Declutter Like a Mother: A Guilt-Free, No-Stress Way to Transform Your Home and Your Life

INTRODUCTION

I FELT DEFEATED. AGAIN.

I sat there on my couch, next to a gigantic pile of laundry, and it was clear which of us was winning. Another day had come and gone, and I had barely been able to keep up. Was I the only mom in the world who felt like she just couldn’t hold it all together? The days were flying by me. I had three kids under three years old, and even though my oldest was still so little, I felt like I was already missing so much of my kids’ childhoods. I was always busy cleaning up the stuff; always running around reacting to problems.

At night when I dropped into bed exhausted, my day would flash before me, and all I saw were piles of dishes, the endless mountain of laundry, toys and books and markers and jackets and shoes and empty water bottles and paper artwork that all needed to be picked up. So much stuff.

I thought I was supposed to enjoy the time raising my kids, but I realized I wasn’t spending enough quality time with them to enjoy it. I felt like I had to keep moving or the house and the day would collapse into total chaos. When I did press pause to spend time with them, it felt like I had to pay the price later—catching up on housework and making up for the time I missed cleaning in order to live my life.

It’s not that I’m a neat freak, and I wasn’t a hoarder, either. All this work was simply to keep the house functioning. It seemed that in motherhood, I was like the student in school who stays up all night studying and still gets a C–on the exam.

I felt like I was carrying around a dark secret I couldn’t tell anyone. The secret was, I woke up every morning already too exhausted to take on a day that hadn’t even started yet. I felt completely depleted, depressed, miserable all the time. And for that, I felt so guilty.

For so long I carried this secret around, pretending to be okay at mommy meetups, at the park, at get-togethers with friends who seemed to be doing great, at church—everywhere I went, I held up a mask to hide my secret. I needed to let it out. I needed to talk to someone. I needed to see if anyone else felt this way in motherhood.

Maybe it was normal. Maybe everyone was pretending. Maybe there was an answer I wasn’t aware of to make everything better.

I mentioned being overwhelmed and my unhappiness to several women I respected who were way ahead of me in the journey of motherhood. Although phrased differently, of course, their responses were all the same.

Yup, that’s motherhood! It’s crazy. And just wait ’til they get older! It gets even harder in different ways! But don’t worry, you’ll get through it.

The hopelessness I felt hearing this was deafening.

So, this is it?

This is the way it’s supposed to be?

And it gets . . . worse?

I felt so heavy.

It seemed like all the mothers of the world had decided it’s a total crap show all the time and there’s no way out of it. They’d say, That’s just motherhood. They offered no help or hack—it was simply struggling and draining yourself empty but also carpe-ing all the diems because it goes by so fast!

I thought about a verse I had always clung to since my childhood growing up in the church: The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly (John 10:10).

Abundant life. If God is good, and God desires for us to experience a life of abundance, of goodness and enjoyment, was this version of life, of motherhood, it?

Not a chance. There’s just no way. And maybe that was why it wasn’t sitting right with me.

So, what then? What was the answer? What shifts needed to happen for me to step into that kind of abundant life and out of this one?

One day while I was processing the advice from the women I’d talked with, I was having a particularly hard time with the kids. There were meltdowns and diaper explosions and so many messes and spills. I was about to snap. I could feel it welling up in me.

I quickly turned on the TV for the kids, set the baby in his bouncer, and ran up the stairs to be alone. I was already sobbing as I slammed the door to my bathroom and slid down the wall, falling into a heap on the floor in absolute hopelessness.

God! Where are you? What do I do here? I want out! I don’t want to be a mom anymore. Not this way. Help me. Please wake up and help me.

I kind of hate saying that I had an epiphany, because I feel like everyone says that. But that’s what it was. It was like I came out of my body and could see myself, my life, my kids, how I was spending my days—all from an aerial perspective. And it was heartbreaking.

And then a thought popped into my head: What exactly are you spending all your time doing?

