I’ve always been aware that excess clutter and too much “stuff” can negatively impact my mental well-being. While I’m not the best housekeeper (a little mess doesn’t faze me), I have a strong aversion to clutter. It overwhelms me and leads to a visceral response. Watching shows like Tidying Up with Marie Kondo can be a challenge; I often need to pause the screen when I see chaotic “before” spaces because they trigger a tightness in my chest that feels suffocating.
It doesn’t take much to ignite my anxiety. A few dirty socks or a misplaced pair of shoes can set it off. I might be going about my day when a glance at the pile of dirty glasses in the living room or some old magazines on the dining room floor sends me into a spiral. Even an abundance of “good” things—like a closet stuffed with clothes—can feel overwhelming.
This awareness of my own relationship with clutter has led me to regularly declutter my life. I don’t accumulate knick-knacks or keepsakes, and I’ve even discarded my high school yearbooks. My shopping habits are minimal; I only buy what I truly need, aiming for a lifestyle that’s as minimalist as possible. However, I’ve recently realized that the abundance of “stuff” also affects my children negatively.
We’re entrenched in a culture that pressures us to keep up with the Joneses, and as parents, there’s an inherent desire to provide our kids with the best lives possible. For many, this translates to living in the most impressive home we can afford, enrolling our children in numerous extracurricular activities, and ensuring they have the trendiest clothes and gadgets. We’re led to believe that bigger is better, and that more is always more.
The truth? It’s utterly exhausting to maintain this mentality. It’s not just unhealthy; it’s unsustainable. So, I’ve made the conscious decision to step back from that race. But when it comes to my kids, it’s a different story. While I can control my belongings, children often seem drawn to accumulate stuff, displaying natural hoarding tendencies.
Today’s kids are growing up in a world of instant gratification. They can binge-watch shows without interruptions on Netflix; with a simple click, they can order anything they desire, and thanks to services like Amazon Prime, it often arrives the next day. They have smartphones and tablets at their fingertips, shielding them from even the slightest hint of boredom.
Even if my children don’t share my passion for decluttering, it’s crucial for them to understand the value of minimalism. Just because they might not express discomfort with clutter doesn’t mean it doesn’t impact them negatively. According to psychologist Emily Carter, clutter can create stress, even when individuals aren’t consciously aware of it. She notes that “clutter bombards our minds with unnecessary stimuli, making it difficult for us to focus.”
Our children are already inundated with stimuli from busy school schedules, after-school activities, and even their so-called downtime spent in front of screens. Why add more chaos to their developing brains?
This overwhelming culture is not only harming our mental health; it’s harming the planet as well. Since 1950, we’ve produced around 8.3 billion tons of plastic, with more than half ending up in landfills. A staggering 40% of the world’s toys are owned by children in the U.S., despite our children making up only 3% of the global youth population. The average American owns three times the number of clothes as in 1930, with the average person discarding 65 pounds of clothing each year.
In our quest for more, we are not only damaging the Earth; we are damaging ourselves. Americans are working longer hours, taking fewer vacations, and delaying retirement, leading to widespread stress and burnout. If we don’t educate our children about stepping off this cycle of bigger and better, how can we expect to change the narrative?
I recognize that my kids don’t lack for anything. They have food on the table, a safe neighborhood, and access to gadgets. Yet, I see them taking these privileges for granted. They often express a desire for more—whining about needing the latest toy or complaining about having to wait for a package. They sometimes come off as spoiled.
I grapple with this contradiction myself. When my son complained about needing new shirts, the instinct to indulge him with late-night online shopping was strong. However, just because it was financially feasible didn’t mean it was the right choice. So I’ve engaged in challenging discussions with him about why he can make do with what he has.
It all begins with us. Just because we can afford to buy the latest car or tech doesn’t mean we should. I’m striving to extend minimalism beyond my personal belongings to encompass my children’s lives. We’re currently attempting a 30-day decluttering challenge—giving away one item on day one, two on day two, and so forth. We’re on day 12, and it’s proving to be quite difficult.
Moreover, it’s about resisting the urge to buy unnecessary items in the first place. Small changes can have a big impact. For our family, this means repairing our old minivan instead of upgrading, having our kids share a room to limit their possessions, utilizing local “buy nothing” groups to trade items, prioritizing experiences over material goods, and encouraging hand-me-downs. It also involves discussing purchases with our kids to cultivate awareness around consumerism.
These issues are complex, and everyone must find their own balance. For me, my aversion to clutter and ethical objections to the “bigger is better” philosophy lead me toward a more minimalist lifestyle. For others, the approach may differ. Regardless, the bottom line is clear: when it comes to excess, less is truly more.
Summary
As parents, the pressure to keep up with societal expectations can lead to overwhelming clutter and materialism, negatively affecting our children’s well-being. By embracing minimalism and teaching children the value of experiences over possessions, we can create a healthier environment for them.