Why I'm Grateful For My Clutter

A Sudden Desire For Less

The start of the first UK lockdown affected me very strangely. In the house all day with a lively toddler - except for our daily walk around the nature reserve, which I think kept us both sane - I suddenly felt sick of all the stuff we had around us. I started reading blogs and books about minimalism. I scrutinised everything in our home with an eagle eye. This throw may have been perfectly acceptable and useful as a lap blanket, but did it really bring me joy? Did it? DID IT?!

Every day Dai came home from work to find that more of our belongings had migrated to the cupboard under the stairs. I quoted Courtney Carver constantly and thought of Marie Kondo like a friend (Spark Joy is a lovely book). But, a few days later, I'd get weepy and emotional and put everything back. Then, waking up in the morning, I'd find my books and ornaments suddenly intolerable, and the whole thing would start again. I had to run out of the house in my sock feet early one day to retrieve some irreplaceable sentimental items from the recycling before the bin men arrived. This declutter/reclutter cycle, with its accompanying emotional highs and lows, went on for more than a month. 

I realised that there must be something about minimalism that kept me coming back, even when one failed declutter after another seemed to be saying that this lifestyle wasn't for me. It was true that the spartan aesthetic so often associated with minimalism didn't capture my imagination. Besides, we'd experienced that form of sparse, modern, neutral style in our council estate house for the first few weeks after we moved in, and the effect was grim. Like living in a beige shoebox. If we'd had a mountain or beach vista outside our windows it might have worked, but a car park and bus stop view really added nothing to the ambience of the place. I had been glad to put up art on the walls, buy some cheery yellow sofa cushions and wall stickers just to brighten the place up. We'd decided against painting the walls, except the Spud's nursery, which was vibrant turquoise, as after the wedding we were planning to look for somewhere else to live. In the meantime, the extraneous ornaments, photographs and other "clutter" had made the place a bit more cosy. 

A Different Tack

After bagging up my CDs, childhood toys, Tarot cards, excess clothing and art supplies - and then putting them back again - for what I hoped would be the final time, I realised that a different approach was needed. I had no problem parting with DVDs we hadn't enjoyed or passing on clothes that didn't fit any more, but my awareness of the environmental crisis that our excess consumption was creating meant I really didn't like being wasteful. If I could use something, I wanted to use it. 

I was also forced to admit that I didn't want to get rid of sentimental items. I had pared down my photos and let go of those things I no longer felt any attachment to, but just as I didn't want bare walls and a Spartan home, I also didn't want to get rid of all my childhood toys or gifts from loved ones. When I realised this, I unboxed my oldest toys and arranged them on top of my wardrobe where I could see them and enjoy them. These were not "clutter", these were things I treasured, and trying to force myself to get rid of them was only causing me stress and upset.

I had to trust myself to recognise what really was extraneous. And I didn't want to just swamp the charity shops with my castoffs, either. I began approaching my unwanted items with a "rehoming" mindset - would a friend like this book? Would my mum wear this jumper? Could I sell this doll on eBay (and get some extra money into the bargain)? Yes, it took longer, but I felt that taking this time and effort was a step in the direction of taking responsibility for my consumer excess. It was instilling the lesson of caring for my belongings - of not participating in a throwaway culture - in a way that a big declutter and a trip to the Salvation Army never had. 

So why did I keep coming back to the concept of minimalism? Clearly I was never going to own less than 100 items (or whatever), and I was no longer invested in decluttering in favour of using, wearing out or rehoming. 

Marie Kondo suggests that we start by forming a vision of the kind of life we want. Well, I had tried and tried, and frankly had no idea. Pinterest boards only made me more confused. Apparently I liked most things - a cluttered bookshelf here, a folksy narrow boat there, a country cottage decked in florals, a sleek Copenhagen apartment. Once again, I had to look beyond the stuff. What was the appeal of these images? They told me I valued a pleasant home, simple joys, a sense of freedom, creativity and self-expression.

That was a start. I could see then that I kept coming back to those minimalist bloggers and writers because their work provoked a sense of expansiveness, of prioritising something more than things.

Then I knew what my next step was. My shopping ban was still the most important part of my plan - a pause in the influx of new things, a breathing space. Next, I too had to start prioritising something other than things. Decluttering had seemed like the answer, but it was still a focus on STUFF. 

I knew that writing regularly, a habit I had long neglected, could begin to fulfil the need for creativity and expression. But what about that freedom and expansiveness? How could I get some of that without buying things OR throwing them away? I thought about the minimalist books and blogs I had read, and I decided that next I would focus on my health. I hadn't really exercised in years. Perhaps a regular yoga practise could bring a feeling of expansiveness to my physical body? I started rolling out my mat on the patio in the mornings, although my son did like to drive his lorries underneath me or sit on my head. And perhaps walking in nature, or learning a new craft, or finally picking up my guitar again, would give me freedom? 

It's still a work in progress, but I've stopped wanting to get rid of everything my eyes rest on! I taught myself to spin yarn (I had a drop spindle and some wool roving kicking around that I bought on impulse at a Christmas market), and to cook and darn. I grew my first crop of vegetables in our garden (radicchio and Swiss chard). Between keeping my hands and mind busy, and actually using the things I had been keeping hidden away in the cupboards, I soothed my agitated lockdown brain and was able to create instead of consume. 

I'm hoping that as things wear out, are used up, or otherwise cease to be useful and are passed on, I will gradually reach a balance point, a place of "enoughness". But for now I'm happy with my clutter, and grateful for the abundance that I have.