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The FREE PWH Workbook

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 It's been years since I've posted here at 1weespark. I didn't disappear, however. I had my head down, studying hard to get my MSW in clinical social work. And writing. Writing in a different way than I had been writing here. Creating content that I needed desperately thirteen years ago when my mother's health started getting iffy. Since January, I've been working on creating content that focuses specifically on what it is like to have a parent who hoards ( PWH ). As a clinical social worker and as someone who grew up amidst my mother's trash and treasures, I wanted to work specifically to create resources for adults like us. This is challenging, to be sure, because although we often have similarities in our stories, it's necessary to remain aware that each family has its own challenges. Anything that I create, it's important to me that it embraces the spectrum of experiences. Similarly, it's important to me to honor your expertise and your insight i
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My birthday...but a wish for you

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Some of you have asked about my mom from time to time, and since our story is very public, I like to share occasionally. Stopped by Mom's apartment in the assisted living facility she lives at these days to drop off a few necessities for her. Her apartment continues to remain spacious and sparsely decorated. She spends most of her time in her room, watching TV and tatting or reading. She's given up many other crafts and social activities. I think dementia,  caused by her bipolar disorder, makes social activities hard for her. She can't maintain her focus on so many different people in large groups. She's aware that her memory is going. But dementia means that she forgets things. Like her only child's birthday. Or, it means that she remembers calling me two years ago on my birthday, and well, that is the same as calling me on my birthday this year in her mind. So my birthday came and went unnoticed by Mom. Or so I thought. Tonight, she handed me a neatly wrap
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Did I Miss It?

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It's been a tough week. You know, one of those weeks where you know you have nothing to offer it, to solve the problems it holds, and you're extremely grateful to have Abba to listen to your prayers, hear, and respond. As I was pressing into Abba Daddy this morning, I was reminded of one of the most beautiful relationship experiences I've ever had. It wasn't with my husband or kids; it wasn't even directly with God (though He was definitely there). It was during a moment of corporate praise and worship. I had my arms lifted high to heaven, praising God and giving Him glory. My heart posture and the Spirit's leading was to keep my arms raised, worshipping and giving back to God all the praise, glory, honor and worship that God deserves. But my arms were simply weak and tired. My spirit was willing, but my arms--not so much. They were screaming at me in pain! There was this moment when I knew my arms couldn't stay up another moment physically, but spirit
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