Tag: failed perfectionism
3 Pieces of Valuable Garbage

3 Pieces of Valuable Garbage

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I was raised in what most people would call a hoarder house.  My parents had problems getting rid of things, which made for a challenging environment to grow up in, and it shaped how I feel about my own house now.  Although I am not a hoarder in the traditional sense I am keenly aware of hang-ups I have about sorting and discarding items.  They say that people with hoarding tendencies are creative thinkers and can come up with multiple uses for items.  But the reason for keeping things goes beyond that, and anyone who has anything in their house is keeping it for a reason—reasons that can be personal and linked to our deepest fears.

Human beings flat out DO NOT need the amount of stuff we have in a typical American home, and anyone who says they NEED everything in their possession is probably stretching the truth.  I know homeless people who have a discretionary thing or two in their backpacks.  When we decide to keep something (rationally or not), the root reason generally falls into one or more of these main categories:

  1. Assuaging guilt

  2. Preventing loss (avoiding fear)

  3. Keeping connections with people

The associations between objects and our psyche can be easy to ignore most of the time, are not conscious decisions, and we would rather not think about loneliness when buying a hat or shopping for a new blender.  Deep fears shape our buying/acquisition decisions as well as our discarding decisions.  If you keep asking “why” to yourself on these things you might arrive at the root causes of owning your stuff.

Let me show you 3 items that most people would consider garbage that I have kept in my house (and my reasons for keeping them):

  1. Old Bread Tie

stopping food waste

Why: it can be used to help save food.

Why: sometimes I need to save food, and I don’t want to waste.

Why: it is irresponsible to waste food, and I need a lot of food to feed my big family.

Why: I don’t want my kids to be hungry like I was when I was a kid.

I feel guilty if I waste and I fear hunger for myself and family.  I don’t want my family to hate me for not providing for them.

  1. Plastic Grocery Bag

Why: it can be reused to line small garbage cans or brought in for recycling.

Why: it can help me get rid of garbage in my house and I would never just throw it away by itself.

Why: I have too much garbage in my house, but I can’t just throw away useful or recyclable items.

I fear having a messy house and being like my parents.  I feel very guilty about throwing away recyclables since I am a wasteful, privileged American, but when I don’t take these in they pile up.  I also feel guilty that I did not remember to bring reusable bags to the grocery store—I’m so stupid!  Why can’t I remember?!! I don’t want to be the kind of person who kills the earth.

  1. Lone Sock

Why: maybe I will find its mate, and these are expensive compression socks I use for work.  I feel wrong throwing it away.

Why: I will be very upset if I throw it away and I find the other one later—it’s like making a mistake.  I also need compression socks to work comfortably on my feet for 13 hours.

Making mistakes is not being perfect, and I fear not being perfect.  I feel guilty about not being organized enough to find my socks, and this is failure.  I feel guilty about wasting money if I throw expensive socks away.  I want to be comfortable at work so I can take care of myself and best provide for my family, and they will love me forever and ever and ever…and ever.

I could go deeper, and on and on about my garbage, but you get the point.  In doing this exercise with enough items in my house I am able to see patterns in my stuff, and the chips on my shoulder.  Basically I am afraid of being a poor, stupid, irresponsible, hungry hoarder whose family does not love her.  I feel guilty over the privilege and affluence I have gained as a middle class American.  And I am constantly afraid of not being perfect, of making the wrong choice, which perpetuates the irony of my decisions.  In avoiding the wrong decision I am refusing to make decisions.  In trying to not keep garbage I am keeping garbage.

The skeletons in my closet are actually the skeletons in my closet, collecting dust. If you pile up enough skeletons you have a mass grave, so bury those skeletons deep enough that you forget you have murdered anyone.  (Just kidding—burn those skeletons and scatter their ashes about town to hide the evidence.)  Or, at least think regularly about why they exist in the first place.
Cleaning Sucks

Cleaning Sucks

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We just had a storm roll through, which prompted my neighbor, Shirtless Guy, to ring my doorbell.  He wanted to return a bungee cord that flew off my travel trailer from the wind and into his back yard.  Shirtless Guy usually likes to wear his chenille bathrobe outside year round, smoking cigarettes in front of his garage while gazing at his old black pick-up truck.  He is not the kind of guy to be judgmental, not the person you wouldn’t want seeing the inside of your messy house on any given afternoon.  But because I am a failed perfectionist I cared that he caught a glimpse inside.  There was utter chaos in my living room, and I wanted to say “It doesn’t always look like this!” which is true.  The more accurate statement is to say that it doesn’t always look like this, but it usually does.

I delude myself when I pretend that order and cleanliness are the norms from which my family occasionally strays.  It’s not that we don’t clean—in fact we spend way too much time “cleaning” (me nagging my kids while they go Krav Maga on each other on the carpet and are asked to get back on task over a dozen times).  The house gets sort-of presentable at least once a week for Sunday dinner and we pick up every day, but it is only an interval of seconds to minutes before there are sweatshirts in the hallway and crumbs under the chairs.  The Hubs’ favorite thing to do is to eat out for the rest of the day after the kitchen gets detailed just so we can look at it again before it’s destroyed.

It’s All Their My My Parents’ Fault

I want to blame someone for the lack of order in my house.  My instinct is to lash out at my kids, but then I realize that I suck almost as bad at cleaning and don’t set the best example.  I am just as easily distracted as they are.  If I find an interesting book while picking up a room I might stop to read it.  If I’m supposed to put away laundry it might end up poured at the end of my bed for a couple of nights while I sleep above in the fetal position.

The truth is that I loathe household chores for the most part.  My idea of a good day does not include any scrubbing, folding, vacuuming, and especially not dusting.  I like to fancy myself as more of a “manager” than a “hands-on worker”, and my house is no exception.  That hate of chores comes across to my kids, who also have also realized that cleaning is a waste of time and should be delegated to these new house robots I keep hearing about.

So who are the kids supposed to learn from?  I certainly didn’t learn good habits from my parents.  My dad’s idea of cleaning is to put items into boxes and pile them in front of every mode of egress in the house.  Or taking a spare room and throwing everything in it and shutting the door—like the room version of a junk drawer.

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