“Change is hard at first, messy in the middle,
and gorgeous at the end.”
Robin Sharma
Unpacking emotional baggage is rarely a quick or tidy process. For years, I carried a heavy suitcase of unprocessed trauma through life without fully acknowledging how much it was weighing me down. Instead, I kept moving, pushing through work, challenging family dynamics, and everything else life threw my way. I managed the weight by staying busy and numbing it with alcohol.
Drinking dulled the heaviness, much like how it used to help me dance all night in uncomfortable heels – a temporary fix for discomfort that only made me push through instead of addressing the problem. It let me keep going, tricking me into believing the suitcase wasn’t really that full.
Outwardly, I appeared to have it all together. But inside, the suitcase grew heavier. I didn’t open it, but it was always there.
When I quit drinking, I expected to feel lighter. Instead, the suitcase burst open, spilling memories, emotions, and unresolved pain everywhere. Suddenly, I wasn’t carrying the weight anymore – but I couldn’t ignore it either. I had to clean it up.
The Emotional Detox: Cleaning Up the Mess
What followed felt like a wave of depression. The weight I had avoided for so long hit me all at once. I felt it physically – as if the heaviness had settled into my body. Mentally, my thoughts were jumbled and overwhelming.
I tried to shake it off, to “think my way out of it,” but it wasn’t that simple. The contents of my suitcase were scattered across the floor of my mind, and I couldn’t just shove them into a corner.
That’s when I had the overwhelming urge to write. I needed to get the chaos out of my head and onto paper – to see it, organise it, and make sense of it.
People often recommend journaling as a way to process emotions, but I’ve never been good at that. Sitting with a blank page, waiting for words to come, just doesn’t work for me. I need something to focus on and drill into – a thread to pull, a question to unravel.
A couple of close friends said, “You should write a book,” and at first, I dismissed it. But their encouragement planted a seed. I realised that writing wasn’t just about telling a story – it was about rewriting my understanding of everything I’ve carried.
The Book: My New Lightweight Suitcase
So, in parallel to this blog, I’ve been writing a book. Not for anyone else, just for me – no audience to please, no deadline, no need for perfection, no fear of judgement.
Writing for myself feels freeing in a way that allows me to be completely honest, raw, and vulnerable.
As I write, I’ve realised that this book isn’t just a collection of my thoughts – it’s a new suitcase. One that’s carefully organised with compartments for every experience, emotion, and lesson. Instead of dragging around the heavy, overstuffed suitcase of my past, I’m transferring everything into a lighter, neatly packed version that I can carry without it weighing me down.
Painful memories are folded into manageable reflections. Lessons are tucked into pockets where I can access them when I need to. I’m not throwing the suitcase away – I’m repacking it in a way that makes it easier to carry and frees up my energy for what comes next.
This isn’t about forgetting the past. It’s about transforming it into something that doesn’t control me anymore.
Why Unpacking Emotional Baggage Is Hard, But Necessary
Robin Sharma’s quote from my favourite book resonates deeply with me:
Change is hard at first, messy in the middle, and gorgeous at the end.
I’m firmly in the messy middle right now. Writing this book has forced me to confront some painful memories – disappointment, anger, resentment, especially around my family dynamics. I’ve had to revisit moments where I felt unsafe and unsupported. While I know everyone did their best with what they had, the impact of those experiences still lingers.
But unlike before, I’m not numbing these feelings or pushing them away. I’m sitting with them, processing them, and then releasing them.
It’s not easy, but I know it’s necessary.
This mess is part of the emotional detox I’ve been talking about, and detoxing isn’t supposed to feel comfortable. The fact that I’m feeling all of this now means I’m finally doing the work I couldn’t do when I was drinking.
The Fear of “Just Getting Over It”
I’d be lying if I said I never question whether I’m overthinking all of this. I worry that others might think:
We all have stuff to bear, and plenty of people have been through worse – what makes you so special?
And sometimes, I ask myself the same question.
What makes you so special? Why can’t you just get over it?
For years, that fear and guilt kept me from fully acknowledging my struggles.
I compared my pain to others’ and told myself it wasn’t “bad enough” to warrant feeling the way I did. But here’s what I know now:
- Trauma isn’t a competition. Pain is personal. Just because someone else has had a more extreme experience doesn’t make mine any less real.
- Dismissing my feelings didn’t make them go away. Ignoring them only made them grow heavier over time.
- Acknowledging my past doesn’t mean dwelling on it. It means giving myself the chance to finally heal.
- I don’t need validation to make my experience real. My feelings are real, and that’s enough.
I’ve carried a lot – family responsibilities, career pressures, burnout, unresolved childhood trauma – and all of it has shaped who I am. My decision to confront it now isn’t about dwelling on the past; it’s about freeing myself from it.
I don’t need anyone else to validate my experience for it to be valid.
Letting the Book Be My New Travel Companion
As I write, I’m no longer dragging around the heavy, overstuffed suitcase. Instead, I’m creating something neatly packed and organised, containing only what I need. The rest? I’m leaving behind.
The book represents closure, but it also represents freedom. When it’s finished, I’ll be able to look at it with pride and say:
This is everything I survived, everything I learned, and everything that made me stronger. This is the weight I’m no longer carrying.
It won’t erase the past, and I know family dynamics will still occasionally trigger emotions. But what’s different now is that I’m learning how to carry the lessons without carrying the weight.
Meeting the Gorgeous End
The gorgeous end isn’t about living a perfect life without struggles or triggers. It’s about finding peace with my past and confidence in my ability to move forward. It’s about knowing that the messy middle was worth it because it brought me here.
I don’t know exactly when that gorgeous end will arrive, but I know it’s coming. And when it does, I’ll be able to reflect on this chapter of my life with pride, knowing that I faced my demons, processed my pain, and came out stronger for it.
For now, I’m embracing the messy middle – the place where growth is uncomfortable, complete clarity still feels quite distant, but the work being done is vital for transformation. I’m giving myself permission to feel the discomfort, to write through the chaos, and to trust that this process will lead me exactly where I need to be.
If You’re in Your Own Messy Middle
- You don’t have to compare your pain to anyone else’s.
- Your experiences are valid and your healing matters.
- The mess is temporary, and the gorgeous end is coming.
Give yourself the time and space to heal – because you deserve it.
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