A while ago I explained the dilemma I have with access to our lofts. I shan’t recap for embarrassing personal reasons! But my husband’s insistence to sort out my endless bags of ‘stuff’ hasn’t gone away.
We needed to reach a compromise. There was no way I was going back up there! So, we agreed that my husband would go into the loft and I’d stand on the top rung of the step ladder and inspect the boxes, cases and bags which he’d bring to the entrance. But then I had an even better idea. Why not just bring down all the boxes containing shoes and clothing and I’d sort them out, once and for all! I’d be ruthless and give most of them to my daughter’s charity that she works for in Scotland.
The soft bags were thrown down, landing unceremoniously at the bottom of the step ladder. I moved them to one side and helped lift the heavier containers. Soon the landing had filled up and I had to start moving things into bedrooms. I was beginning to feel rather embarrassed so tried to push as many as possible out of view!
It reminded me of the day we moved into this house from the Wirral. The removal company did all the packing. Clothes were hung up in cardboard boxes and everything was clearly marked. We were moving from a four bedroomed house to a four bedroomed house so that was easy. We had taken the day off work and my son and parents-in-law had offered to help.
After the usual stressful exchange of contracts the keys were collected and the unloading could begin. For insurance purposes everything had to be unpacked and checked. We worked together as a good team downstairs and had unpacked all the glass and china by the time the bedrooms were being filled.
My mother-in-law and I went upstairs to start unpacking and that was when my nightmare began. Box upon box marked Mrs Burrell Clothes or Mrs Burrell Shoes began to fill the main bedroom. There were not enough cupboards and gradually no place to put the bed. I instructed the men to start using bedroom number two. I went downstairs to make tea and overheard two chaps laughing together.
‘Imelda Marcos wants us to start leaving her clothes boxes in bedroom number two. There’s still a load more to come so I bet bedrooms three and four will also be filled.’
‘I thought my wife was bad’! The other chap laughed. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this!’
Unfortunately I have my mother’s hoarding gene. Alas, I didn’t inherit her ‘careful with money’ gene which, according to my husband, would have been far more useful! So, back to the present. I open the first large plastic tub. Taking out a jacket I mutter, ‘This will probably be back in fashion next year’, I sigh. I mustn’t be too gung-ho! I’m a pensioner now and can’t justify spending money on fashion clothes!
I lay out two tops on the bed. They were quite tight and my style has changed. But, before anyone makes an assumption that I have probably gained weight, let me hastily clarify that this is not the case! I just prefer feeling comfortable! The tops went into the charity bag and the jacket remained on the bed. When the container had been emptied the bed was full and the charity bag virtually empty!
I felt very stressed and needed some direction. No one who isn’t a hoarder can understand the pain and suffering I felt looking at a jumper, holding it lovingly in my hands, full of happy memories! That jumper and I go way back. We have a history. It’s not just any old jumper! I looked around at the boxes, bags and plastic containers filling the spare bedroom and would have sat down on the bed if there had been any space! I felt emotionally drained!
This sounds dramatic but I was desperate! There was no way I could get my long suffering husband to take everything back up into the loft! I doubt he would have even considered it! Chaos does not worry him! He’d step over the ‘stuff’ in the hallway and ignore it! I would really struggle! Everything has its place and currently, these containers should be in the loft, out of sight and out of mind!
I sat on the floor, head in hands, feeling pathetic! I stared at one of the charity bags, empty, lying on the floor. Why was it so hard just to fill them and move on? Most of these clothes hadn’t been worn in years! I’ve not needed them so why would I suddenly need them now?
It was then that I remembered seeing Ukrainian women and children arriving in Poland with only the clothes on their backs. Guilt set in and I suddenly felt really mean! That jumper, and the many others, would bring them comfort and keep them warm. How could I deny those poor women that basic human right? I have enough in my cupboards to cope with any climate!
Guilt overcoming my hoarding addiction was not a miracle cure! I lapsed many times during that clear out and had to buy more clothes hangers. But I managed, embarrassingly, to fill seven charity bags. I’ve sealed them and left them in the spare bedroom. We’ll take them to my daughter on our next visit.
I’ve taken this first giant step. My cupboards are next! Not yet, but in the not too distant future! My husband is happy that the loft is emptier. I have been charitable and given away clothes and shoes that will be used instead of wasted. Giving and the satisfaction of knowing that I will make someone else’s life better is a good feeling. I’ll try and hold that thought when I start on my cupboards!👠
Jenny Burrell 