Take a look at this pamphlet: http://www.childrenofhoarders.com/COHBrochure-081811.pdf (found via the Hoarder's Son blog - http://www.hoardersson.com/)
They list several key issues that COH may be dealing with, including:
- The fear they may be removed from the home and separated from their parent if the secret is discovered.
- Shame, and unhealthy guilt it’s their fault.
- Believing that objects or animals are more important than they are.
- A feeling of responsibility for their hoarding parent.
As a child I was very afraid to tell anyone about my mother's problem, "for fear of being removed from the home." It was a fear of the unknown really. I knew I wasn't happy where I was, but I also understood that I was, fundamentally, safe, and that I would eventually get out. My mother fed this fear. When I threatened to tell someone, she would say, "Go ahead, but you'll be put in foster care, where you'll probably be sexually abused and nobody will pay for your fancy education." Who knows what kind of foster family I might have ended up with, but I did have to agree with her about my education. My mom did sacrifice a lot for my education (although by sophomore year of high school I was on a full-ride scholarship, and I paid - rather, I'm still paying - for college and grad school all on my own), and I really enjoyed my private school. Still, I would fantasize about getting up the guts to tell an adult, and having them rescue me.
Shame - of course, or maybe mostly embarrassment. Are they the same thing? They're related at least. I don't think I ever really thought it was my fault that it happened, but I felt it was my responsibility to help hide it, if only just for the selfish reason of humiliation.
I never felt that objects or animals were more important than me. Thankfully, my mom doesn't hoard animals, and she's relatively good about not keeping rotting food (note the "relatively"). The things my mother hoards - particularly in the house I grew up in - are so obviously trash. Paper is the biggest culprit. She can't throw away magazines, or newspapers, or any of her college papers or notes from when she went back to school. I knew she loved me, and I knew the paper was trash, so I never felt like she loved the stuff more than me. I'm sure I had moments of wishing that she would dump it all as a show of love for me, but, in general, I don't think this weighed on me too heavily.
Responsibility though...this one I felt / feel. But, well, maybe I'm a bad daughter / person, but I felt / feel responsibility for the places my mother has trashed / is trashing more than I felt / feel responsibility for her. By the time I was in high school I understood the concept of rent, or the amount of money required to own a home, and I was aware that my mom was not paying rent to my grandma. She claims she did, off and on when she could, but clearly she wasn't paying what anyone else would have had to pay to rent that home. As I looked forward to moving out when I reached college, I became consumed with guilt at the idea of leaving the house in that state. I knew it wasn't my fault that it got that way, but I also knew that my mom wasn't going to do anything about it, and so, in my mind, it became my responsibility. When my mom slowly started spending more and more nights at Jack's house, and I eventually did as well, this feeling of responsibility increased. Were we really just going to walk away from a house, full to the brim? Apparently so; my mom seemed to feel no responsibility towards that home. My high school diary is FULL of these thoughts.
My mom's siblings broke in an dumped everything shortly after I graduated college. I remember when my mom found out and called me in a panic. All I felt was sad that they hadn't thought me adult enough to call me ahead of time and have me help. I had truly failed my responsibility to the house and my grandma.
I think I could just cut ties with her now if it weren't for Jack. I've never met my father, and while Jack and I aren't very emotionally close (he's not a big talker; it's kind of hard to get close to him), he's been very good to me - and my mom - and I guess he's the closest thing to a father I'll ever have. I feel a responsibility to him. She is a problem, and I can't just walk away and leave her for him to deal with all on his own. I'm also scared shitless of the moment when his patience finally breaks and she ends up on my doorstep, so this sense of responsibility to him isn't entirely selfless. Again, maybe I'm a bad person - already admitted it.
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