“Wash the windows of your mind”

It was so many years ago now that I can’t remember whether the despair I felt was rooted in a come-down from cocaine, binge drinking, or yet another toxic interaction with a random man who treated me like shit.

In my state of despair, destiny (and Google Maps) led me to an old Chinese bookshop in Chinatown in Sydney. The shop, sitting on the corner of “how did I end up here?" and "what is wrong with me?", sold meditation and self-help books. Looking back, I see how I used the last bit of energy I had to cling desperately to any floating device in the dark seas I was currently in.

Nothing really mattered anymore.

What was I hoping to find?
A book with ancient wisdom to stop me from making the same choices?
A book answering questions like: Why am I doing this to myself? What is wrong with me? Why can’t I stop?

All of a sudden, an old Chinese man appeared before me. He looked older and wiser than all of his books combined, yet he had a youthful gaze and a spring in his step that you wouldn’t see in most young people.

I broke down and cried, as one does in the company of a complete stranger who, for some reason you cannot explain, feels completely and utterly safe. I was ugly crying—the kind of crying children do when they’re gasping for air.

Without hesitation, he placed his left hand on my shoulder, turned me gently toward his shop window, extended his right arm as if pointing at something far off on the horizon, and said:

"Young girl, you have to wash the windows of your mind. You won’t be able to see clearly with a dusty mind, just like you cannot see the sky and the trees through a dusty window."

Ironically, his shop windows were filthy, covered in layers of dust—you couldn’t see through them at all. But something told me this man’s mind was so clear that he didn’t even notice. He could see the sky and the trees through dusty windows. He was probably one with the sky and the trees.

Later that afternoon, I went home and cleaned all the windows and mirrors. Maybe it was the physical act of cleaning, maybe it was the interaction with a man whose energy was so loving, empathetic, and non-judgmental, but for some reason, I felt 10% better.

At first, it was daunting and confronting—but necessary—to realize how low my self-esteem actually was. Yet, it was just as empowering and reassuring to find out that the choices I’d been making mirrored my identity, the way I saw myself, and how some adults around me in childhood had shaped that view. It dawned on me that, through the lowest parts of my life, I’d been searching for answers when I should have been seeking understanding—understanding the deeper reasons behind my choices.

My Kinesiologist reassured me that I hadn’t done anything “wrong” or “bad.” I’d simply made choices that matched the way I was thinking about myself. Knowing I wasn’t as terrible as I thought made the journey back to myself…warmer, easier.

No traumas had to be relived, no people forgiven. Instead, my Kinesiologist took me on a safe, self-explorative journey: shifting from my current identity (situation/choices) to how I wanted to see myself—a new identity (desired situation/choices) and the life I wanted to live. What do I love? What truly makes my heart sing and what makes my spirit laugh?

Working on this new, self-loving identity felt like washing the windows of my mind, one filthy layer at a time. Slowly, the sun began to shine through.

The state of our inner child shapes the actions we take as adults.

Now I know I had all the love, willpower, and willingness within me to make healthy, loving, and respectful choices.

I only needed somebody to listen.
To ask the right questions.
To hold space.
To not just repeatedly tell me, "It’ll be OK." Because nothing was OK. Stop telling me things will be OK. Just listen.

A newfound clarity, a newfound identity, is like opening a window in a stuffy home—a breeze of fresh air enters your mind, allowing you to take a new breath of life and move forward.

When one door closes you don’t have to wait for God to open a window for you. You can do it yourself. With some help.

All at the same time, you lovingly and without judgment, say thank you and goodbye to your old self just as effortlessly as turning a page to a new chapter in a book you found in an old Chinese bookshop.