Confessions of an (emotional) hoarder...

I just made a big, stressful, totally inconvenient, turn your life upside down move from a two bedroom in-law style apartment to a 3 bedroom house.

I don't enjoy change. In the last 3 months- there has been a whole lot of it in my life.

This move was very bittersweet. I found myself wandering around our old apartment, tripping over memories at every turn. This was where my daughter was brought home from the hospital. Where I paced the floor, obviously in labor but stubbornly refusing to call the doctor. This is the kitchen where, hands trembling, I found out I got into graduate school. The same kitchen that I stumbled into, delirious and giddy following post-graduation celebrations. That place saw more laughter, arguments, tears and pure joy than its square footage should have possibly been able to hold.

It was during this move that I discovered I am, in fact, a hoarder.

Not of the dead cat carcass variety. Thank goodness, because I don't need A&E knocking on my door.

But I hold onto material things as a way of keeping a grasp on the past and ensuring my foothold in the future. Each item I packed or threw away told a story for me and the process was painstaking. Each outfit of Grace's that I had stashed in our storage closet? I remember her wearing them and for a moment it was if I had my tiny baby back again. Those stayed. 7 old pacifiers- I only kept her favorite one. Birthday cards from 3 years ago? It was time to let go of those. But the high school year book that absolutely walloped me with the words scrawled on the page and the pictures and the people who have disappeared out of my life or have stood solidly by my side.. That's sitting in the top drawer of my nightstand.

You wouldn't believe it by looking in my new basement- but I threw away or donated
a lot of things. It was utlimately, a free-ing sort of process. I felt lighter, somehow, with each piece of mismatched Tupperware that I tossed in the trash.

Recognizing this pattern with the material things in my life led me to wonder...how many other "things" am I holding onto unnecessarily?

Turns out- it's a whole lot. This time of year naturally lends itself to retrospection. There are things that have happened in the past year that I am not particulalrly proud of. There are lots of things, however, that I believe I mananged to get right. And each time I found myself in tears over a photograph or angry or uncomfortable or anxious when remembering the history of something seemingly unassuminging and benign, I began to understand how little I am able to let go of.

Right now? My tupperware cabinet is perfectly organized. Each piece has a matching lid and are stacked with like containers. When I open the door I am no longer dodging an onslaught of tumbling, disorganized mess. I know it won't look like this every day, maybe not even every week...but I'm working on it. I'm working on giving each thing in my life its appropriate place to belong. And knowing how to throw it away when it grows too big or too old or doesn't quite fit anymore.

It's a process. One small teeny tiny step at a time. If I manage to avoid a collection of flattened cat carcasses in the process? Then I think I'm doing just fine.

"Problems"

I try not to irrationally, emotionally vomit too much on this blog. I try and keep off my soap box and stick to bragging about how awesome my kid is ( which is not totally obnoxious or anything) and try to make people smile.

But sometimes I just can't seem to keep my big mouth shut.

Earlier this week, I stopped at a gas station on my way to work to buy a can of soup for lunch. (procrastinating food shopping seemed like such an excellent idea on Sunday afternoon...Monday morning? Not so much) While making the difficult early morning choice between Tomato and Hearty Vegetable, I overheard the cashier asking a gentleman if he would like to donate a dollar to support cystic fibrosis research. His reply? "Jesus! I wish you people would stop asking. I don't donate any money to this bullshit because none of my kids have any problems."



Listen. I know this time of year is one of penny pinching and paycheck stretching.
I also happen to possess the fatal flaw of always giving people the benefit of the doubt (which tends to leave me extremely disappointed roughly 75% of the time) so my initial thought/hope was that this guy simply didn't have an extra dollar to spare and that his oh so tasteful response was simply his masculine bravado speaking. And, in the interest of full disclosure, I am also a giant sucker. Nine times out of ten, you ask me to donate a dollar
to a cause I'm even remotely familiar with? I'm going to do it. Tagging little league sports player are THE worst. I get this insane guilt if I don't give them a dollar when I go in the store
as well as when I exit it. Like maybe they won't remember the dollar I just donated but they will remember me as the grouchy lady who didn't give them a measly buck.


But honestly? Your kids don't have any problems? Even MORE reason to donate to causes for
families who are less fortunate than you. Pay it forward, keep you karmic balance in the positive, all that jazz.

And a little sensitivity wouldn't be out of place, even for a big macho man like yourself.
That cashier who politely asked you to consider a donation? Maybe she lost a sibling to CF. And guess what? MY kid DOES have a "problem". She's perfectly healthy now, but the future of
her health is reliant upon the generosity of other people, donating money towards research for better treatment and hopefully, a cure for the backwards gene that she had no control over inheriting. And I happen to personally know an absolutely amazing family whose life is
affected by CF every single day. And instead of lying down in the face of this ominous diagnosis, they started fighting. And their incredible little boy is surrounded by positivity and love and they have single handedly raised an unbelievable amount of money for CF research.

So if you don't have the cash? Politely decline. You never know who is listening. When you find yourself face to face with seemingly unsurmountable odds, as we all do at some (or many)
points in our lives- it's those random, subtle acts of kindness and generosity of spirits,that mean the most.

Trust me, I know.


When I got up to the counter to pay for my tomato soup, I quietly offered to donate $2.

One for my karma and one for his.