Meandering Michele’s Mind: Cleaning Up & Clearing Out

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I hate killing things. If it’s alive and I can tolerate it, then… let it live! Except for mosquitos. Somehow, I don’t have compassion for them. What does this have to do with PTSD? This…

Yesterday, John and I decided to get rid of the bleeding heart bushes framing the entry to the house. There’s a beautiful archway with a wrought iron fence and on either side two enormous bushes we have been battling for years.

It all started because I love these 2 bushes. In the summer they are lush with leaves and full of blooming magenta flowers. I thought it would be wonderful to trellis the bushes so they grow even bigger and frame the house. Sounds like a good idea, right?

We let them grow — and overgrow – and that’s when the problems began. The bushes got out of control. The branches became so long they reached out and grabbed you as you walk by. They stretched out in every direction. As hard as John and I worked to make them behave and follow the frame, they refused. They pulled the tapcons out of the wall. They broke the fishing line we tied. They wound their way over the gate.

Eventually, these 2 bushes made it impossible to leave or enter the house through the archway; the gate could no longer open. John’s been great: No matter how much time he has to spend on a ladder, he accepted when I insisted the bushes MUST be trellised and we’ll work at it until they do. I wanted to keep these bushes regardless of how much they detracted from the functionality of the house.

And then we had a cold snap and all of the leaves fell off the bushes and the flowers, too, hit the dirt and suddenly I saw the naked truth of what the bushes were: A jumbled mass of untamable vining branches. In summer with all the leaves I could focus on the beauty and forget the negative impact. But suddenly yesterday I understood and accepted the truth for what it was. The bushes had to go. And here’s where the problem of living things come in: I just don’t like killing anything that could otherwise survive. Even a plant struggling to survive the winter. Even a plant making chaos in my space, impeding the functionality of my home and driving John and I crazy.

It took me at least an hour of negotiating with John about the removal of the bushes. I made him walk around the house to see where we might move them (nowhere). How else we might trellis that we haven’t tried (no way). How we might tame them by shearing (can’t be done because they’re too delicate for too much trimming).

We went back to stand in front of the house. I looked at the chaos and finally said, “Enough. Let’s take them out.”

And so now the job is done. After a lot of hacking and pulling and cutting the bushes no longer have a hold on the house. The gate is clear and free and clean. And I feel so much better! I didn’t realize how much the bushes were like an unwanted shadow. How much they made the gate and archway — two of my favorite features — a place I avoided at all costs.

Now, I can enjoy the house and its gifts. Things feel more calm. Things feel more free. Maybe that sounds silly, but when I first moved into the house, deep in my PTSD symptoms and state, I forbade the landscapers from coming on my property for anything except mowing the lawn. I LOVED the chaos. I grew a jungle of foliage that made me feel…. safe, secure, hidden, matching on the outside how I felt on the inside. NO ONE could get to the front door — perfect!

Since I’ve healed I’ve noticed I’ve changed that approach. I’ve allowed the landscapers to do their work. The jungle gradually diminished to cared for decoration.  The foliage looks healthy and styled and appropriate. These 2 bushes were the last remaining part of my original hiding place.

And now they’re gone. In their place, John planted two small bougainvillea bushes. They’re tiny and will take a few years to mature into bushes that will stand beautifully and without interfering beside the gate. As I stand in front of the house now I think, “Yes. Sometimes, you have to kill something in order for something better to live.” Like the past; like the future.

Tags: Meandering Michele's Mind, ptsd, symptoms