Permission to hoard

by Rona Trachtenberg

As a professional organizer, I wince at even hearing or using the uncompassionate word “hoarding,” which the Merriam-Webster Dictionary delicately defines as, “To collect and often hide away a supply of something.”

I am hoping that you can identify with this situation. Every time I go into my bathroom, I get to “admire” my six-tierhigh tower of toilet paper packages, my 19 boxes of gloves, my sacred cache of 15 paper towel rolls and four tissue boxes that I continually replenish when the amounts get low.

Am I a hoarder or just a stockpiler of necessities? I need to know.

I never used to be like this. It all started March 2020 when the Covid-19 crisis hit the fan. Supply and demand shopping made us all hunt and fight for that very last roll of toilet paper on the almost empty and very depressing store shelves.

My father was a World War II veteran, who lived through the Great Depression of 1929. He passed away in 2013, but had he been alive today I am sure he would be experiencing PTSD from those days when basic living essentials were also scarce. He once shared a poignant childhood story about fruit (apples, oranges, and peaches) that were wrapped in a type of protective parchment paper before being stacked in a bin at the grocery store.

My father explained that, “Those wrappers were an extremely valuable possession because we re-purposed them as toilet paper.” In those days, folks got creative and did what they had to do to survive.

So, that brings us to the second decade of the 21st century and how our generation is coping with our prolonged shopping challenges.

I am creating my own tales of woe and wisdom. I will never forget that fateful day I waited patiently in line, in the hot summer sun, for two hours, just for the privilege of entering my local Walmart. To my great surprise and amazement, there, situated at the end of an aisle, was an entire pallet of my favorite brand of paper towels. I thought I had sun stroke and was seeing a mirage. I grabbed three packages like I had won the lottery and made a football linebacker dash to the nearest cashier before Walmart changed its mind and relieved me of my prized possessions. I was fully prepared to challenge any other customer to a duel if they even thought about touching my cart.

I have repeated this scenario several times with all paper products and especially boxes of gloves as I am also a Certified Nursing Assistant and go through a LOT of gloves protecting myself and my patients. Harbor Freight used to sell my gloves for $8 a box. Since Covid-19, that same box skyrocketed to an exorbitant $20, and that is when they had any in stock. Highway robbery, I say. I have every nearby Harbor Freight store in my phone’s GPS and I used to visit each one regularly in the hope that I arrived right after their truck delivery.

And don’t think that my passion for stockpiling is limited to just paper products. I am still having trouble finding my flavor of Cliff bars (oatmeal/raisin/ walnut) in any store. Organic Q-tips at Whole Foods are non-existent. And don't get me started on cat food. My finicky cat prefers only one flavor of one brand, which I have to order through Amazon and pay through the nose for because the shelves in Super Stop & Shop are relatively bare.

To date, whenever I am lucky enough to find the specific item I am looking for and need, I purchase multiples of that item in case that item goes extinct again and I have to wait months for a replacement. Have any of you experienced this same frustration and insecurity?

Some days I feel like I am just one can of peas away from becoming one of those doomsday apocalypse survivalists preparing to live in an underground bunker.

Stuff on stuff

Are these actions and thoughts normal? I needed to know, so I contacted two mental health professionals.

Nancy F. Brown, a Clinical Social Worker/Therapist, LICSW in New Bedford, offered this sage advice, “It sounds like the difficulties in production and delivery during the pandemic and since have heightened your awareness of scarcity. You are stockpiling. Many people were doing that at the beginning of the pandemic. Is this normal, you ask? These last two-plus years do not feel normal for many people. A definite departure from their pre-COVID life. However, stockpiling and mask wearing and staying home more is normal for many people now.”

While Brown explained that she isn’t an expert on hoarding, she was able to clarify that, “Hoarding behavior is when a person has difficulty discarding or parting with possessions because of a perceived need to save them. People that hoard experience distress at the thought of getting rid of items. It is not based on the financial value of the item. You can imagine the excess that can accumulate. It can make a space unsafe, unsanitary, inhibit a person’s ability to take care of their activities of daily living (ADL), and can often create bad relationships with family members or friends trying to help them get rid of stuff. Hoarders don’t see the stuff as a problem. It is a difficult diagnosis to treat.”

Okay, so at least I now know that I am not a hoarder. Great.

My second mental health opinion came from Bonnie Baker, LCSW, a crisis/ trauma therapist in Florida.

“Everyone experiences fear and anxiety to Covid in different ways. People who have had preexisting mental health conditions might find that their symptoms have exacerbated. Overstimulation from the media/news can create more panic and fear, as well as the unstable economy, isolation, and uncertainty in the world. A lot of insurance companies have waived the co-pay for tele-health due to an increase in those suffering because those folks could benefit from a therapy consultation.”

Baker suggested that my 60 cans of cat food might be a tad excessive. I defensively countered with the photo of the semi-empty shelves in the supermarket. I admitted that I have fear and anxiety. Baker’s recommendation was, “Take a look at the root of my anxiety and explore ways to cope better with my symptoms, which could be therapy, meditation, spirituality, or even exercise.”

Looking at my six tier-high tower of toilet paper packages, my 19 boxes of gloves, my sacred cache of 15 paper towel rolls and four tissue boxes that I continually replenish, I now think it might be time for me to transition, let go, and just survive one day at a time.