Emotional Diabetes

I lived next to a nice woman for a while. She had a lovely sense of humor and, most days, we visited for a chat. I knew enough about her life to appreciate her resiliency. She was a single mother who became an operating room nurse before shifting gears and going into law. She was also a hoarder — saving everything in boxes stacked in spare rooms, hallways, second bathrooms — wherever there was space.

Eventually, she passed away. All that stuff was left for the folks who bought her house to clear out. They’re nice people, too, but they don’t understand how someone could find treasure in the trash. I don’t have any insight into why people keep things, other than it makes them feel secure. All the detritus they acquired in their journey through life remains with them until the end.

And then, they have to let it go.

I am reminded of this woman this week as I clear out most of my worldly belongings through Facebook Marketplace, donations to thrift stores, or taking them to the dump. All I’ll be taking to the new place is my bedroom furniture, writing desk, microwave, and a few pieces of art.

My realtor said the other week that life gets hard when you keep trying to make something happen and keep running into resistance. That’s what I was encountering with my housing. It’s a nice trailer park — the best in Nanaimo — but it’s still a trailer park, with strata fees that eat up a large chunk of my pension. Being tight on finances causes stress. Stress raises my glucose. High glucose levels stress me out as I fiddle with insulin doses.

I could sell my trailer in the nice park and move elsewhere on Vancouver Island. Many other units were $100,000 cheaper—but they still had those monthly fees, and some were much higher than what I’m now paying. So it means my bank account would slowly drain until I sold again, and captured more equity for living expenses. I’m not great with money, but even I could see this was unsustainable.

Then, in my Facebook feed, there was an ad from a local woman looking for a roommate. She was a senior, interested in hiking and paddling her Pelican kayak, and seemed to have much in common with me. I contacted her, and within a few hours, she said the suite was mine if I wanted it. It would mean I sell my place, bank the money, and pay her $1,000 in rent. No utilities. The dog is fine, although her cats may have something to say about it. She lives on a lot with a massive, fenced back yard. I know the area — it’s where I grew up.

When I decided to sell, I rented a storage unit. A big one, because it was accessible to my car. The smaller ones meant me lugging everything inside a building. Regardless, the $500/month fee hurts. When I really looked at my stuff, I realized a lot of it was emotional baggage — like my old neighbour’s clutter. I didn’t really need it. My mother’s tea cart is nice to have, but it turned out someone else wanted it more than me, so I sold it. She sent me a photo (picture above) with this note: “I have been looking for a tea cart literally forever. And it fits exactly how I hoped it would. I just wanted to again say thank you.”

I sold a heavy wooden dresser to a young family who needed it. A couple who offered to buy two canopies wanted to use them camping this summer, so I threw in two lawn chairs and a big cooler. The woman who bought my dirty old BBQ said she lost hers in divorce so was happy to clean mine up to use it — so I gave her trailer blocks and a blue cube water carrier. The hideabed went off to a young couple who had the exact place for it.

Everyone I meet has a story to share, and my stuff is now in its rightful home. I’m surprised the process has settled my glucose, taking my levels down to where I’m at when life is calm. It will be interesting to see how the next month goes. I’ll get the rest of the stuff cleared out of the home and locker, then move in the first week of May.

Free of stuff weighing me down.

Just my bed, my writing desk and my dog.

That’s all I really need.