What's With This Stuff!

Last week when I stopped to visit my daughter she pushed me back out the open door exclaiming that she was not interested in hearing my judgement about her space. It's a mess. Regularly. I said I wouldn't say anything but that was a lie. "Good effing grief!" That's not a judgment. That's an assessment.

This morning I was back at her space and offered that it is difficult to keep coming home to piles of stuff everywhere. She shares episodes from that show where they capitalize on the distress of people who hoard. I hold that if I visit my friends/families/neighbors home and it looks a mess, it is imperative that I offer to support them in cleaning it up.

How dare I stand/sit/wander around though someone's filth (distress) and do nothing. It is as simple and easy as picking up the stuff at your feet and putting it away (or in the trash).  Between my daughter and I, we folded all the laundry, sorted it into piles and put some of it away.

We become overwhelmed when there is so much to do. Having support (company or help) can ease the emotional burden. As I got into the car, she shouted down over the rail, "Hoarding is genetic."

I know. I know. It is a constant effort to release and let go of what no longer serves us. My mother. Me. My children. I am looking into the mirror no matter where I visit. None of us need judgment. We all need compassion.