Looking back at my childhood, I wish I could have told someone the feelings of insecurity and abandonment that popped up when, at the age of six, I went from being the only child to the oldest. Not having an outlet for those feelings may have been the beginning of my above-it-all-stance when I was unhappy, those futile attempts to rise above my suffering and feel omnipotent. Am I alone here? I am grateful to psychoanalysis for revealing this dysfunctional pattern.
Luckily, Nina, my first sister, handled me being the oldest well. Rather than being jealous and angry about my perks of being the oldest, she watched everything I did and wrote it in her diary. I had no idea she had done this until a few years ago when she was cleaning out her storeroom and read me some entries describing the boys I dated.
Nina has always been an organizer and I remember many times in years past when she visited me, and we sorted various material things: clothes or books or decorated a room by hanging pictures or buying outdoor rugs to spruce up a deck. She was here on August 13 & 14and asked if there was anything she could help me with. I thought of a certain tangled mess in my bedroom and sheepishly asked, “How about my jewelry?” Nina, who loves all types of accessories, agreed eagerly.
When we opened the drawer, she didn’t give me a hard time. She just set to work sorting with that enviable patience of hers. She asked about each piece we rescued, wanting to know when and where I had received it and if it had meaning for me. There was a beaded necklace that a dancer in India removed from her body and sold to me. I never wear it, but I love seeing it and reliving the memories. Then there were the gray pearls my ex gave me when we got divorced. What was he thinking? And why have I kept them?
Nina stayed alert for pieces that my grandchildren might like, and we stored them away in little boxes that would line the back of the drawer nicely. Several pieces I had no memory of and since they didn’t bring me joy, I said get rid of them. She offered to take them to a Hospice run thrift store. Some pieces she liked, I gifted them to her – she wore one set of earrings later that day.
Every time this week I opened the drawer to pick out earrings, I thought of Nina. Interesting that my little sister is not only a skillful organizer but knew how to elicit from me feelings and memories of the past. Maybe the reason my jewelry drawer got so messy was because of the unresolved feelings attached to certain items?