Picking up. Maintaining my life. Maintaining . . . stuff.

Stuff we don’t even need.

Boom. That was it.

There was so. much. stuff. everywhere.

I suddenly knew exactly what to do. It was a little crazy, and I wasn’t sure if it would work, but I was desperate, and it was worth a shot. I made dinner, got the kids in bed early, and went into their playroom—the room that had become the bane of my existence.

The room was full of colorful bins, each one overflowing with jumbled toys. There were toys scattered across the floor, in chests, in boxes—everywhere. I would send my kids in here to play and they would regularly come out less than five minutes later complaining of boredom. This room was pointless, and I’d had enough.

I began working through the room, making piles: keep, trash, donate. I got rid of every single toy that I felt wasn’t benefiting my kids. If I was going to have to clean something up, it was going to be things that added value to our lives—things my family needed and loved.

When I finished decluttering that room, all that remained were toys I’d seen my kids use to engage in constructive or imaginary play: trains and tracks, a couple of dress-up costumes, books, and blocks. The trunk of my car was overstuffed with toys to donate, and our playroom felt clear and spacious. I immediately felt lighter.

The next morning after breakfast, I sat on the couch with the baby and sent my two- and three-year-olds into their playroom, curious to see if meltdowns would ensue because of what I’d done. They walked in and I heard my three-year-old yell, Hey! It’s clean in here! and they happily started playing.

I was shocked. I relaxed into the sofa and enjoyed my first hot cup of coffee in two years.

To my surprise, the kids played in that room for three hours that day. Three hours! Just in case you’re not aware, three hours of uninterrupted play for two toddlers is insane—especially when their previous record was two seconds. It wasn’t just that day either. They continued to want to be in their playroom for long periods of time from then on.

I didn’t know it at the time, but kids actually thrive when they’re not overwhelmed with options. My kids were overstimulated by the massive amount of toys in their playroom, and it was causing a general feeling of anxiety for me and for them. Our house was fostering an environment of tension. Once the room was decluttered and organized, they played and interacted with each other more and for longer periods of time. They created scenarios and stories and played make believe.

Fewer options inside created the opportunity for more outside play. I had always wanted my kids to spend time outdoors and know what it’s like to make mud pies, find ant hills, collect leaves and sticks and rocks, and have picnic lunches in the grass. On one particular day, I was sitting in the California sunshine watching them play and thinking: Why haven’t we done this more?

It was as if I had freed their God-given gift of imagination and given them the joy of childhood when I cleared out the mountain of toys.

After observing what decluttering had done for my kids, I started purging other areas of the house—the bathroom, the kitchen, the closets and cupboards—and our entire home began to transform. Now that I was spending less than half the time managing my house, I was actually able to have fun playing with my kids. I also found the courage to take up homeschooling. (What? I never thought that could happen!) My marriage improved because I was a happier version of myself. My depression lifted, and I felt like my days were much more aligned with the kind of life I wanted to live.

Our stuff wasn’t waging war on me anymore, because I had removed the unnecessary things. It was all out of my way. Life felt lighter, intentional, and I was no longer simply getting through it. This was abundant life rising up. I could feel it.

Today, years later, we’ve had a fourth baby, traveled a ton, and I run a business doing what I love: helping other women simplify their lives, from home to schedule to business. Housework is just a sidenote in my life. It’s something I maintain a little each day to serve my family and keep things running smoothly; it does not take up the bulk of my life. My kids’ imaginations continue to bloom in amazing ways without the overstimulation of too many toys, and they get along so much better than they used to. I feel like we’re giving them a meaningful childhood, and I love that.

So why did decluttering provide so much freedom? What did excess stuff have to do with my depression and general lack of joy?

Our homes are overflowing with stuff and we’re drowning with no lifeline in sight. We keep thinking our possessions will make us happy, so we keep collecting more. But they’re not making us happy; they’re weighing us down, pulling us under. Our overabundance is affecting us negatively. And not just us, but our families too. Our physical health, our mental health, our relationships are all suffering because we have too much stuff.

