Member-only story
NONFICTION | SELF
Filling Up the Empty Spaces
Why we can’t let things go
I’m fascinated with TV shows about hoarders. I’m always interested in the psychology of things, but I realize what appeals to me most is the clean-up part. It must satisfy some deep-seated feelings I have about orderliness, growing up as I did in chaos.
My mother’s home was tidy, but our lives weren’t.
My husband cannot stand to watch hoarding shows with me, which I find curious since he’s unable to throw anything away — but perhaps that’s the reason.
The poor man is, unfortunately, married to a bona fide neatnik. I cannot abide clutter or things out of place; it robs me of my peace. Where I see unholy chaos in his shop, my husband sees endless possibilities.
On the rare occasion when he’s able to use that piece of scrap metal he saved for the last decade, it’s my job to call all our friends and organize the parade.
We all have our issues.
Out of childhood traumas grew two distinctly opposite results: a man who must collect things to be happy, and a woman who cannot bear clutter for the same reason.
