Coming Out of the Closet, Bag & Box…#1
One of my clients has fantastically agreed to share her side of the story as I work with her over the next 10 weeks. I am so grateful for her willingness to open up about her transformation to streamlined living. I hope you you enjoy it. -Miriam
When Miriam rang the doorbell I knew I wasn’t ready.
A while ago, when my doctor confirmed that my water broke and I had to go to the hospital I looked at her, amazed. “I’m not ready,” I said. “I’m not packed, I’ve not completed my paper work, my business partners are waiting for me at the office…” My boy was ready to come out. Nothing I said or did, felt or thought, mattered
The context here was very different but, oddly, emotionally akin. I’d known this moment was coming. I’d agreed to it, looked forward to it, and signed the contract. And now, with the doorbell ringing again, I knew I wasn’t ready. But I’d given my word, and Miriam was here.
I stepped outside and shut the door behind me. Behind us both, really. “Look,” I said. “This is my life, unadorned and unmitigated. Whatever you think as you see how bad it really is, please don’t think badly of me.”
And there it was. The entrance to my house cluttered with more jackets, sweaters, caps, mittens, shoes and bags than any family of four could ever use. The piano, covered in dust, pictures and seven years worth of kids’ artwork (which, actually, covers every horizontal and vertical space in my house). Here’s the couch that once looked good, and the furniture we’ve taken in when others abandoned it for more fashionable and functional pieces. Nary a rhyme or a reason to any of it. The kitchen/office space/homework room/art studio/pantry. Yep. The kids’ bathroom cluttered with bath toys. As a matter of fact, there are toys in every room and, along with the artwork, on every surface — from fantasy battles being conducted by Lego creatures along the living room credenza to fake food lining the hallway. Polly Pocket outfits stick to the bottom of your feet as you walk into the master bathroom, which was going to be quickly renovated when we tore up the flooring and tiled the shower stall but then, got abandoned. Along with the room that was once an office and then was going to be a playroom but became, instead, a huge insurmountable pile of – dare I say it? – crap? Toys, old bills, my prom dress (Yes! Yes! Do you know how old it is? Suffice it to say—in two words – Laura Ashley) and my husband’s old leather punk jacket. We never open the door unless we need to access the oversized Costco-purchased paper towels or toilet paper stashed in the attached bathroom. Which, because it serves as a storage area, is never used.
I’d put everything in the closet but the doors fell off one closet and the other is full of boxes of old magazines. The garage is full of things meant to go to recycling or charity or onto a never ending list of “things I’ll need if I ever decide to do (fill in the space) again.” There’s a small path etched through the mounds of stuff in the garage that have me praying my home is never visited by any kind of official ever. From the fire department to CYFD, I’m convinced I’d be hauled off sooner than I can say “but I’m not ready.”
With the humiliating tour of personal loserdom behind us, Miriam kindly accepted my offer to make her a cup of coffee. I flung paper work to other surfaces to make room for her at the kitchen table, apologizing for the distinct parfum de litter box wafting in from the laundry/art supply/luggage storage/spare freezer/litter box room.
“You know,” she said “I smell nothing and I’ve seen worse. And we’ll make it better.”
She talked me through the program and, slowly, my shame began to abate. Surely, I’m not the worse she’s seen. Like a dentist or an accountant or a schoolteacher – Miriam’s a professional. Look how kind, calm, funny and accepting she is. Look how – organized. And I’m a wreck, true, but I’m a high-functioning wreck. And there are other wrecks, and Miriam’s helped them. I’m not alone.
We decide to tackle the extra room first. In doing this we’ll fulfill my commitment to my family and myself to turn it into a playroom for the kids so we can aggregate all of their toys, crayons and energy right there. Once we’ve done that, we can start working on the other problem areas with a significant cause of clutter – the kids’ stuff – out of the way.
Garbage bags in hand we had to put everything into five piles:
Keep, Donate, Recycle, Trash and I’m-not-sure-I-can-get-rid-of-that-yet.
Organizing the stuff into categories is a no-brainer. We’re moving right along.
Broken down Happy Meal hand-me downs are gleefully tossed.
My wedding memorabilia? Pack it right up.
That old padded envelope, slightly trampled but never used? That one stumps me. I bought that envelope to send pictures of the kids, when they were still babies, to my Grandmother. She’d lived in Florida and hadn’t yet met my second. I collected the photos with great dedication but never actually put them in the envelope. Never got them to the post office. Never mailed it out. And she never received them, because I had misplaced it in all the clutter and she died not long after.
