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Whenever I hear parents claim their children won’t remember a messy house, a voice inside me wants to shout, “Oh, they definitely will.” Having lived with someone who had a hoarding disorder, my perspective on messiness is very different from theirs.
To many, a messy home might just be filled with toys, clothes, and dirty dishes—a place that feels “lived in.” But for me, a mess means dirty cups and plates cluttering surfaces for weeks, no clean clothes available, and a kitchen that is completely unusable due to overwhelming clutter. This is what I associate with a hoarding disorder.
While my mother never received an official diagnosis, I recognize now that she is part of the 5% of people affected by this disorder. It wasn’t until my twenties, influenced by the show Hoarders on TLC, that I began to see the reality of our situation.
Our home wasn’t a complete disaster zone; there were no piles reaching the ceiling or unsanitary conditions. But my mother struggled to maintain a clean environment, and the repercussions of that have lingered with me throughout my life.
As a child, I didn’t mind the mess too much. I didn’t realize that my relatives had tidy homes while ours was embarrassingly cluttered. It felt normal until I let my aunt into our house on an innocent visit, which brought feelings of shame to the surface.
As I matured, the mess began to weigh heavily on me. I found it confusing when my mom insisted I clean my room before going out with friends, especially when I had to navigate through clutter in other parts of the house. I would protest, “But your room is a mess too!” only to be reminded that as the parent, she made the rules.
My mother’s hoarding meant that inviting friends over was impossible; even family visits were complicated. I remember her standing at the door, refusing entry to my grandmother, and asking me to promise never to do that to her.
As an adult, I’m determined that my home will never resemble my childhood environment. My own living space has never been as messy, but I find myself battling the urge to keep everything spotless. I can’t tolerate the thought of clutter overtaking my home, which sometimes makes me feel like a monster when anger rises over typical messes.
I’ve worked hard to develop cleaning skills that I wasn’t taught as a child, but it hasn’t been easy. Friends have pointed out how quickly I can create disarray in their homes, and my husband has often questioned why I can’t simply put things back after using them. For me, cleaning felt like a monumental task, taking hours or even days, rather than a simple habit.
Despite learning new cleaning strategies, I still struggle with feelings of guilt when my children create messes. I often wonder why I can’t just embrace their playfulness and deal with the mess later. I made an unspoken vow to myself that my kids will never experience the embarrassment of a cluttered home, but in doing so, I have sometimes lost the ability to enjoy their childhood.
While I can fix any mess they create, the effects of growing up in a hoarding environment linger. It’s essential to recognize that you can leave behind a messy house, but the emotional baggage can follow you.
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