Did you ever look for something in your closet, or your drawers, that you knew you had but could not find? And, while you are hunting for it, find things you forgot you had or, even, forgot you bought?

I, for good or for ill, do this on a regular basis. My husband would tell you that my vice is shopping and he would be right. I love clothes, I love to find new things and, more often than I care to admit, those items get one wearing and I forget that I have them, finding them sometime later and being surprised by their existence.

I am quite certain that this clothes horse persona is rooted in my childhood. My father cared deeply and passionately about his own appearance. His suits were custom made and we visited his tailor so often that I thought he was a member of the family. I kid you not. Mr. Kabelka was a guest at many major family events!

Dad was a stickler about how we looked as well. When we were kids, Dad bought most of our clothes and, while play clothes and playtime were fine, when we went out, he was quite clear about how we were supposed to look. I used this to my advantage when we got older. I’d come home from college, dressed in my rattiest jeans, and Dad would look at me, shake his head in silent disapproval, and hand over his credit card!

I learned, from a very early age, that how we looked was both a representation of who we are and also a key factor in how the rest of the world was going to respond to us. Dad, born in Poland and coming to the United States as a young teen, must have used that as a tool to help him fully become an American. Not only did he successfully shake any accent he might have had, he learned the language, gained an education and never stopped learning. But I also think he wanted people to see him a certain way and how he looked was an important part of that.

Dad had drawers filled with ties, closets filled with perfectly hung suits and perfectly pressed shirts. He wore a shirt and tie to cut the lawn and, even when retired, put on a suit and overcoat to pick Mom up at work. So, in truth, the roots of my behavior are extraordinarily clear.

But I have come to realize that my love of pretty things, my desire for the newest, my compulsion to present myself as well as possible, have led me to have just too much “stuff.” I am not at a point where I will start to assess everything on the basis of “what give you joy” as the professional organizers would have me do, but I am at a point where I want to sift and sort. I do a “sweep and donate” a couple of times a year but I also find that I hold onto the “I might” or “I never” things. Time to get past that I think. Also time to reflect on the why and not just the acquisition. Am I acting out insecurity or anger or boredom? Am I trying to fill a hole that I see in myself—a hole that I don’t want to address so I treat it with retail therapy? Do I really need to have that sweater or dress or yet another pair of black pants?

I know myself well enough to know that I will never be the “simplified” person. That is not me. But I do think that I can find a way to be more deliberate, more thoughtful and less compulsive, a way to accept myself as I am, without feeling as if I need to hide behind whatever “stuff” there is, a way to focus more on filling my full heart rather than my closet.