Empty Baggage: Free To Disfunctional Home

You know how when you're cruising along in the convertible of life (top down, sun shining, hair flying in the breeze) and a big ol' June bug comes buzzing along and splats you, leaving its grisly remains on your forehead?

Mmm hmm. That was me. This weekend.

I'd been sailing through these past months weathering the bumps along the way with the ease of a sure legged sea captain...when all of sudden steel rimmed baggage from my past came flying and knocked me on my ass.

*Whomp!*

*Splat!*

And there I lay, holding a hand to the goose egg on my heart, surrounded by the ugly granny undie contents wondering what the hell just happened to me.

It wasn't pretty, People. But then, inner baggage never is.

It's painful to see the hidden contents splayed around you in the sharpness of sunlight; ragged grey pieces, that you've kept hidden in the bottom drawer of your inner self, exposed for all those around you to see.

Instinct makes you want to scoop the ugliness up and toss it back into the shadows. It's embarrassing to have it exposed to those whom you love and seek respect from.

But, I found out that love makes you pause mid scoop and re-evaluate; it makes you brave and strong. It enables you to look into the eyes of people who love you, despite the hidden contents, and allows you to let them help you unpack that bag and push its contents into the garbage bin where it belongs.

One less bag to cart around.

It's a most excellent feeling, Peeps.

Most excellent feeling, indeed.