For the longest time, I thought it was my circus, my monkeys. I simply assumed things about myself without stopping to rationalize or think. Emotional baggage was an alien concept. Maybe it was the circumstances, or maybe it was how convincing people were. After all, when we grow up with people who are loving, we can be so naive. And I believed what they said.
Love is love. But sometimes, love is neatly packaged in someone else’s views and beliefs that they expect you to absorb and base your values on. They literally shape you, and you reach a point where you just don’t question it.
In my case I was influenced by my aunts and uncles growing up. They were kind, they were nice. During my childhood, I truly appreciated them and their influence. I was grateful that my mother found her cup of peace.
And then, it began to happen.
My own story began to evolve because I had a rebellious streak.
I started to question everything.
When I was asked to follow the norm, I asked why.
When I was reminded about what others would think, I asked: So what?
Good girls were seen and not heard, right? Oh, that’s very much in force even now in orthodox families like ours. In fact, some of our elders strictly believed that a good girl should be neither seen nor heard.
Also, I had a “special” situation - my mother was a single parent. Not from choice, but because my father chose to walk away just before I was born. He went abroad to pursue higher studies and eventually remarried. I have a sibling, I believe. Past emotions do leave an imprint, don’t they?
As a result of being abandoned, Mom and I had to bear the brunt of many emotional blackmail attacks, all delivered under the guise of “love”. We did not even realize what was happening. We were never allowed to truly grow.
My blood boils when the memories rush in because no matter how many times I tell myself I am over all that, my subconscious mind sneakily brings those memories to the fore, especially when I feel down.
I remember when my uncle told me that I would never clear the exams when I moved cities in the middle of the academic year in college. But I did. And also won a silver medal for excellence.
My cousin said, “Mark my words - you will never qualify for any job except maybe as a typist at the bottom of the ladder, where you’ll probably hang around until you are married.” I quit my corporate career at 33, as a regional manager for a UK-based multinational company, managing two states with a 5-figure salary.
My aunt advised me that I should be satisfied with marrying whoever “they” chose for me. I ran away from home to prove a point, and of course, faced the music when I came back.
“They” always stopped us from spreading our wings. When Mom got a great job she was excited about, they talked her out of taking it, advising her instead to stick with the low-paying job in a city we didn’t like. Later, we realized this was a plan to keep us there, “serving” them, while their own children were allowed to follow their dreams and passions.
Of course, I reacted by getting a job transfer and convincing my mom to go with me, hoping that living in a different city would temper the torture. It did, to an extent, but the emotional blackmail continued.
Releasing the emotional baggage
Decades later, and after my mom passed away, I was so filled with regret and grief that I wanted to lash out at everyone who controlled us. As I walked on our terrace, I would recall and reminisce over incidents that should have been forgotten, incidents from which I should have moved on. Maybe that’s why we need closure. I never got any. I was filled with frustration at the thought that all those people who ill-treated us just got away with it too easily.
As I poured my heart out, my partner advised me to write it all out every time these feelings overwhelmed me.
As my mom rightly said,
Diary writing is far more than a way of exorcising one’s unhappiness. The effect is extraordinary. Distanced on paper, troubles shrink to their true size. You can regard them objectively and see how temporary they are.
I took his advice and began to heal, slowly but surely. Distanced on paper, my memories did not seem as painful, probably because so much had happened in my life since then. I began to realize that the hurtful stories in my head were not all about me - they were mostly about other people. It was just a burden I was carrying around long after I should have set it down and moved on.
The more I wrote, the lighter I felt. I heard my mother’s voice in my heart, urging me to focus on the present moment. That advice was easy to follow.
The lesson I learned? We cannot know what tomorrow will bring. For our own wellness, we must clear out that emotional baggage and focus on what we have right now. I need to always remember this.
When writing the story of your life, don’t let anyone else hold the pen.
– Rebel Thriver
The truth is, we all carry around certain traumatic experiences in our hearts. Sometimes they hurt us more than they should, simply because of our perceptions. Why not take stock of these, look at them objectively, and give them the boot, if possible? We deserve to be happy.
Thanks for reading ❤
Emotional baggage refers to unresolved past traumas, stresses, or negative experiences—such as childhood trauma, broken trust, or grief—that individuals carry into their present life, often negatively influencing behaviors, emotions, and relationships. It can manifest as insecurity, anger issues, or communication struggles. Effective management includes acknowledging feelings, therapy, and mindfulness.
