I used to have piles of stuff, piles of newspapers, piles of magazines and piles of random paper. How on earth did I get all these piles going? It was probably my lack of enthusiasm for going through them and pitching when necessary. Most people have them, though, the question is do they bother us or can we live our lives walking by them like the elephant in the room.
My piles used to be worse when I was a younger married lady. The mail would grow exponentially every day – junk mail, catalogs, etc. – until I could ignore it no longer. The top of the refrigerator would expand in size as I stored random containers, things I didnt want to look at and just plain junk on top of it. These piles, in a way, were comforting to me and if I kept them neatly stacked even better. I could reason my way out of the situation by telling myself that the house was neat and clean because my hoard of paper was lined up correctly. Heavy sigh – we all have a hoarder trait in there somewhere.
The hammer came down when my husband told me the piles had to go. It hit home with me when he told me that those piles I thought were my own lived in the corners of his brain and made him crazy. I asked him what in the world did he mean? He explained it like this, I think about them and know the house isnt in the order it should be. You are creating catastrophe where there should be peace. I cant relax because of the disorder. As I digested this I wanted to tell him to go take a hike. There were toys scattered on the floor every day and he never said a thing about those. Deep down inside, though, I knew what he meant. Lots of women I know, strong women, would have told him that those piles were none of his business and laugh. But I knew that I wanted a peaceful home, one in which the people I loved could come home and rest. If getting rid of the growing stack of random frippery meant my husband could relax, then yes, they were going to be gone.
Facing your own insufficiencies is a hard thing to do. I stared down my stacks and piles and one by one I threw things away. Piece by piece I either trashed it or put it in its rightful place. Mind you, my house wasnt dirty, just full of things I didnt need – or things that needed a home. As the clean spaces in my kitchen and living room became clearer, I felt a heavy weight begin to lift off my chest. I could breath and see a bit clearer. I found that doing a bit of work, even if I didnt want to, makes your day that much brighter. With each piece of junk mail or magazine I had stacked I had weighed down my life and that of my husbands – and I had needed to face it or become a future guest on Hoarders!
Twenty-three years later my stacks are still under control. I have a vintage wire basket on my counter that holds school papers to be signed, pizza coupons and current mail. Every week on my day off I go through this basket and throw away what I no longer need. Newspapers are stashed in a big old crock that gets emptied out every Monday for the trash man. The top of my fridge holds big bowls that I use all the time and a vintage scale that is decorative and fun. No more randomness. My cupboards hold what I need to cook, bake and eat off of and nothing more. The simplicity of that feeling cant be beat – and my hubby can find what he needs without getting a headache. The only thing I wont budge on is my bookshelf. Every once in a while he will tell me that my bookshelf is overflowing and maybe I should get rid of some books. At this I will laugh and ask him if we can get rid of some of the things in his garage. He will laugh and we will move on. Everybody needs a little space of their own.
