Hoarding. It’s when you buy and keep too much stuff where it impacts your quality of life. Or, as Wikipedia describes it:

Compulsive hoarding, also known as hoarding disorder, is a behavioral pattern characterized by excessive acquisition of and an inability or unwillingness to discard large quantities of objects that cover the living areas of the home and cause significant distress or impairment.

My separated-but-living-together husband would probably say he’s got “collections”. Or that he’s going to put the stuff away once he finds room for them but never has time because insert reason here. Or he’ll say that they’re things he bought for the kids so they’re not really his. Or he’ll say they’re things he borrowed from work so they’re temporary, despite that we’ve had these items longer than our second child. She’s seven.

Were the warning signs there before we got married? Absolutely. I thought he was just a typical messy guy. He kept much of his stuff in his mother’s attic and at his desk at work.

After we got married, it got progressively worse.

I should acknowledge that my husband’s hoarding isn’t something you would see on an episode of Hoarders. I assume that’s because I’m like the hired crew who does disaster cleanup, but I do it daily. It’s enough that when guests come over and see the volume of “stuff” in pockets of our house, they all exclaim “holy f*ck!” as if on cue.



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