Seriously, the most awesome thing I've seen all day are Elizabeth Vargas' facial expressions in this 20/20 special about children of hoarders. As she clambers through the hoard, it's actually kind of funny to watch the spasms of horror cross her face. This is a woman who probably should never play poker. After mountaineering her way through the hallway to the living room in what seems to be a state of shock, she picks up and puts down a mustard bottle and then a ketchup bottle, clearly thunderstruck by the fact that they are being stored on the living room floor. (Apparently, she keeps hers in the fridge. Huh.)
There was something very validating about being reminded that growing up as a child in a hoarded home is, to most people, completely foreign and simply unacceptable. 20/20 clearly articulated some of the most damaging and lasting effects of growing up this way. Continuously receiving the message that your parent's junk is more important than you are leaves lasting scars. The feelings of worthlessness and hopelessness have a way of following you, although they are most unwelcome companions.
Watching the show was a little difficult for me. But I also felt uplifted by the profiles of hoarders' children who have grown up and gotten out, moving on to create lives of their own. And to Jason Brunet, whose mother was featured on this show and on Hoarders -- your brave message of hope is actually even more awesome than the expressions on Elizabeth Vargas' face. You're right: there are people out there who understand. And there is always hope. So to those of you who are still living with or struggling with a hoarding parent, to those of you who feel worthless and helpless and like nothing will ever change -- it does get better. It truly does.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Wait, how is this my fault?
The comment OneWeeSpark left about this article on children of hoarders got me thinking. A line in the article states that "There are no easy answers to this, which is why so many families of hoarders give up trying to change them." Reading this shot me right down memory lane, back into one of the less-than-delightful aspects of being the child of a hoarder.
Growing up, most people didn't know much about my mother's hoarding. Those that did, while well-intentioned, clearly didn't understand what was going on. There's such a misperception that hoarders are just lazy, disorganized slobs who should get up off their couches (if they can still find room on the couch next to all the piles of newspapers) and just start throwing things away. When someone new actually would see the inside of our house, which didn't happen much, they would typically ask (understandably), "How can you live like this?" This question was often followed by some form of disappointment that we kids weren't helping our mother enough, or the expectation that we should just dive in and start throwing things away, or another insinuation that we were somehow responsible for what was happening.
"...Which is why so many families of hoarders give up trying to change them." It took me years -- decades, really -- to come the the conclusion that (brace yourself!) it is not, in fact, my job to cure my mother. I cannot solve the problem by riding in on a white horse (or a white Dumpster, maybe) and throwing everything out. Hoarding has such deep psychological roots that, typically, if a house it cleared out against the hoarder's will, he or she will just fill it back up again.
Besides that, when did it become the child's job to care for and change the parent? Would someone ask the child of an alcoholic to help Mommy quit drinking? The child of a schizophrenic to help Daddy cut down on his pesky paranoid delusions? Blaming the children of hoarders for "allowing" our parents to live the way they do not only misses the mark, but also deepens our sense of shame around an issue we don't need to be ashamed of.
Growing up, most people didn't know much about my mother's hoarding. Those that did, while well-intentioned, clearly didn't understand what was going on. There's such a misperception that hoarders are just lazy, disorganized slobs who should get up off their couches (if they can still find room on the couch next to all the piles of newspapers) and just start throwing things away. When someone new actually would see the inside of our house, which didn't happen much, they would typically ask (understandably), "How can you live like this?" This question was often followed by some form of disappointment that we kids weren't helping our mother enough, or the expectation that we should just dive in and start throwing things away, or another insinuation that we were somehow responsible for what was happening.
"...Which is why so many families of hoarders give up trying to change them." It took me years -- decades, really -- to come the the conclusion that (brace yourself!) it is not, in fact, my job to cure my mother. I cannot solve the problem by riding in on a white horse (or a white Dumpster, maybe) and throwing everything out. Hoarding has such deep psychological roots that, typically, if a house it cleared out against the hoarder's will, he or she will just fill it back up again.