I sat with the envelope in my hand for several minutes. I’d held on to it for reasons of guilt as much as for “Hey, that’s a good envelope, you may need it.” It had been laying on the floor, propped against my bookshelf for five years.
That’s when I realized I was sick and tired of the excuses and mess that comes from putting this kind of stuff off. Not in the “putting off telling someone you love them until it’s too late ‘cause they die” sense, but in the “why do I waste so much time looking for things, and planning for things and not actually doing the things.”
I realized that in late 2005 I had reached an impasse. With two babies in diapers, a sick husband, my own business, a mortgage to pay and too much to do I was overwhelmed. I was done. Not only did I not mail the envelope to my grandmother, I never went back to organize the papers that were congregating around the unused envelope. I never used the room surrounding the envelope for anything but storage. Something had to give and, when it didn’t, I threw it into the room.
And now that I’m slowly breathing again, it’s the room I have to tackle first.
I was fleetingly dismayed while recognizing five years of organizational paralysis and a lot happy about finally having an ally who can help me get back on track.
And here is what I heard her say as we sorted, tossed and laughed over our foibles and my kids’ costume collection.
Don’t hold onto things out of fear – the fear you’ll need it later, the fear you’ll want to work on it later, the fear of not having it IF it comes back into fashion or IF the whimsy to use it is rekindled, the fear that if you no longer have it you’ll want it again. That is poverty mentality and perpetuates a sense of need and inferiority. It will permeate everything else in your life. Know, simply, that if you toss it and you want another one, you can get another one.
Nothing defines you forever. The shoes, the notebook, the punching bag, the wicker chair: if it no longer fits your life GET RID OF IT. You will never ever go back to being the person who originally purchased or received the item.
Don’t confuse fear with sentimentality. Everyone can hold on to memorabilia. But recognize what your plans are. If it’s not an heirloom, and it brings you no joy to see it or use it now – get rid of it.
Don’t wait. If you don’t have the finances or resources to start a project – don’t start it. If you do start it – finish it. Never let it linger.
Anything in a bag must come out of the bag. Things left in bags are left on the floor. Or your closet. They are never used and just take up space and space is more important than mystery bags.
Three hours were over in a flash, and Miriam was back at the door ready to go. I wanted to keep going. With Miriam there I felt like I could get my house back in order, which would get my life running so much more smoothly and seemed so very promising and I wanted all that to happen now. She promised she’d be back next week.
I wasn’t ready.
Tags: clutter, experience, how to organize, organize, professional organizer, simplify
Wow, what a great account of your first week’s work with Miriam. I relived my early experiences through your writing, including the emotions and complex feelings of shame, embarassment, remorse, etc..
I’m one of those “seen worse” clients you mentioned. I’d been moving boxes of stuff and living between mounds of clutter and boxes until my level of energy and ability to cope hit bottom. Over 30 years of accumulated home, work, hobbies, presents bought but never sent, photos taken but still in their original envelopes, magazine subscriptions with never opened magazines piled high—you name it, I had it. In fact, I had it in my home, two rental storage units, and more in a shed behind my place, plus under the porches front and back. And … I’d HAD it!
Miriam spoke at a meeting I attended, and although I’d talked with and interviewed several other organizers, she was the only one with whom I felt an immediate sense of trust. Her professional approach gave me confidence that the money spent would be well worth it, and her non-judgemental, light-heartedness gave me hope.
One of my major objectives was to be able to welcome—without shame—friends who dropped by for a chat and a cuppa, impromptu dinners, or a glass of wine. I wanted a retreat and place of respite, a place of happiness, peace, and contentment.
So, like you, I took a deep breath, and with Miriam leading the way, plunged into years and years of my life’s accumulations.
I’ll be looking forward to your next blog, and in the meantime, I’ll recommit to pushing toward my desired outcome. Thank you!
I called Miriam some years back to help me with a house full of stuff I had been carrying around from move to move for years. I hadn’t realized that all of the clothes I could no longer fit in were completely out of style, all of the things I was keeping were not needed and only taking up space in a house brimming-over with clutter. It was very painful letting go, but I did it with Miriam’s encouragement. We even tackled the garage down to organizing the nuts, bolts, nails and screws. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but exactly what needed to be done. Thanks, Miriam.