Emotional Hoarding

There are times when all of this is easy. Receiving glimpses of hope and a few moments of relief. It’s like if you double down on self-care, potentially, it could be one of those “towards the light” type of days. Nothing more than drive-bys on the dark side. 

Those types of days are to be honored and remembered. Cherish the moments of the cruise with minimal self-abuse tactics at play. I felt like sharing how important those cherishing moments are because this next part was really tough for me to explore. 

So Emotional Hoarding…

That line packs a punch. I am identifying as an emotional hoarder. I have stuffed everything for as long as I can remember. I don’t recall many times in my life when I was freely expressing myself until recently. Everything from the past was piled up in the garage of my mind. The overstock could be found in my heart. Garbage was spread out throughout my entire body. 

But of course, as I came to terms with the extent of my hoarding, it helped shift my perception. Self-discovery at its best. All of my stuffing, running, denying, etc., were the root causes of all of my problems. I reserved a table for one, a table of deep-rooted self-hatred. All of the survival tips were backfiring. There was this sticky internal mess of self-abuse that was self-inflicted. 

A pretty brutal blow to realize this downfall was, in fact, an inside job. 

After the dust settled, I embraced this as one of the greatest gifts that would help the shame of it all disappear. There is a residual sadness in the reality of how nasty I was being to myself. The amount of emotions that were being hoarded made everything stick with that same amount of self-resentment. Things were starting to become immobile. 

Self-inflicted and frozen in fear. Years of unconscious hoarding  added up. Every feeling put on a shelf to collect dust, never to be found or renewed again. Every emotion filed away in the cabinets of personal hell. Let’s be real it will never be taken out of that file cabinet. The over-reactive actions invaded and stuck to my insides, calling it home. The piles kept getting bigger and the house became filthier. 

An unruly junkyard full of dirty filthy stuff.

But it was my junkyard.

And it was my stuff, and I’m claiming ownership on all of it. It was a long road of collecting. But like most hoarders, there is a bit of denial of how bad things really were. The stuffing helped with survival. The avoidance allowed for living in daydreams. The dissociation made it all not so real. An “organized” menagerie of emotions that would protect. These goods were all very useful in the grand scheme of things. Played a purpose in the day to day. I haven’t acknowledged my hoarded emotions and updated my inventory sheet in a while, and yet deep down, the extra “stuff” mattered. 

The hoarding gave temporary relief. The boxes of feelings stacked up, guarding around the heart. Anchoring the entire body with heaviness.

Creating a dark path to nowhere. At this point, the self-hatred delivery truck and its deliveries were fairly consistent, so it was time to get creative on where to put the next shipment of god knows what. 

Guarding myself, and yet, ever so close to being buried alive. 

None of this was intentional. Somehow this was my new normal. It became just as second nature as blinking. In the end, it was just stuff and repeat. Stuff and repeat. A vicious cycle of bargain-hunting for the next big feeling to join the stockpile. 

“There was this sticky internal mess of self-abuse that was self-inflicted.”

Like anyone who's house is destroyed from years of hoarding, it was time to do take action. People were going to find out. Try moving one box among the pack. It seemed impossible. It was impossible. It seemed like the boxes were sticky and connected, with tar that stuck from corner to corner without even a small crevice to move. Suffocating. But with a promising journey ahead. The biggest task of life, right there, before my eyes.  Sort through this maze of crap and find a way to rearrange.

Sitting here observing my life rifling through my brain of how I was going to embark on this overwhelming journey. The first step was to tell someone. There is just no one way for anyone to do this alone. Moving is the worst, especially when it’s too close for comfort. Not really sure how to make a dent in this mess. Trust someone with this. Don’t approach this alone. 

Don’t cry over baggage, but beg for recovery.

In the show Hoarders, People are literally addicted to garbage. Taken hostage by old cans and used paper towel holders. Then someone, usually a family member or a close loved one, tries to save them. And it's like death becomes her. Clinging to trash on the floor. 

It’s outrageous hearing it in the literal sense. But instead of looking around your home, try to look within yourself. Are you your own home? Are you tending to your own home, your own emotions? This exact scenario is very capable of happening with emotions in your own home. 

Emotional hoarding with a filthy internal storage space of crap. Holding onto the most minuscule feelings that were ever felt. Things from so long ago that got stored. Moved across the country, then across the other side of the country, then to the middle of the Pacific. There’s no way it can be moved again. No way, no how. There is no reason to be left teary over the emotional version of used paper towel holders. Not enough strength for any of this. Not enough energy for any of this. Nor should you channel any of it to entertain this.

“Sort through this maze of emotional crap and find a way to rearrange.”

So try something like take your own advice and open up about what is going one. Start praying, begging whatever you believe in to get life back. There was a day on my surfboard that I prayed to the universe to give my life back. This was not the first time where begging was the only option. 

Start letting people know what is going on. Explore vulnerability and what that feels like. It is for sure foreign territory, not comfortable by any means. Extremely uncomfortable. Exploring the uncomfortable means doors start opening, therapists to see, healers to go to, workshops to attend. Things just started aligning without this master to-do list of pressure. Things were naturally just falling more into place. 

If you can, have the kahuna’s to ask for help. What could come might just be a huge eye-opener. There was so much fear in the early days of opening up and being vulnerable. These were very big acts that in the end were life-saving tactics. 

So open up, my loves! Start talking about what really is going on. Don’t stand there with a blank stare on your face and say “I AM FINE”! Ask special people in your life for you to feel the courage to open up to. When you find them, hold onto them for dear life. They are your angels, your tribe! The ones that will have your back no matter what. If you feel like you don’t have anyone, email me.