Crazy Making
A submission from Carolyne
My mother, is a perpetual pack rat. In fact, she hoards everything. From an early age, I lived in a house that was very cluttery, and it was filled to the brim with material goods. As a child it didn’t really bother me, because as children go, life is relative. If the clutter didn’t directly affect me I really did not care either away about its existence.
What was interesting was the way my mother felt about the clutter. She was well aware of its existence, and was ashamed of the mess. So ashamed, that I was unable to bring any friends or guests over to play, I always would go to their houses to socialize. She rarely had house guests, and parties were out of the question. What boggles my mind is, that she was completely ashamed of it. Clutter negatively affected her life, yet she was completely unwilling to take any action against it. It was as if the accumulation of all of these possessions were an invisible wall, or blanket that shielded her from her demons.
Now, I know my mother has had a hard life, she is a very strong woman, and in my childhood I remember some pretty dark times economically and emotionally. Maybe all of that stuff was a material form of wealth, a way of physically reassuring herself that she was in fact wealthy. Or maybe she thought that all of the knick-nacks, storage bins, and clothes she could not get rid of were a physical manifestation of nostalgia. Physical memories that if they were thrown away, would represent the loss of memories and maybe even a lifetime forgotten.
Now, to bridge into my own life. It is interesting how the actions of the mothers affect the lives of the daughters. I like to kid myself and tell myself that the apple does fall far from the tree, that I can break this cycle of accumulation.
Ha, boy was I wrong.
I too, have a problem with throwing things away. I think that maybe, I might need this again. Maybe, I will actually wear this dress (even though every time I put it on I hate it). Maybe I will start this project, and so on and so forth. I like to tell myself that I am not my mother. However, it is fairly apparent I have the same problem. I think the solution is in humility, admitting that I too, have a problem with collecting crap. Realizing that I tend to keep things way past their usefulness is the only way I have been able to curb my need to keep. So it is in the realization that I am my mother, that I can break the cycle, and thus the apple rolls out into the sun.
