We all have plenty of garbage. Painful stuff from the past, whether it’s harm that was done to us, mistakes we’ve made or bouts of bad luck that set us back.
Crap.
Baggage.
Stuff.
What I’m puzzled by is the way so many of us seem to cling tightly to the garbage, as though it were something precious we need to hold onto. Or we prominently display it in our relational front yards. Or, if it seems to be falling into short supply we go digging for more garbage, as if somehow searching for proof that we’ve got our garbage. Good, dirty, smelly garbage.
I’m not one to ignore garbage. In fact, many people come to me for therapy and just about all they have to bring to our work is garbage. And so we build with garbage (as I’ve said, we build with what we’ve got!). I don’t think garbage is something to be ashamed of (though that doesn’t die easily) but I see no value in proudly showing it off.
