Let me be honest: sometimes I feel like my house is quietly plotting against me. I spend all day working, running meetings, answering emails, and then I step into a living room that looks like it lost a fight with a pack of wild raccoons. And those raccoons? They definitely had snacks on the couch.
As a full-time working mom, my life is a constant juggling act: career, kids, laundry, dinner, and trying to drink more water than Diet Coke. And somewhere in the middle of that chaos, clutter sneaks in. It starts innocently enough—a pile of mail, a LEGO minefield, a half-completed kid art creation that may or may not get finished. And over time, it grows. And so does my stress level.
Clutter messes with my brain. Walking into a messy kitchen with a piled-high countertop after a long day doesn’t feel like coming home—it feels like walking into another to-do list. It’s like the mess is silently judging me while I try to microwave chicken nuggets and answer a Teams message at the same time.
What I’ve come to realize is this: clutter isn’t just a housekeeping issue—it’s a mental health issue. It eats away at my focus, drains my energy, and makes it harder to enjoy the few quiet moments I actually get. If you’ve ever fantasized about grabbing a trash bag and going to town in the playroom, or if you’ve ever felt jealous when you see a home with a dumpster out front, then you know my pain.
But I’ve also learned to cut myself some slack. We’re slowing down the inflow of new things since we cancelled Amazon, and we’re keeping a steady stream of donation items moving out the door. But it’s all very overwhelming, and I still have more piles to sort than spaces that bring me calm. I’ve accepted that the goal isn’t a Pinterest-perfect house—it’s sanity. And the path to sanity has a lot less STUFF around.
So no, my house isn’t perfect. But it’s lived-in, loved, and occasionally clean-ish. And for now, that’s good enough, unless a good deal on a dumpster comes my way.
