It could have been the six pairs of mismatched shoes cluttering the entrance or perhaps the family room that resembled the aftermath of a clearance sale at a sports store. Maybe it was the chaotic collection of half-finished art projects, broken crayons, and cap-less markers scattered across the kitchen table. Whatever it was, it pushed me to my limit.
I completely lost it. I feel like I’m surrounded by a family of pack rats, and it’s driving me insane.
To be clear, I’m not a cleanliness fanatic. I don’t stress about changing my sheets weekly, and I definitely don’t vacuum every day. There are certainly science experiments in my fridge that I’ve forgotten about. My approach to household tasks is usually, “Good enough.”
But lately, I feel suffocated by clutter. My thoughts race with exasperation: Seriously, family, are you trying to drive me mad with all this unnecessary junk?
Most days, I try to overlook the mess. I step over the shoes by the door, ignore the towering stacks of craft projects, and resist the urge to toss the 15,000 Pokémon and baseball cards that seem to multiply overnight into the trash.
I breathe deeply and remind myself that “the magic is in the mess.” (What does that even mean? I can’t remember). I attempt to channel my inner Zen.
And then I remember—Zen left long ago. I’m not Zen Mommy anymore; I’m Overwhelmed Mommy, and I’ve officially lost my patience.
I don’t expect my home to resemble a magazine spread or think my kids should only have a few toys (preferably wooden, non-electronic ones). But it would be nice if I didn’t have to trip over baseball cleats every time I went upstairs. It would be wonderful if my kitchen counter weren’t buried under piles of “art projects” that my child doesn’t even recall making but can’t bear to part with. And it would be absolutely fantastic if suggesting we get rid of a dusty rock collection didn’t result in a full-blown tantrum.
There’s just too much stuff. It’s not only the overwhelming abundance of toys, clothes, paperwork, and various projects that seem to breed like rabbits, but also the fact that no one seems to remember to clean up after themselves. Is it really that challenging to toss a snack wrapper in the trash? To carry a plate to the sink or—gasp!—the dishwasher? Is it so hard to place the clothes you just took off in the laundry hamper instead of leaving them on the floor next to it?
And then there are the shoes. Oh my goodness, family, we need to have a conversation about shoes. Why are there 25 pairs piled up by the front door? We are a family of four. Four! This is excessive.
Surely, I can’t be the only one feeling this way. I’m not a full-blown minimalist, but I certainly aspire to be one. Our home is modest, and we own one car. I dream of organized drawers, empty spaces, a bathroom counter free from Lego structures, and a front door unblocked by mountains of shoes. Is that too much to ask?
Despite my B+ minimalist inclinations, we somehow manage to accumulate more and more stuff until my home resembles a clearance aisle at T.J. Maxx. All this clutter is causing me serious anxiety.
I could use some substantial help here. Grandparents, how about taking the kids to the museum for their birthdays instead of gifting them the latest trendy toy that will inevitably gather dust? Teachers, could we perhaps stick to emails instead of sending reams of paper updates? Fellow parents, can we agree to skip the goody bags filled with useless plastic trinkets after birthday parties?
And to the other three people I share my space with: I know it’s tough to part with these items. I get it—I can rationalize keeping almost anything. What if a group of rambunctious toddlers drops by and wants to play with that box of Duplos or the old Happy Meal toys we haven’t touched in three years? What if Amazon Prime goes down and I suddenly need a garlic press or an extra-large wok?
But I’m pretty sure we don’t need those handwritten notes from the fantasy baseball draft three years ago or the 357 Matchbox cars. It won’t physically hurt to throw out those wrappers and take your cup to the sink. Your rock collection will be just fine outside with all the other rocks, and those scraps of cut-out paper will find plenty of friends in the recycling bin. Trust me.
Right now, my routine looks something like this: Clean up. Get lazy. Nag my family to pick up their mess. Ignore the clutter for a bit. Nag some more. Lose my cool. Rinse and repeat.
This is simply not sustainable.
Maybe my family genuinely doesn’t notice the mess, or perhaps they just have a higher tolerance for clutter. Or maybe I’m raising a pack of feral little creatures. Whatever the case may be, something has to change. We need to declutter and minimize because our mental well-being and enjoyment of our home is far more important than all this stuff.
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Summary: The author expresses frustration over the overwhelming clutter in her home, feeling suffocated by the accumulation of toys, papers, and miscellaneous items. Despite not being a cleanliness fanatic, she yearns for a more organized living space and calls for collective efforts from family and friends to reduce the mess. The article highlights the emotional toll of clutter and the need for a decluttering strategy to restore balance and sanity.