Minimalism has been a buzzword for years now, and I’ve always been intrigued by the idea. The thought of clean lines, uncluttered spaces, and general order is very appealing to me — especially because my anxiety is so easily triggered by mess.
I’ve flirted with the concept plenty of times. I’ve read books on simplifying (with plans to read more), and I love the idea of minimalism. But here’s the truth: as much as I adore decluttering and organizing — and as much as I get a thrill from finding things to donate or toss — I will never be a minimalist.
The KonMari method is probably what pushed minimalism into the mainstream, and while I haven’t yet read Marie Kondo’s books (they’re on my list), I understand the gist: if it doesn’t “spark joy,” let it go. The problem is that most of my “clutter” does spark joy. My collections — books and home décor — aren’t just things; they’re passions. I live for primitives and decorating, and books are, quite simply, my greatest love. Even if it looks like “too much” to someone else, surrounding myself with those things makes me happy.
That said, I do believe in simplifying. I completely support the idea of not letting your stuff own you, not using your home as storage, spending more on experiences than things, and relaxing instead of constantly cleaning. That’s why I’m always in the process of de-cluttering. But here’s the key: decluttering and minimalism aren’t the same.
I can want to own less without wanting to own the least. I can clear out chaos without stripping away the things I truly love. I can quit keeping junk out of sentimentality or “what if” thinking while still holding onto the treasures that define my joy. In other words, I can simplify without erasing the parts of me that live in my bookshelves and on my walls.
For a long time, I looked at it as an all-or-nothing scenario: either you’re drowning in stuff or you’re a minimalist. But the truth is somewhere in between. I don’t have to hoard 50 bottles of hand soap because they were on sale, but I also don’t have to give up my books. I can let go of some things and unapologetically keep others.
So here’s where I’ve landed: I’ll never be a minimalist, much as I admire that lifestyle. What I can do is keep simplifying. I can keep letting go of what’s unimportant — both physically and mentally.
As for what’s next? I’m still figuring that out. This past winter, I did a huge overhaul of our laundry/storage room. I threw out mountains of stuff and sorted what was left into totes. The room still feels full, but at least it’s no longer chaos. There’s more work to do there, though — pictures coming soon.
Before Caleb’s birthday, I cleared out a ton of his old toys and organized the rest into bins. Of course, it has since exploded back into chaos again (kids have that gift).
And as Holden grows, I know we’ll be able to part with the baby gear that takes up so much space in our small home. That will be bittersweet — sad in its own way, but also freeing.
Beyond physical clutter, I also want to simplify my life and schedule. I want to go back to basics: more time at home, less time running around. Less time online, more time present in real life. It’s all a work in progress.
So no, I’ll never be a minimalist — and honestly, I don’t think I ever believed I could be. But I’ll always be on a journey toward simplifying. Every small step brings more peace and clarity: learning what matters, letting go of what doesn’t, and creating space for the life I actually want.
And with that… I’ll keep you posted as the journey continues.
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