There is a deep connection between my brain and my belongings, and most hoarding experts would say “well, duh” to that. What better proof is there than to find yourself in a thrift store checking out the treasures you donated last month? This is why it rarely helps when well-meaning family members swoop in to remove your Stuff for you. They’re just knocking you upside the head, and your brain will spend hours, days, or even weeks explaining to itself why you deserve to be angry or sad or shocked or heartbroken.
What if, without that scrap of fabric, your brain could no longer recall the feelings you had when you wore that garment on the day that you met the love of your life? What if just holding it, you had been able to transport yourself to the exact moment you knew he was about to kiss you for the first time? What if that memory stayed in your head but you couldn’t get to it anymore, to relive it, to recall it, to compare it to all the other kisses that would come after that and fall short?
Feelings, for some of us, are tactile. I never feel the love of motherhood more powerfully than when I feel the top of my sons’ heads. They are all grown, but if I ever have the opportunity to pat them on the head (and don’t squander such an opportunity) I can feel my heart swell and fill with a love I could not contemplate before giving birth.
To dispose of an item is sometimes taking the risk of forgetting something you want to always remember – for a hoarder. If only we would use that brain to organize the memories instead of the clutter.