Scratchy Red Carpet
Sigmund Freud believed that our psyche, the entirety of our being, was related to, formed by, and permeated beyond escape from our childhood. I think he was on to something. As a whatever comes after middle aged woman (sadly, I can no longer be considered middle aged unless I figure out how to make it to 106 – gulp), I spend the majority of my time trying to figure out how to better something: myself, the world, my finances, the environment, my city, the lives of my grandchildren, all the animals, etc. These are noble thoughts. I have worked hard to get to this point. Yet, in times of distress and anguish, I still see myself as a vulnerable child. There is a dark corner I retreat to when I can’t take the ills of this life any longer. In my childhood bedroom, the one with the scratchy indoor/outdoor red carpet from the unclaimed freight store, there is a waterbed covered by a purple and lavender afghan, crocheted with a zig zag stitch. On the far side of that bed, there is a 2 ft space between the base of the bed and the golden oak paneling, right under the aluminum window with the diamond panes. That is where I hide when things go badly. I can still feel the prickle of those red carpet fibers. I can still smell those waterbed chemicals. For all the things I have accomplished and for all the things I continue to strive to do, at my core, I’m a little girl hiding where no one can find me. And, I had a great childhood. This is why, midway through the pandemic, I began something called innerchild work.
