Health
The Cupboard Door That Wouldn’t Close
Reflections on grief, symbolism, and stuckness
There was nothing remarkable about the cupboard at first glance. A plain wooden door in a small hallway, swollen slightly from years of damp. The client — let’s call her June — had mentioned it several times, always with frustration: “It just won’t shut properly. I’ve tried everything.”
But it wasn’t the hinges. It wasn’t the alignment. And it wasn’t really about the cupboard.
When we finally knelt down to look inside together, June’s voice shifted. “That’s where his coat is. My husband’s. I said I’d keep it there till I was ready.”
She hadn’t opened the door properly in months. Hadn’t touched the coat in years. But there it was — still holding its shape, still holding her back.
That coat had become something more than fabric. It was a symbol of grief not yet spoken, decisions not yet faced. The cupboard had become the container for it all — until it could no longer contain anything.
In therapeutic work with hoarding, we know that objects aren’t just objects. A drawer, a pile, a box — they’re often holding pain, memory, meaning. And sometimes, they’re protecting the person from the unbearable task of letting go.
June didn’t need a skip. She didn’t need shaming. She needed space — emotional space — to decide what that coat meant, and what she was ready to do.
When she was ready, she opened the cupboard herself. She touched the sleeve. She cried. She closed the door. And this time, it stayed shut.
Not because we forced it. But because she no longer needed it open.
Written by:
Yvonne Singleton, Occupational Therapist
Part of the Enabling Spaces CIC “Insights from the Frontline” series