Besides that, when did it become the child's job to care for and change the parent? Would someone ask the child of an alcoholic to help Mommy quit drinking? The child of a schizophrenic to help Daddy cut down on his pesky paranoid delusions? Blaming the children of hoarders for "allowing" our parents to live the way they do not only misses the mark, but also deepens our sense of shame around an issue we don't need to be ashamed of.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Apparently, it could have been worse
I was reading recently and learned that there are several types of hoarders: animal hoarders, squalid hoarders, and clean hoarders. (Really? 250,000 words in the English language and the best term that researchers could come up with was "clean hoarder?" Come to think of it, that's actually kind of funny.)
Clean hoarders keep things that the rest of us consider junk, in quantities that impede basic daily activities (cooking, sleeping, mobility, etc.). Piles of gifts for other people that are never given away, 27 bottles of unopened shampoo, newspapers and magazines stacked to the ceiling -- you get the idea. Hoarding of this type can be dangerous, as it creates fire hazards, falling hazards, and basic house maintenance issues. Clean hoarders do not, however, tend to keep things on the more nauseating end of the trash spectrum.
Squalid hoarders keep junk, too, but they also keep things that would make most people's stomachs turn. We're talking used paper plates, rotting food, dirty adult diapers, bags of garbage, and sometimes their own bodily excretions. (Seriously?) Their houses often begin to decay as well, because they are unable to have a repair person come in to, say, fix the leaking toilet. It will just keep leaking for years until the floorboards give way. These houses are often unsalvageable after the hoarder moves out. They're so far gone that they must be bulldozed.
Animal hoarders live in squalor, too. You've probably seen them on the news. They're the hollow-eyed people arrested for animal cruelty after the humane society raids their home and finds 82 cats (or dogs or horses or whatever), in varying states of illness and starvation, living there. Often, they will keep dead animals in the freezer or in other areas of their property. (Again I say, seriously?) Ironically, these hoarders often truly believe that they are "rescuing" the animals under their care.
My mother is a clean hoarder. So yes, I'd definitely say that it could have been worse.
Clean hoarders keep things that the rest of us consider junk, in quantities that impede basic daily activities (cooking, sleeping, mobility, etc.). Piles of gifts for other people that are never given away, 27 bottles of unopened shampoo, newspapers and magazines stacked to the ceiling -- you get the idea. Hoarding of this type can be dangerous, as it creates fire hazards, falling hazards, and basic house maintenance issues. Clean hoarders do not, however, tend to keep things on the more nauseating end of the trash spectrum.
Squalid hoarders keep junk, too, but they also keep things that would make most people's stomachs turn. We're talking used paper plates, rotting food, dirty adult diapers, bags of garbage, and sometimes their own bodily excretions. (Seriously?) Their houses often begin to decay as well, because they are unable to have a repair person come in to, say, fix the leaking toilet. It will just keep leaking for years until the floorboards give way. These houses are often unsalvageable after the hoarder moves out. They're so far gone that they must be bulldozed.
Animal hoarders live in squalor, too. You've probably seen them on the news. They're the hollow-eyed people arrested for animal cruelty after the humane society raids their home and finds 82 cats (or dogs or horses or whatever), in varying states of illness and starvation, living there. Often, they will keep dead animals in the freezer or in other areas of their property. (Again I say, seriously?) Ironically, these hoarders often truly believe that they are "rescuing" the animals under their care.
My mother is a clean hoarder. So yes, I'd definitely say that it could have been worse.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
It all started when...
My father thinks my mother started hoarding about 25 years ago. After struggling to make ends meet for a long time, they had given up and were moving to another state in hopes of finding work. He remembers her loading up the truck with absolute junk that she couldn't bear to part with. You never know when you might need that old rebar, right?
