As someone aspiring to be a minimalist, my seasonal cleaning routine often unfolds like this: I dream about pristine drawers, clear countertops, and open spaces. Then, reality hits—there’s just too much stuff. I lose my cool and start barking orders at my family to get rid of things. Soon enough, I realize it’s all in vain. I resign myself to the fact that my house will resemble a chaotic clearance aisle for the next decade or so. I mutter “forget this” and throw in the towel.
I’ve noticed a pattern to my “everything must go” outbursts. There’s the pre-holiday purge fueled by the dread of an incoming tidal wave of unnecessary items, followed by the “where on earth will we stash all this?” panic post-holidays. Then there’s the spring cleaning frenzy, driven by the pressure of “everyone else is doing it.” I also have those moments of despair after binge-watching home makeover shows, not to mention the frequent, hormone-induced meltdowns questioning why I’m the only one tackling this mess.
No matter the reason, it always ends the same way. I start with lofty ambitions and a smile reminiscent of a cheerleader, rallying my family with a cheerful, “Alright, team! We’re going to clean up, toss out, and donate! Ready, set…go team!” My family stares back, wide-eyed, before chiming in with the inevitable, “But do we have to, Mom?”
Yes, my dear hoarding children, you have to. We pull out trash bags and boxes, spending a few hours—okay, more like minutes—sorting through the mess. We manage to stash some trash and load up boxes for donation. Books find their way back to shelves, and clothes are folded into drawers.
But soon, the ghosts of poor choices come out to haunt me. The broken hockey set, a mountain of baseball cards, and that ridiculous Cozmo robot I bought during a pre-holiday panic. Why on earth did I spend good money on that?
Before long, I’m drenched in sweat, the house looks messier than ever thanks to everything being pulled out for sorting, and irritation is palpable. Clearly, the only option is to move.
While my kids are distracted with old toys they’ve forgotten about, I begin to spiral into an existential crisis. How did we accumulate all this junk? There are kids who lack basic toys, and here we are with countless X-Wing fighters and an avalanche of Pokémon cards. Why can’t I toss out that wedding makeup from 13 years ago? When would I even re-read Cervantes? And those low-rise jeans—when did I ever fit into those? WHO AM I, AND WHY DO I HAVE ALL THIS STUFF?
Enough is enough! I resolve to embrace full-on minimalism. I fantasize about downsizing to a tiny house, convinced we don’t need all this clutter. It’s merely “stuff,” and it’s clearly not bringing us joy. I decide to adopt a Buddhist mindset of non-attachment. That’s the solution, right?
But wait! What if I need that turquoise eyeliner someday? What if my son notices I tossed out his rare Charizard card? And those X-Wing fighters might be worth something one day—at least that’s what my husband keeps telling me.
Perhaps I need to change my strategy. The truth is, I’ve already tried all the organization hacks. I’ve purchased storage bins, bookshelves, and even a fancy label maker to get everything in order.
Here’s the reality: good intentions don’t magically create a clean space, and I’m a bit lazy when it comes to cleaning. Despite my aspirations, I soon find myself buried under a mountain of broken toys, baseball cards, and disassembled action figures.
By the time I throw in the towel, I’ve only managed to cultivate a deep dislike for my home. It will never look like something out of a magazine—unless you count chipped paint and crooked pictures as stylish. The truth is, my family is pretty gross. Each box of junk I gather highlights the dirt, grime, and hidden nastiness lurking beneath. Clean windows only make the worn-out paint on the sills more noticeable, and sweeping under the fridge reveals a shocking level of neglect. I wish I could unsee some of these things.
Forget moving; I sometimes fantasize about burning the whole place down and starting anew. But that’s not practical, so I accept defeat. I’ll just shove everything into a closet, pour myself a glass of wine, and escape outside, away from the chaos of these messy little creatures.
Mission accomplished. Task complete.
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Summary
Spring cleaning often leads to chaos and frustration rather than the desired order. Despite good intentions, the accumulation of clutter and distractions can overwhelm any effort to declutter. The dream of a minimalist lifestyle can quickly fade in the reality of family life, prompting thoughts of escape or even drastic measures. Ultimately, embracing imperfections and finding balance may be the true solution.