Today, as I went through my kids’ clothes for the dozenth time to give/donate/sell, I had a lot of thoughts flow through me.
It feels somewhat shameful to admit that I don’t really like to donate. All “good” people donate, don’t they?!?
To me, donating feels very impersonal. I don’t know who will end up with whatever I put out there. I’d rather sell because I know the buyer will want the thing I’m selling. Or I’d rather give to someone who I know wants the stuff. From a very egoic standpoint, having a face on the other end receiving feels for fulfilling to me.
Does that make me a “bad” person?
With fast fashion the way it is, I don’t think donating clothes is as noble as it’s made out to be. It’s similar to my doubts of single stream recycling. How effective is it really when we’re just dumping everything into bin and then someone on the other end has to sort through it, figure out what is usable and somehow distribute it? (To note, I do love groups like Dignity Matters that are very focused on what they accept.)
I also recognize I can work on my attachment to “things.” Clothing, especially of my babies, hold a lot of memories. I’ve always had that relationship with material objects. There deep childhood wounds at play (an image of my dear Cookie Monster doll being thrown away comes to mind). I have trust issues with handing my things off to a faceless organization. Perhaps after working through losing Cookie, I’ll change my tune about donating.
I write everyday because it allows me to voice what is at the surface. Once that is out of my head, I can dig in another layer deeper. My daily writing practice has been my greatest exploration of self and humanity. Sign up here to receive these thought nuggets in your inbox on the daily.