When I was very young, I remember her being not so great with the housework or tidying up, but the house wasn't filled to the brim. The collecting, for the most part, was limited to stuff that got stored in the garage. As I got older, the garage stuff started overflowing into the house. Then we moved again, my mom started working, my parents' marriage continued to deteriorate, and the stuff just kept coming in. About 10 years ago, my parents separated, my sister died in a car accident, my brother and I moved out, and the stuff started coming in faster.
Many hoarders begin hoarding after experiencing a trauma. My mother's hoarding had already begun when my sister died, but it definitely intensified after that. Hoarding also tends to worsen after the hoarder starts living alone, so I guess we're dealing with a double whammy here. Regardless of exactly why, my mother's hoarding just seems get worse with time. The fact that she won't allow me in the house anymore (plus the fact that her piles have now spilled out onto the front porch -- sorry, neighbors!) scares the bejeezus out of me. What on earth does the place look like inside at this point? Mostly, I try not to think about it too much. Occasionally, my brother and I talk about what we'll do when my mom is no longer able to live alone. Given that she's filled a 2200 square foot house, a two-car garage, three storage sheds, and sections of her back and front yards with junk, cleaning the place out is going to be somewhat less than awesome. (Personally, I lean toward burning the place to the ground, but I'm pretty sure the insurance company would frown on that sort of thing.)
When I was very young, I remember her being not so great with the housework or tidying up, but the house wasn't filled to the brim. The collecting, for the most part, was limited to stuff that got stored in the garage. As I got older, the garage stuff started overflowing into the house. Then we moved again, my mom started working, my parents' marriage continued to deteriorate, and the stuff just kept coming in. About 10 years ago, my parents separated, my sister died in a car accident, my brother and I moved out, and the stuff started coming in faster.
Many hoarders begin hoarding after experiencing a trauma. My mother's hoarding had already begun when my sister died, but it definitely intensified after that. Hoarding also tends to worsen after the hoarder starts living alone, so I guess we're dealing with a double whammy here. Regardless of exactly why, my mother's hoarding just seems get worse with time. The fact that she won't allow me in the house anymore (plus the fact that her piles have now spilled out onto the front porch -- sorry, neighbors!) scares the bejeezus out of me. What on earth does the place look like inside at this point? Mostly, I try not to think about it too much. Occasionally, my brother and I talk about what we'll do when my mom is no longer able to live alone. Given that she's filled a 2200 square foot house, a two-car garage, three storage sheds, and sections of her back and front yards with junk, cleaning the place out is going to be somewhat less than awesome. (Personally, I lean toward burning the place to the ground, but I'm pretty sure the insurance company would frown on that sort of thing.)
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Now we know, and knowing is half the battle
God bless the internet. When I first heard the term "compulsive hoarding" in the late 90's, two things happened. First, I thought, "Oh! So THAT'S what's wrong with my mother." Second, I thought, "Great! So if there's a name for this thing, there must be a ton of information out there about it." I was right on the first thought, wrong on the second. At that point, research on compulsive hoarding was in its infancy and there just wasn't much information available. There is now. It is oddly comforting to me that Googling "compulsive hoarding" pulls up 402,000 results (and counting).
Back then, I felt alone. Even though I knew there must be other people going through what I'd been through, no one was talking about it. Today, people are making TV shows about hoarding. People are writing blogs and web sites and books about hoarding. So not only are we friends and relatives of hoarders not alone, but now we know what's going on with Mom (or Grandpa, or Aunt Judith, as the case may be). And knowing is half the battle.