Modern research studies show a direct link between the amount of physical possessions in a house and the stress level of the female homeowner. One study done at UCLA found that the more stuff there was in a woman’s house, the higher her level of stress hormones. This same study also found that women subconsciously relate how happy they are with their families and home lives to how they feel about their homes. So, the more clutter and chaos in her home, the less happy a woman is with her family and her life.¹

Bingo.

That’s what was going on with me, and I believe it’s the cause of today’s epidemic of burnout in motherhood.

By the time I made this connection, I had been blogging for a couple of years as a hobby. As a stay-at-home mom, blogging was an outlet for me. Writing about what I was figuring out in motherhood was a way to release stress. As I made these changes in my life, I began sharing them on my blog.

I decided to create a business from my blog so I could teach other women how to make these life changes in simple, doable, effective ways. I shared my story about removing clutter in an article called How Getting Rid of My Stuff Saved My Motherhood.² To my surprise, it went viral. There were even a few days when my story was trending above the first presidential debate of 2016!

I’ve now reached millions with this message, which reveals how much it’s needed. If I was the only one experiencing chronic overwhelm, my story wouldn’t have gone viral. I wouldn’t have thousands of women enrolling in my programs and sharing their transformations with me every day.

I’ve traveled the country to help women clear their clutter. I’ve supported a widow as she sorted through her late husband’s closet. I’ve guided a mom struggling with depression as she cleared out the kids’ overstuffed playroom. I’ve helped a hoarder go through her garage. I’ve stood next to a woman in her closet while she grappled with the realization that she hated her body as she looked at all the clothes she owned but never wore. I’ve seen a lot.

What I’ve realized in my years of doing this work is that our stuff is connected to emotions about decisions we have not yet made and truths we are avoiding. I’ve also realized that most mothers are barely getting by, living in survival mode, feeling like their kids’ childhoods are passing them by even as they’re growing up right there in front of them. I have observed that clutter leads to a feeling of chronic overwhelm, and that is the root of the Hot Mess Mom culture almost everyone subscribes to. What I do for women is the opposite of this. It’s freedom; it’s creating space to actually be present in your life for your kids. This is my passion.

Our stuff is literally stealing from us. It’s stealing the most precious thing in the world: life. Marshall Goldsmith wrote in his book Triggers, If we do not create and control our environment, our environment creates and controls us.³ We need to take control back. We need to set our homes up to reflect our values, so our homes are not constantly pulling us away from what’s most important.

That’s what moms need more than anything else. The type of minimalism that means less cleaning, less stress, less distraction from the people they most care about—and more energy and free time to focus on their priorities. They want to feel the joy of always being ready for company to drop by without stress, worry, or embarrassment. They want to enjoy their home rather than be owned by it. They want to be the mom who plays rather than the mom who’s always cleaning up. They want to be a happier person.

This is about making space for you to do good work—the work you’re called to do, whether that’s the work of being a stay-at-home mom or the CEO of a company, or both. Whatever your lifestyle is, I want to help you create space to live it well.

If you’re ready to make some of the same changes I made that led me to this place of thriving in life and opting out of mere survival mode, you’re in the right place, friend. I want this for you. I want you to know it doesn’t have to be like this for one more day. You can choose a different path, you can thrive, you can love and enjoy this life, you can escape the chronic overwhelm that everyone else calls normal.

I know you want to be the best mom you can possibly be. I know you want to show up for this life, for your kids’ childhoods. I know you want more than the status quo.

Decluttering like a mother changed my life, and it will work for you too. I promise you, it’s so worth it. You have the power to change your story.

A NOTE BEFORE WE START

This book is written from my experience as a privileged, white, Cuban American woman. Because this has been my experience, I can’t claim to know other experiences. Everyone, regardless of background or circumstance, is welcome here. If there is something for you in this book, please take it.

My intention for this book is to change the lives of women everywhere and to lighten