Confessions of a Hoarder part2

On this blog I try not to be too shy. After all this is kind of a way to remain anonymous right. I'm me and well I've traveled a long road with many miles still to go. OK, I'm digressing here. A couple of post back I wrote about my hoarding. So yesterday when I saw my therapist, we discussed it. Discussed my need for these boxes and the tomb.

My therapist was surprised when I told her about my need for boxes and my need to buy things. "Part of it comes from anxiety," she said. She never imagined me being a hoarder as for the last six months, she has seen me we've never discussed it. The interesting thing about the boxes was how we analyzed this together.
She asked me about my heritage.
"What did I have from my heritage? Did I have a family home?"
I responded. "All the houses I really knew from childhood are gone. My aunt's house and I think my uncle's home still exist but everything else is gone."
"And your family?" She inquired.
"They are all down south." was my answer.
"So things are you heritage." She said.
My response was yes. I do keep mementos of the past. This past weekend I went through a box that had pen pal letters in it as well as other mementos. I got rid of most of them and only kept the most important ones. I even got rid of some notes I had kept from friends.

However, going through this box I discovered a letter from my grandmother and a letter from my mother as well. It was a letter from right after I moved to Dallas and she was in New Orleans. The amazing thing about the letter from my Grandmother Joyce was that she was proud of what I was doing with my life. She shared facts of what was going on in her life. In contrast the letter from my mother was more about barking orders between checking in and taking care of people. To getting A's. She didn't share what she was doing up in Shreveport while I was in New Orleans. It was just a letter barking orders. A letter that barely contained an I miss you. There was no I love you, just a Love mom. Was this her fault, no but at the time when I needed to know she loved and missed me.

So my boxes, what this blog post is about has offered me insight into my mom a little more. It also offers me a little more insight into me. The other day was ran across some ceramic rooster canisters that my mother had painted. They had become mine after her death and when John unwrapped one lid I said I didn't really need them any longer. After all I do need to let go of some of my heritage and maybe make it a rule that I can keep somethings that make me feel connected but don't bring up a lot of pain. Something that offers me a comfortable reminder of the good times of being a kid and not so much the bad times.

Now while I wrapped this up all in a nice little bow I should add this final note not all hoarding is from heritage. It can be anxiety based after a trauma. There are lots of reasons for it and while I don't condone it. I don't condemn.


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