My Second Appointment with My Professional Organizer - Getting Organized with PTSD
PTSD is hard. I doesn't go away. It filters in life at times when you least expect it.
And it makes cleaning, sorting and organizing very difficult.
“WHY?" you might wonder. Well, it is so easy to get triggered by the unexpected in a clutter pile, an old box, or a room that needs to be updated and repurposed. Because with PTSD you never know what will trip you and you don't want to freeze up or get exhausted without getting anything done. However, if you never get started, you never get anything done either.
God has brought Barb Eimer with Yikes, a professional organizer, into my life and we are making super progress. I see the light at the end of the tunnel and we are just finished our second time together, and I did not do any of my homework over the past three weeks. But Barb helped me to just jump in and get going where everything still was.
I love her and wish I could use her more. I am inhibited by the costs. Isn’t that often the thing that blocks us from many progresses in life. I need help but cannot afford it.
Still while she was here and after she worked with me, I cannot tell you how happy I am. Yet, I can just keep on trying:
But today was not easy, even though it was successful.
After Barb left, I slept for several hours. I was worn out after the first half-hour or so.
Very quickly when we began cleaning I picked up a trigger. We found a pile of journals and in one of the books, I had a mom's journal. In the back flap I had pictures of my children. I remember holding onto these pictures and writing in this journal when I was suicidal.
Probably if I was by myself I would have read the journal notes, but today I tossed it in the trash. Still, soon after my head was light, and I was very tired. When I stood I felt dizzy, so I sat and when Barb left the room with books to go to a shelf upstairs, I began to cry.
I was not going to stop working on the room. I would push through it. Even though it still hurts.
I wanted to make the most of the time that Barb was with me, so I followed her directions and took to tasks that I could accomplish like sorting through old magazines and books. In a productive way, having been triggered and then pushing it aside, made me somewhat detached to my belongings so I was able to put most in the give away pile for Barb to take away. Before she left we finished sorting every pile in the room, she quickly carried to her car what was going to the charity and took upstairs the books that were not going to stay in the room while I continued sorting stack after stack.
I share this as another small glimpse of how complicated life can be for a person who suffers from PTSD or what I prefer to call Child Developmental Disorder (the result of being a survivor of severe child abuse). Nothing is easy.
As I reflect back to this day, I still have a room this is a magnet for piles and it is not just this room but many corners of my house. While I am not a hoarder, I can see how people can become one. Often I want to walk away and never come back to my house. I want to leave it all behind and at the same time I can’t throw it away. Maybe I need to let my son who has offered to clear out everything and take it all to the dump to do it. I need a complete fresh start.
I need to breath.
And it makes cleaning, sorting and organizing very difficult.
“WHY?" you might wonder. Well, it is so easy to get triggered by the unexpected in a clutter pile, an old box, or a room that needs to be updated and repurposed. Because with PTSD you never know what will trip you and you don't want to freeze up or get exhausted without getting anything done. However, if you never get started, you never get anything done either.
God has brought Barb Eimer with Yikes, a professional organizer, into my life and we are making super progress. I see the light at the end of the tunnel and we are just finished our second time together, and I did not do any of my homework over the past three weeks. But Barb helped me to just jump in and get going where everything still was.
I love her and wish I could use her more. I am inhibited by the costs. Isn’t that often the thing that blocks us from many progresses in life. I need help but cannot afford it.
Still while she was here and after she worked with me, I cannot tell you how happy I am. Yet, I can just keep on trying:
It feels like cobwebs that have solidified in my brain are getting cleaned out and my mind is more open. It feels like a fresh breeze has swept into my life and I am getting to stop the constant spinning. It feels like the blocks of concrete on my arms are being chipped away session by session. I feel lighter. And everyday Barb pulls out of my driveway she takes with her a carload of stuff I have released. What Joy!
But today was not easy, even though it was successful.
After Barb left, I slept for several hours. I was worn out after the first half-hour or so.
Very quickly when we began cleaning I picked up a trigger. We found a pile of journals and in one of the books, I had a mom's journal. In the back flap I had pictures of my children. I remember holding onto these pictures and writing in this journal when I was suicidal.
Probably if I was by myself I would have read the journal notes, but today I tossed it in the trash. Still, soon after my head was light, and I was very tired. When I stood I felt dizzy, so I sat and when Barb left the room with books to go to a shelf upstairs, I began to cry.
I was not going to stop working on the room. I would push through it. Even though it still hurts.
I wanted to make the most of the time that Barb was with me, so I followed her directions and took to tasks that I could accomplish like sorting through old magazines and books. In a productive way, having been triggered and then pushing it aside, made me somewhat detached to my belongings so I was able to put most in the give away pile for Barb to take away. Before she left we finished sorting every pile in the room, she quickly carried to her car what was going to the charity and took upstairs the books that were not going to stay in the room while I continued sorting stack after stack.
I share this as another small glimpse of how complicated life can be for a person who suffers from PTSD or what I prefer to call Child Developmental Disorder (the result of being a survivor of severe child abuse). Nothing is easy.
As I reflect back to this day, I still have a room this is a magnet for piles and it is not just this room but many corners of my house. While I am not a hoarder, I can see how people can become one. Often I want to walk away and never come back to my house. I want to leave it all behind and at the same time I can’t throw it away. Maybe I need to let my son who has offered to clear out everything and take it all to the dump to do it. I need a complete fresh start.
I need to breath.
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