It Started With a Room

My work in my InnerVerse started with a single room.

Ironically, it was the closet.

The closet seemed like a good place to begin because that is where we tend to put things we don't want to look at. We cram as much as we can into the space, close the door, and tell ourselves we'll deal with it later.

It's where the baggage goes. The memories we don't particularly want to revisit, the experiences we haven't processed, the things that are difficult to understand, and sometimes even the bottles. All the things we would rather keep out of sight.

In my InnerVerse, these things take the form of objects. They have a physical presence, and interacting with them can bring back the memories and emotions attached to them.

But there is something important about that.

Opening the closet and pulling something out does not automatically mean we are ready to deal with it. Touching an object might bring back an experience with an intensity we weren't prepared for. We can become overwhelmed, revisit something traumatic, or find ourselves feeling worse than when we started.

So the closet became a place where things could be stored until I was ready to explore them.

That simple idea eventually became a much larger part of my work. It developed into my "Making Space" workshops, where the closet is one place people can begin examining what they carry, what they want to keep, and what they might be ready to release.

But my InnerVerse didn't stay a single room for very long.

More rooms appeared. The floor plan expanded, and I began to recognize that different experiences needed different spaces.

I have an office, for example. That's where I put the things related to my career: ideas, goals, achievements, failures, unfinished projects, disorganized thoughts, apprehension, and anxiety. It's where I can work through the things that occupy my professional life.

And yes, even the office has a closet.

There is stuff in the room, and then there is more stuff crammed into the closet.

The kitchen is a little different. In my InnerVerse, family conflicts, challenges, and apprehensions show up as dishes. I think this is particularly funny because dishes are something we deal with every day. They get used, washed, and put away, only to be used again.

And if you know me, you know I have to do the dishes. I would absolutely lose my mind if they were left sitting there.

But when I think about it, there is something interesting about that representation. Some experiences need to be revisited and processed regularly. They are part of everyday life. They don't necessarily disappear because we have dealt with them once.

The other rooms have their own closets, too. The living room, bedroom, and office all have places where things can be tucked away. I imagine the different emotions and internal characters in my InnerVerse have their own spaces, and probably their own closets as well.

At this point, I am beginning to suspect that my InnerVerse has an unreasonable amount of storage.

But that is part of the fun.

As the floor plan grows, I have more places to put things and more ways to understand what I am carrying. Instead of treating every experience as one enormous collection of baggage, I can begin sorting things according to what they represent and what kind of attention they need.

Sometimes I find something in a closet that I want to bring out into the open.

Perhaps it is a memory I am finally ready to talk about. Maybe it is something I misunderstood or something I have been avoiding that deserves a closer look.

Other times, I find things I am ready to part with.

I can put them in a donation box, send them off to Goodwill, or leave them at the curb. They have served their purpose, and I no longer need them taking up space.

And sometimes, there are things that simply belong in the trash.

Not everything needs to be repurposed, repaired, or given another chance.

Some things are ready to be discarded. In my InnerVerse, I can imagine taking those objects outside and letting them go.

What matters is that I get to make that decision.

I can look at something, understand what it represents, and decide whether I want to keep it, move it somewhere else, bring it into the open, or let it go.

That is what making space has come to mean for me.

It started with a closet and the idea of unpacking something I had been avoiding.

Now I have an entire internal home where different parts of my life have somewhere to exist. I can move through the rooms, make changes, rearrange things, and discover what needs attention.

And the best part is that this work is something I can share.

My InnerVerse is built around the way I understand myself. It isn't a floor plan that someone else needs to copy. The rooms, objects, and arrangements will mean different things to different people.

When I work with someone, I get to help them explore their own internal spaces.

What would your home look like? What rooms would you need? Where would you put the things you are carrying? What would safety look like? What needs to come out of the closet, and what might be ready to leave altogether?

The framework gives us somewhere to start, but the person gets to decide what belongs there.

I find that exciting. Something that started as a simple idea about a closet has grown into a way of helping people understand and care for their inner worlds.

I still have plenty of rooms to explore, and I am sure there are more closets waiting to be discovered.

I might need to draw up a building permit.

After all, it started with a room. Look what happened.