Lusesne