At one point, not too terribly long ago, I found myself sitting on the dusty pull-down attic stairs of our old house, pondering why on earth I still had a now 38-year-old Robbie Hobbie doll.
I was faced with this question because I was in the midst of packing up my house. Some of the decisions about what to keep and what to get rid of were easy peasy. But some decisions left me mired in self-doubt, indecision, and, dare I say, agony and guilt.
Like, for instance, the decision of what to do with Robbie Hobbie.
As I sat there holding this doll, I contemplated all the love that the doll held. Back in 1983, there were no Robbie Hobbie dolls available in the area. So my mother bought another (female) doll from that line, gave her a haircut, and fashioned some calico and corduroy into dungarees and a shirt, and voila… I had my Robbie Hobbie. Sewn with love.
And now, here I sat. Was I going to throw this priceless act of love away? And even worse, if I got rid of the doll, was I somehow cosmically rejecting my mother’s love? (Because that seemed like a very, very bad idea).
Beyond this doll, there were at least another hundred similar decisions about what to pack.
Over the years, I had tried various programs and ways to deal with my ‘clutter,’ but the stark reality was that I had simply accumulated more and more. Sentimental clutter was just the start. I had ‘someday’ clutter, ‘cool project’ clutter, and ‘I need to frame this with a frame I buy at a thrift shop and paint’ clutter. You get the gist.
My moving date was approaching. And waiting until the last minute, my typical M.O., was not a viable option.
My brain was spinning. My system was frozen. And my self-talk was “no bueno.”
- “Why did you even agree to take this stuff?”
- “Why are you struggling with getting rid of a stupid doll at this point in your life?”
- “What’s wrong with you… you are a therapist, and you can’t figure this situation out seriously?”
And so it went. One minute I was gripped by high-voltage anxiety, and the next, I was a pile of jello, wanting nothing more than to doom scroll and then nap.
Think of a car stuck in the mud; the wheels were spinning, and the car was going nowhere fast. I was feeling desperate and, if I am honest, like a bit of a failure.
But then it clicked. My nervous system was in a state of freeze.
I needed help, and I definitely could not go it alone.
So I stopped packing and took a break to ground myself. In this case, I did so by calling a colleague. I did not bore her with the details of whether I should actually donate the doll but rather used her as a sounding board about all the overwhelmed I was feeling at the moment. The stress of the move, the sadness in leaving behind my kid’s childhood home, and the emotional (not to mention physical) weight of the items that had to be sorted into “keep” or “relocate.” By speaking with her and applying different therapeutic tools, I was able to slow down, regain clarity in the situation, move forward with definitive action, and, most importantly, move out of the state of overwhelm.
I had renewed energy and clarity.
I had the capacity to move forward and do the job I needed to do.
And so, I packed!
And packed some more.
So there you have it. In case you are wondering about Robbie Hobbie, I did wind up giving him a hug and then donating him so that maybe, possibly, some other child could love him. I realized I was not going to honor the memories associated with Robbie by keeping him in a bin in the attic where he would be forgotten. Don’t get me wrong. I definitely kept some sentimental stuff in the move, but it wasn’t tons of stuff that weighed me down.
Do pieces of this story resonate with you? If you find yourself, like I did, where you are stuck or fixated on one item, take a moment to distance yourself from the item and the space. A quick walk or phone call with a friend can help you get a new perspective and allow you to re-enter the situation with clarity. (Like the clarity that perhaps that item is not the issue, but instead your connection to the item and how you want to proceed)!
