Being Real Confession

I must make a confession.

There’s a television show on A & E Television about people who hang on to items that they really can’t use, until it essentially chokes the life from their life.

I am a hoarder.

For years I’ve hoarded chips & dip, candy bars, too much steak & shrimp, and bread, and dessert — all on my body. I’m learning slowly, how to let go.

There’s one particular item I’m guilty of hoarding currently. I’m so ashamed. I have a hard time even looking at this item, but a harder time doing something about eradicating it from my home.

Dust.

Yeah. I hoard dust. I let it collect and gather in every nook, corner and cranny it can find and fill in my house. I mean, dust bunnies need a place to live, too, right?

In reality, hoarding these things is my insulation. They insulate me from you, the rest of the world. Oh, I share parts of me, but there are other parts that are well-hidden, safe within my home, buried under a nice undisturbed layer of dust.

See, you can hurt me if I let you in.

If my house is dusty, I have a reason to not invite you over. If the rooms are cluttered, there’s no place for you to sit, therefore, I feel justified in not inviting you, because you would be uncomfortable.

The thing is, I need to let you in. You can enrich my life, grow me, challenge me, make me better.

And yes, sometimes, hurt me.

All a part of life. I need to go on a safari. In the meantime, I’m waiting for the A & E crew to come and film here and help me get rid of this.

Disclaimer: I realize the malady of hoarding is real and extremely difficult for those suffering with it and their families. No offense is intended at all.

Shh, I’m hunting wabbits. Dust bunny wabbits.

What are you hoarding? What are you using as insulation to keep people out?

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