Earlier this year, I, like millions before me, picked up Marie Kondo’s transformative book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. Yet, as I delved deeper, it became clear that her methods seemed impractical for my life as a parent. The idea of emptying my entire wardrobe onto the floor or meticulously rolling T-shirts like sushi was simply not feasible. I was also not ready to part with my collection of spare buttons—after all, you never know when one might come in handy.
However, there was one principle from Kondo’s philosophy that resonated with me: “Does this item spark joy?” This question lingered in my mind long after I finished the book.
Not long after, my 6-year-old son, Jake, approached me during a two-week school break with a surprising request. “I have too many toys,” he said. “Can we go through them and find some to donate?” Intrigued, we began the process together, sifting through one storage box at a time. Jake created two piles: one for items to donate to his kindergarten and another for the thrift store.
The following days were dedicated to his books and art supplies. By the end of the vacation, we had sorted through DVDs, clothes, and even his stuffed animals. Surprisingly, he only let go of one plush toy, a recent gift from a flight, but I refrained from commenting, as we already had quite a collection to donate.
Watching Jake make decisions about what to keep and what to discard opened my eyes to a truth: children instinctively understand the joy principle, while adults tend to complicate it with emotional baggage. Jake held onto items that meant something to him, like a crooked pipe cleaner figure and some laminated leaves, while easily parting with a broken toy car that once held significance.
“Wasn’t that from Grandpa?” I asked, expecting hesitation. He simply replied, “Yes, but I have other gifts from him that I like more. That one wasn’t very interesting.” It was refreshing to see such a lack of guilt in his choices. Jake recognized that letting go of an unwanted gift didn’t diminish his love for the giver.
Since that clearing-out session, I’ve noticed Jake has become much more discerning about what he keeps. When he breaks something, he tosses it without a second thought, a lesson I’ve struggled to embrace. I’ve found items in the recycling bin—a gold crown he wore for just two minutes, a paper airplane, and a magazine he skimmed once—and while I initially viewed this as wasteful, I’ve started to understand his perspective. He recognizes that the joy associated with those items has faded, and there’s no reason to cling to them.
Inspired by Jake, I’m now going through my belongings—not in the rigid manner Kondo suggests, but in a way that feels right for me. I’m learning that letting go paves the way for living more fully in the present. Clothes have been easy to part with; I won’t be fitting into smaller sizes again, and I’ve realized I won’t take the time to repair worn-out garments.
I’ve let go of my wedding dress and baby clothes, yet I still cherish the memories they represent. I’ve tackled digital clutter too, preserving the best photos and memorable texts in my mind without the need for physical reminders. Even books, which I’ve historically found difficult to part with, are becoming easier to let go of. I envision Jake’s relationship with his gifts from Grandpa and feel liberated from the guilt of excess.
Marie Kondo’s assertion that tidying can be a transformative experience holds true, yet I didn’t need her book to find this out. All I needed was the wisdom of my son.
For more insights on parenting and decluttering, visit Make a Mom. There’s much to learn on the importance of maintaining a balanced environment, which can also extend to bedtime routines; check out Intracervical Insemination for further expertise. For additional information on fertility, visit Science Daily.
In summary, the process of decluttering is not merely about physical space but about rediscovering joy and clarity. My son’s instinctive understanding of what truly matters has taught me invaluable lessons in minimalism and emotional attachment.