It’s astonishing how something as trivial as a few stray socks or a couple of mismatched shoes can ignite my frustration. I could be going about my day, and then, just one glance at the stack of dirty dishes in the family room or the heap of outgrown toys on the floor sends my stress levels skyrocketing.
I don’t want to lose my cool over a pair of socks or a mountain of laundry, yet here we are.
Here’s the deal: Clutter and disarray drive me completely insane—like, seriously bonkers.
Let me clarify: I’m not a neat freak by any stretch of the imagination. I’m a pretty terrible housekeeper. A little dust or dirt doesn’t faze me. I’m not overly concerned with how often I switch out my sheets (let’s just say I aim for once a month). Vacuuming? Not on my to-do list. Science experiments thrive in my fridge’s produce drawer.
I’m not striving for a “perfect” home. After all, I share my space with a bunch of boys, which means our bathroom often has a certain… aroma. I don’t bother with dusting ceiling fans or washing windows. Living in a quaint, old house, I’ve gotten used to its shabby-chic vibe—minus the chic part. To put it plainly, our home wouldn’t earn a stamp of approval from any interior design guru.
My mantra for most domestic tasks? Meh, good enough.
But the clutter? That’s a different story. The random “stuff” scattered everywhere? It sends my anxiety through the roof.
And I’m not alone in feeling this way; research indicates that clutter can worsen anxiety and depression.
Recently, I embarked on an epic decluttering mission one Saturday afternoon. I filled garbage bags with unneeded items and stuffed boxes with old clothes, toys, and knickknacks to donate. It was a frenzy, and I made it clear to my family that they could either join the clean-up effort or stay out of my way (they opted for the latter).
These episodes of “get rid of it all” happen pretty regularly for me. It’s not about trying to play the perfect homemaker; rather, it’s about managing my mental health and keeping anxiety at bay. I genuinely don’t care what others think of my home; my priority lies in my well-being.
I try to be relaxed about the chaos that comes with raising young kids. I don’t even get upset when the toilet seat is left up (which is a constant occurrence). I sidestep the shoes scattered near the front door. (Seriously, how do we have so many pairs? We’re only a family of four!) I let the clutter of art projects and irrelevant papers pile up on my counters. I fight the urge to toss out the thousands of baseball cards that seem to multiply every day. I aim to remain calm and remind myself that “we’re busy making memories.” (Let’s be real, though; we’re just making more messes.)
But eventually, the chaos builds up, and that’s when things spiral out of control. It’s not just the gradual accumulation of junk; it’s the laundry that never makes it to the hamper, the socks that are dropped wherever, and the piles of toys, cups, and wrappers that seem to multiply without anyone taking responsibility for cleanup.
The clutter and chaos trigger the anxiety brewing just beneath the surface. I can feel myself boiling over until it erupts in an explosion of cleaning fury: “AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO SEES THE MESS WE’RE LIVING IN?! CAN’T ANYONE PICK UP AFTER THEMSELVES?! SERIOUSLY, FAMILY, ARE YOU TRYING TO DRIVE ME CRAZY WITH ALL THIS CLUTTER?!”
Deep breath. Okay, moving on.
I know it’s irrational to be this worked up about a few books that never find their way back to the shelf or backpacks left on the floor. I recognize that it’s not logical to want to throw a fit over a pair of dirty socks or a baseball jersey lounging on the floor. But if I trip over one more shoe or find another pile of broken crayons on the dining room floor, I might just lose it. Because, dear heavens, I cannot handle the filth and clutter that my family leaves behind.
I simply cannot.
There are countless shoes littering the back door, the entryway, and even the bathroom. A trail of sugary cereal decorates the kitchen floor, and baseball cards have claimed residence on the kitchen counter, back of the toilet, and even in the fridge.
I can deal with a bit of dirt, and I’m not trying to impress anyone, but the everyday chaos is slowly driving me to the edge.
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In summary, while I strive to embrace the chaos of family life, the clutter often overwhelms me, leading to bouts of frustration. I know that managing a household filled with kids is no small feat, but the messes can trigger anxiety and stress, prompting me to take action and declutter for my own peace of mind.