I like to open with a complaint. I find that complaining brings people together – we’ve all personal grievances to air.

I’m cash-impaired. This isn’t a new thing for me – the complaint is so well-worn it’s coming to resemble a whine. In the early days of adulthood, I was broke because eating disorders are expensive. Now it’s because long-term disability won’t get you rich.

I’m middle-class poor – I have a house and a car, but I’m one step from disaster at any given moment. So, when we’re talking about my stuff, keep in mind that aside from my piano – a gift – none of it’s worth anything beyond the sentimental.

The Stuff

I feel quite green about my stuff though it’d likely be ungreened post haste if I won the lottery. It’s green because before I was on disability I was a single mom who didn’t get child support. Money was always tight; much of what I own are hand-me-downs. Even clothing (not shoes) – I’m the queen of thrifting. You should see my Top Shop faux fur vest. Six dollars.

Second-hand whatever is very green: reduce, reuse, recycle. Note that recycling is last. I feel I’ve earned a lot of green credits in my life – I also rarely travel – so one day I’m going to buy a new couch that I actually like. Angels will sing.

I might feel differently if my things were antiques, but they’re not. They’re just old. And also not what I’d choose given the preference (though if you say things like that to givers, they get pissy).

When money is tight, you value the things you can afford. You treat them well. I’ve Christmas wall hangings that I bought twenty-five years ago at the discount grocery store (for price context), under ten dollars for both though they’re lovely, and they look as good as when I bought them home.

I’ve second-hand t-shirts that are going on decades. Yes, they look nice. I’m picky with my T-shirts.

Not taking care of your things is something that makes me angry. We’re kind of wasteful that way.

Collections

I spend a bit more on things I collect. Saying it that way makes it sound like it’s a huge list but it’s really just books, dolls, and stuffies. Funko dolls of late and boy did they expand the size of the collection (don’t visualize a whole house or anything – twenty-six-ish).

The book collection used to be larger. I’m not sure if it’s a poverty thing, a “me” thing, an anxiety thing, or a compulsive thing, but I had a tendency to be obsessively attached to my things. One misplaced caused anxiety and distress until the situation was corrected – finding or replacing.

In many ways, the connections to these things felt like the most real connection in my life. I didn’t hide from my stuff.

I’m not sure when they went from being a lifeline to a weight. It happened over time. Ditto my awareness of the fact. When the idea was finally acknowledged, it took me some time to decide to change.

It’s not easy to break up with your stuff. It’s love of a kind, and letting go is change. And, of course, we all love change.

Cutting the cords

Kids are also very attached to their things. It makes it hard to get rid of the accumulation of toys that come with children these days. How is it that they always know that you’ve given away that truck they hadn’t looked at in two years?

I’m a quick learner in some ways, and I can also read. A parenting magazine suggested a hack – you pack up the things you want to get rid of in boxes, but you don’t send them from the house right away. You let them sit for a year. If they last the year untouched, they’re probably good to go.

I started doing that with my books a few years ago. I was tired of being owned by my things. It felt like a tie to my eating disorder thinking, that compulsivity. I wanted to sever that connection to my brain.

Plus, stuff is a weight. We don’t realize how heavy it is until we start divesting.

The technique worked like a charm. I packed up the books. I reread – skimming – quite a few while I was doing so – rereading books I’ve loved is something I enjoy. I started with six banker boxes of books. I set them aside, and I never opened them again. The relief when I dropped them off at the thrift store was enormous.

I’ve culled a lot of possessions since then – my own, people get testy when you go into their homes to do it – though I still feel like I have too many. “How did we come to this state where we’re buried in stuff?” she asked rhetorically knowing the answer was consumption-based capitalism.

What you need

I have my computer backup and my memory sticks with photos in a box in my bedroom. The file with my certificates is there too, along with my passports and some other vital paperwork. I keep my purse in my bedroom as well. This isn’t an accident, it’s a plan. If there’s a disaster, you often don’t have much time. Like for racing around the house and collaring stuff. It’s recommended you keep the things you need to take with you close at hand. I’ve got a bag to carry it all in the closet too.

Losing everything would be devastating. I can’t imagine the grief. But I’d have my go-bag and my online life which includes all the money stuff. I think sometimes there would be great freedom in starting again. I’d have much less, and I’d learn to say “no.”

Plus, building your house from the ground up? I’ve got plans.

I’ve also started rejecting other people’s hand-me-downs. That door closed a few years back, in fact. Saying no to other people’s crap was also freedom.

Boundaries. They’re not just for breakfast.

---