Many people are familiar with this Greek myth, but in case you need a simplified refresher:

            Prometheus gave fire to humans and Zeus was furious because that meant that humans were less dependent on the gods. Prometheus was punished by being chained to a rock and tortured by an eagle who ate his liver every day. Every moment he wasn’t in debilitating pain from the eagle’s sharp beak, Prometheus sat with the knowledge that it was about to happen again.

As soul-destroying as that was, Zeus was not content – he wanted to punish humanity too –so he created a trap for Prometheus’s brother Epimetheus. The trap was, of course, a beautiful woman to be his wife. As part of the dowry or a gift for the wedding, Zeus gave Pandora a sealed clay jar (not a box). The only condition was that Pandora couldn’t open the jar. I’m not sure how Epimetheus and Pandora both missed that red flag but I guess they couldn’t turn down a gift from the king of the Olympic gods.

            We all know that Pandora gave in to curiosity. I imagine that the clay jar rocked sometimes. Noises came from within. Like something inside wanted to get out. Maybe a little knocking sound from inside the jar?

            Our girl was set up. She opened the lid and a cloud of horrid winged creatures the size of her spread fingers flew from the jar. They bit with needle-teeth and grabbed at Pandora’s hair and clothes before laughing cruelly. Then, they launched into the air and swarmed to the mortal realm. Each of those creatures was a disease, a plague, or some type of horrible affliction.

            Pandora slammed the lid down but it was too late. The swarm was gone. A tiny knock sounded from inside and Pandora, heartbroken at her role in this catastrophe, opened the lid. Quickly, she grabbed the only remaining winged creature, but this one looked different. Her wing was broken from being at the bottom of the swarm and she didn’t have the same teeth or angry expression. She met Pandora’s gaze. “I am Hope.”

            What does it mean that Hope remained behind? Was Hope kept in the jar by Pandora as a further punishment for humankind? Does it meant that no matter how bad things get (for Pandora’s guilt and humankind’s afflictions) Hope will always be present?

Give me your best interpretation in the comments.

            I feel a little bit like Pandora with a jar sometimes. I’ve shoved my memories, my hopes, my fears, all of it into a compartment inside of me. Some of it was deliberate but part of this way of coping was a way of “getting on with life.” With my pieces of self stored away, I have become a mannequin, clothing myself in expectations of roles. What should a “good” wife do? How should a “good” teacher act? What should a “good” parent say?

            And I don’t really want to open the jar – not because Zeus told me not to – but because I didn’t sort those memories. I stuffed them inside and now I don’t know what will pop out. A sweet memory? Remembering being hurt by someone I thought cared about me? A reminder of a time I messed up? A humiliating moment that still embarrasses me?

One such stupid memory is an argument with a middle school friend in which I insisted that the actor…the famous one who starred in trilogies like Star Wars and Indiana Jones…was named Ford Harrison. Back and forth we argued because this was before everyone had cell phones to look up such things. My friend eventually rolled her eyes and said she didn’t know what to say to me. Same, girl. I don’t know why it got all twisted in my head. I was an idiot and you deserve an apology.

This memory is “cringe” but not particularly hurtful. If they were all like that, I could look at them and laugh at myself.

But there are also flying needle-teethed heathens in my jar. I know I’m not the only one. Wounds that didn’t heal. Pain so deep that I couldn’t process it then and don’t want to now. Betrayals that still make me wonder if I deserve to be loved. But shoving everything away means that I’m missing the positive parts of myself too. My “hope” is stuck in that jar and I can’t reach it if I’d rather be numb.

This year has seen a lot of upheaval and I’m having trouble wrapping my head around what that means. I can’t be the only one who was told to shove everything into Pandora’s Jar and seal it up. Told not to bother anyone. Not to need help. Not to need attention. But there comes a time when a small voice tells you that its time to heal, that comfort is the opposite of growth.

I chose to prioritize other people. No one made me. I wanted to have a different style of family than the one I grew up in and I invested my time and energy to make that happen. I was a chauffeur, a homework reader, an errand runner, a medical appointment maker, a summer planner, a dinner maker and a grocery shopper. At one point I would run six loads of laundry every Thursday after I taught a fitness class and then prepare for after school pick-up. This is not necessarily a bad thing. It was a stage in my life. But that stage is coming to an end and I need to know myself again. I need to be able to trust myself.

The other day, my lovely neighbor asked if I wanted iced or hot coffee and my words tripped over themselves. I knew that I didn’t want to be a bother. I knew that I liked both. But I am used to going along to get along and I actually didn’t know which I preferred.

My dreams? I don’t quite remember, although I know what each member of my family wants. I ask them about one-year and five-year plans but I don’t know my own.   

What do I do for fun? What will I eat when I don’t have to think about everyone else in the house? What shows do I want to watch? Where would I travel on a long weekend?

Characters in novels develop, but the clues are there in the beginning. I will be posting here for the next three Mondays: memories from elementary school, middle school, and then later in life. Sorting through the clues about who I was and what I want to reclaim. This is my commitment to myself. I invite you to show up – to hold me accountable and to post your own experiences in the comments.

Love, Sherri