Lately I’ve been trying to wrap my head around why I can gleefully jump into cleaning up this mess:
Yet this sends me into the fetal position:
As best I can figure it’s two-fold… first, it’s not my stuff. I have no attachment to the items, and other than the environmental aspect, I have no problem throwing it all away.
Second, and probably more importantly, the items in that mezzanine have no weight on my self worth. I look at that pile and all I can see are my shortcomings. The first mess isn’t in the slightest bit my doing. The second mess is 100% my fault. I suck at policing myself. I buy too much stuff. I have a crapload of stuff I will likely never use. The list goes on and on.
I kid you not, every time I do a real big clean, I end up crying. The messes i accumulate make me feel like a giant failure. I don’t feel better once it’s clean either. There’s always another mess lurking somewhere or one just waiting to be born.
On that note, don’t look in the back of my truck cab. Just sayin’. Yes, yes I should look into therapy…