Emotional Hoarding

I am currently mildly obsessed with two things: TV shows about hoarding and the multi-media phenomenon PostSecret.  I have a theory that these two things are related, and that their widespread popularity says a lot about our culture and humanity in general.

If you have never seen Hoarders on A&E or Hoarding: Buried Alive on TLC, let me give you an idea of what you're missing.  A mental health specialist and a professional organizer go to a house (upon request - this is not like Intervention) and help the person or people living there clear out the clutter. By "clutter," I don't mean some loose papers and an oversized knick-knack collection; I mean piles of clothing, antiques, handbags, magazines, toiletries... and often trash, which goes hand-in-hand with things like mold, mice, mice droppings, and even, in extreme cases, dead animals.  Needless to say, these houses are uninhabitable, yet they are inhabited.  The homeowners are always initially resistant to the cleanup process even though they know they need help.  It is as though the act of throwing something away, even a piece of garbage, is an act of betrayal.  After much frustration and wasted time, the homeowner reveals a tragic circumstance which caused the hoarding to begin or get dramatically worse: the sudden death of a child or spouse, the loss of a job, drug addiction, etc.  After sharing this secret with the help staff, the homeowner often experiences a breakthough.  It is as though the secret was in the mountains of refuse, and the act of release is also an act of force which allows the homeowner to bring those mountains to the ground.  For this reason, I believe that the physical manifestation of hoarding is secondary to the emotions at its core.

If you're not familiar with PostSecret, you're living under a rock.  Kidding.  But you do need to check out the website or one of the books.  The premise is simple: you write down a secret, keep it anonymous, and mail it to the PostSecret address.  A man named Frank Warren receives the secrets and publishes them on the site or in the books.  These secrets range from mild and whimsical (ie. "I used to think teachers lived in schools" and "I wish I could go to Hogwarts") to tragic and poignant (ie. "I used to tell my brother he would never amount to anything. I still blame myself for his suicide" and "I think I'll be alone forever, and it scares me that I find this comforting").  Most importantly, the writer often expresses relief at setting the secret free.  Just as with the hoarding shows, I am drawn to these secrets because they suggest empowerment through release.  The secret itself, no matter how horrifying, is undermined by the fact that it is no longer a secret.  When an object is separated from the context it represents, it loses its potency.  Secrets and trash are inherently hidden, and things that are hidden breed shame. To break free of that shame, one must define and abandon the context in which these hidden things are allowed to exist.  It does not bring me joy to read about other people's tragedies and mistakes, just as it does not bring me joy to see someone living in filth.  What brings me joy is knowing that these things can be defeated, that we have the power to overcome these conditions.  The solution lies in abandoning your guilt and in voicing your truth, no matter how ugly or scary it is.  I admire those who ask for help and who share their secrets, and I admit that I do not do either enough.  In fact, these are two of my biggest weaknesses.  Maybe I'll send in a postcard about it.

I hope that the popularity of hoarding shows and of PostSecret derive mostly from fellow-feeling and hope in the human capacity for growth and change.  I realize that some people may watch and read to feel better about their own lives, but I can only believe that they too will grow and change.  I can only believe.