Back then, I felt alone. Even though I knew there must be other people going through what I'd been through, no one was talking about it. Today, people are making TV shows about hoarding. People are writing blogs and web sites and books about hoarding. So not only are we friends and relatives of hoarders not alone, but now we know what's going on with Mom (or Grandpa, or Aunt Judith, as the case may be). And knowing is half the battle.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Children of hoarders, children of alcoholics
Given that my family doesn't drink, I never gave much thought to the effect of being the child of an alcoholic until today. Sure, we had our issues when I was growing up (not being able to walk through the house without picking your way over huge piles of stuff, for example). Drunken parents, fortunately, were not one of our issues. So imagine my surprise when I stumbled across a Children of Hoarders page which said that many adult children of hoarders have a lot in common with adult children of alcoholics. They offered a quiz on common personality characteristics of adult children of alcoholics. Having been raised on a steady diet of Cosmopolitan quizzes, I figured I'd take this one, too. Granted, this one wasn't quite as light-hearted as, say, "Which Cosmo bachelor would adore you?" (Some sample items: "I guess at what is normal." "I avoid conflict or aggravate it, but rarely deal with it.") Lo and behold, on a scale of 20-100 (with 100 being a high probability of being an adult child of an alcoholic) I scored ONE HUNDRED NINETEEN. Oddly, this actually made me feel better. If there is a reason for my conflict/failure/criticism/intimacy issues (other than, as I've always assumed, grievous personality flaws on my part), that means I can actually do something about them.
(Go here if you're interested in seeing the actual quiz.)
(Go here if you're interested in seeing the actual quiz.)
Friday, July 22, 2011
The gift that keeps on giving
I realized this week that, no matter how much time and effort I've put into sorting through the psychological detritus of growing up in a home with a hoarder, being a hoarder's child really is a gift that keeps on giving. And not the beautifully wrapped, lying-under-the-tree-and-waiting-for-Christmas-morning kind of gift. Really, it's more the unpleasant, coal-in-your-stocking variety.
There were two conversations that precipitated this realization. The first was my brother who, like me, can't handle watching A&E's show Hoarders. Well, to be more precise, even watching the commercials causes me such anxiety that I have to change the channel. He, braver soul that he is, told me that he actually attempted to watch the show with a friend. That experience apparently culminated with his getting more and more irritable until she asked, "Wait. Why are you mad at ME?" To which he, chagrined, replied that he was sorry and he wasn't mad at her. It just hit too close to home.
The second conversation was with a friend who happened to catch a segment about adult children of hoarders on NPR's show Here and Now. They talked about the lasting ramifications of growing up with a hoarding parent, some of which are simply not learning some basic life skills (say, organizing and, um, cleaning your house). While I'm OK at organizing (although I will definitely never be the type with all my shoes ensconced in plastic boxes decorated with a photo of each pair), housekeeping has always been a Sisyphean task that I just cannot seem to manage. (Note to former roommates and my husband: Very sorry. Still working on this.) I always chalked this up to a personal character flaw, but that conversation started me thinking. It's not that much of a stretch to realize that growing up in a household where housework just wasn't done might lead to challenges with keeping my house tidy as an adult. But if that's the case, what other gifts from my hoarding heritage are still with me?
There were two conversations that precipitated this realization. The first was my brother who, like me, can't handle watching A&E's show Hoarders. Well, to be more precise, even watching the commercials causes me such anxiety that I have to change the channel. He, braver soul that he is, told me that he actually attempted to watch the show with a friend. That experience apparently culminated with his getting more and more irritable until she asked, "Wait. Why are you mad at ME?" To which he, chagrined, replied that he was sorry and he wasn't mad at her. It just hit too close to home.
The second conversation was with a friend who happened to catch a segment about adult children of hoarders on NPR's show Here and Now. They talked about the lasting ramifications of growing up with a hoarding parent, some of which are simply not learning some basic life skills (say, organizing and, um, cleaning your house). While I'm OK at organizing (although I will definitely never be the type with all my shoes ensconced in plastic boxes decorated with a photo of each pair), housekeeping has always been a Sisyphean task that I just cannot seem to manage. (Note to former roommates and my husband: Very sorry. Still working on this.) I always chalked this up to a personal character flaw, but that conversation started me thinking. It's not that much of a stretch to realize that growing up in a household where housework just wasn't done might lead to challenges with keeping my house tidy as an adult. But if that's the case, what other gifts from my hoarding heritage are still with me?
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