It started at an early age--probably with my collection of "The Empire Strikes Back" trading cards that I painstakingly accumulated, package by package over the course of months. I think I may be missing one or two cards. Those missing cards still haunt me, all these years later. Very recently, I became obsessed with a Wonder Woman action figure.
When my husband and I moved for the first time in sixteen years, this "collecting" problem of mine really caused some heartache. I was working a lot, three months pregnant, sickly, and not able to participate in a lot of the packing. I am very particular about my "stuff."
I grew up in a home with what I can only describe as a "split personality." On the one hand, my things had very little value, and could be discarded with little or no warning, and no negotiation. On the other hand, I was raised understanding that certain items were not just valuable, but could increase in value over time. Such items should be kept in their original packaging, whenever possible, or at least replaced in said packaging if the need to put them away arose.
Over the course of the weeks that my house was being packed up around me, I was reminded that not everyone understands our personal versions of crazy. Boxes were discarded. Items were precariously wrapped. Nearly four years later, there are still things I can no longer find. Things like that used to happen to me a lot growing up. Belongings would disappear, never to be found again. Stuffed animals would be culled. Things that were precious to me were snatched away, or discarded.
As crazy as it sounds, I believe this lack of "control," or even just input regarding my "stuff" created an attachment to "things" that isn't always healthy. These days, when I collect something, I often have a strange feeling of being incomplete if I am unable to bring everything together. I have the entire set of Twilight Barbie dolls--including the different versions of Bella and Edward.
As I have grown, I have also grown to look at experiences in much the same way.
Along with a lack of control over things, my childhood and teen years also translated to a lack of control over activities in which I wanted to participate, and other things I wanted to do.
As an adult, I think I have attempted to create a sense of autonomy, and a catalog of experiences that fill the void of those years growing up that were so out of control, filled with fear, and filled with helplessness. Concerts, travel and "doing" have become another sort of collection for me.
In my case, childhood often wasn't a happy time, but there were, of course, bright spots. I was fortunate enough to have a cousin growing up who has become a lifelong best friend. We've faced ups and downs over the years, and there have been periods during which life placed distance between us. Most of my favorite memories about growing up revolve around things she and I did together.
This many years later, I think of 4th of July family gatherings, the small town fall festival we went to each year, Halloween themed birthday parties, and music--always music. When I look back on these happy times, I think of what I want to give my daughter. These were the times that kept me afloat, and allowed me to believe that abuse and fear didn't have to be the definition of my existence. These were the moments that kept me alive when I questioned whether I could keep going or not.
I think we all have experiences like those, that we want to share with our kids. But I would argue that if you didn't have very many, the ones that were special take on even greater importance. Even events that seem silly to us as adults are part of our "collection" of experiences and memories that we are reluctant to let go of. If we don't honor or share them appropriately, we fear that we will perpetuate feelings of incompletion for ourselves, and our children.
I don't want to be rigid about her "stuff." I know there are plenty of things she has, but cares nothing about. But as she starts to develop attachments to certain things, I am going to have the respect for her that I never received. The goal not being to reinforce the value of "things," but the value of her, and what she loves in her life. I want to give her experiences I never had. I want to encourage her loves and her passions.
I don't want her to grow up with feelings that her things were always taken away, or that she never got to explore activities and adventures that fulfilled her imagination.
Ultimately, if she "collects," I want it to be from place of joy, and not a place of possible regret or threat.
I will make mistakes along the way. And I will make decisions based on my own emotional baggage. I will do things for and with her that she won't care about, because of the empty spaces in my life that I sometimes still try to fill and "fix." No matter how much I learn, in the heat of the moment, I will forget that some things just won't ever be "fixed," or "okay," and they don't have to be for me to be complete, or for my child to be complete.
My hope is that I will be able to see those moments for what they are, and not fall into a place of living vicariously through my child, and pushing her into a different set of baggage that feels just as bad as all of the suitcases I continue to unpack for myself.
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