Deep Decluttering: Dressers and Closets and Garages, Oh My!

My living room looks pretty good in a minimalist kind of way. So does my bedroom. In fact, all the bedrooms are looking much more minimalist these days. The bathrooms, too. The dining room has no excess furnishings and my kitchen is decluttered. I’m sure there’s still more potential for decluttering in the kitchen, but for now, it’s looking lean and clean.

Please don’t think I’m getting boastful on my minimalist journey—I know all too well what still needs work. In fact, I’m about to dive into the deep, dark guts of decluttering, the messy underbelly, the dreaded tasks that many of us postpone tackling until there are no more excuses. I’m talking about what’s hidden from the public view—dressers, closets, and garages.

I began with closets many months ago. I weeded through clothing and shoes and accessories. I donated piles and piles as I re-evaluated, almost monthly, what I truly wanted to keep. My wardrobe is as curated as it can be for now. It will always need tending, but I gutted the excessive purses, shoes, and outfits I rarely wore.

Next came the dressers. I had a small one in the closet just for undergarments, socks, and workout clothes and a large one in the bedroom for pants and tops. I was determined to make them all fit into one large dresser. I decluttered with a vengeance. Sure, some of the drawers are pretty stuffed, but I’ll work on that in the coming year. My reward—a dresser for the guest room. I had planned to purchase one, but there was no need. I patted myself on the back, pushed the smaller dresser through the hallway, and placed it in the guest room. Now family and friends can really unpack when visiting.

I have two other closets in the house, and since I live alone, these closets became mini-storage rooms. Yes, I need some space to store office supplies, old photos, tax files, and all the other household business, but did I really need two good-sized closets? No. I began to go through the plastic storage bins that so many of us use in the false hope that organizing our stuff means we’re on top of it all. In one closet, I had a stack of games from my kids’ childhood. One had never been played! I kept a few, but the rest went into the give-away pile. One bin contained throw blankets that I rarely use (hello, I live in Florida), so I tossed them into the donation pile. I had boxes of photos and I decided right then and there to give myself a good scanner for the holidays. For now, those boxes stay put.

Then I went through the bin holding my tax returns. I pride myself on keeping records organized, and indeed, each year was neatly clipped together. All 13 years. What? I have tax records dating back to 2003? Since my California days? That was three moves ago! I knew that seven years was enough, so I started a shredding pile. A big one. I added old paperwork from my personal files as well. Eventually, I’ll scan more and more, so some files remain until then. It took three days of shredding, but my closet and files were looking a lot leaner.

I left the hardest decluttering task for last—my children’s memory boxes and clothes stored in the garage. I had already cleaned out much of the garage, but in one corner stood two tall shelves of large plastic bins mocking me. You call yourself a minimalist? What about us? Toys and mementos and clothes from the last two decades! And don’t forget me, said a huge bin of my own clothes, a couple of sizes smaller than the current me. (I know I’m not the only one who optimistically keeps smaller clothing.)

Slowly but surely, I began going through bins of children’s clothing, awards, toys, cards, and photos. It took some time because I had to stop and read through their class evaluations, see what their teachers had said about my precious offspring, leaf through childish handwriting in grade-school notebooks. When I get a scanner, I’ll scan a bunch of the papers and photos that made the first cut. Then I’ll toss those as well. I recalled what Joshua Fields Millburn (1/2 of The Minimalists) said about discovering his mother’s collection of his childhood memorabilia. It was one of the triggers that started him on the path towards minimalism.

I queried my minimalist group and others on Facebook, asking grandparents whether their kids ever used what they had saved for the next generation. Mostly the answer was no. Perhaps a few items, almost no clothing. I swallowed hard as I sorted, and except for a few sentimental outfits, I discarded the rest to be donated. Many meaningless mementos got tossed; I kept just what I felt was most important.

I filled five large bins to donate. I have very little from my own childhood, so I want my children to have those memories, but they don’t always have to be tangible items. For most things, photos and scans will be enough. As I go through the last of my son’s bins, I discover Bruno, the brown bear he so dearly loved for years and years, presented to him by my stepmother and late father when he was six weeks old. I pick Bruno up and breathe in the smell of a childhood favorite. Bruno stays.

My living room looks pretty good in a minimalist kind of way. So does my bedroom. In fact, all the bedrooms are looking much more minimalist these days. The bathrooms, too. The dining room has no excess furnishings and my kitchen is decluttered. I’m sure there’s still more potential for decluttering the kitchen, but for now, it’s looking lean and clean.

Please don’t think I’m getting boastful on my minimalist journey. I know all too well what still needs work whenever I dive into the dark, deep guts of decluttering. It’s the messy underbelly, the dreaded tasks that many of us postpone until there are no more excuses. I’m talking about what’s hidden from the public view—dressers, closets, and the garage.

I began with closets a long time ago. I weeded through my clothing and shoes and accessories. I donated piles and piles as I re-evaluated, almost monthly, what I truly wanted to keep, and I eventually curated my wardrobe. It will always need tending, but I gutted the excessive purses and shoes, the outfits I rarely wore, and I cleaned out the shelves.

Next came my dressers. I decluttered with a vengeance. And don’t forget me, said a huge bin of my own clothes, a couple of sizes smaller than the current me (I know I’m not the only one who keeps smaller clothing). Sure, my current dresser is pretty full, but I’ll keep working on. My reward—a dresser for the guest room. I had planned to purchase one, but I patted myself on the back, shoved the smaller dresser through the house and into the guest room. Now family and friends can really unpack when visiting.

I have other closets in the house, and since I live alone, the closets become mini-storage rooms. I need some of the space to store office supplies, old photos, and all the other household business. But do I really need all of it? I began to go through the plastic storage bins that so many of us use in the false hope that organizing our stuff means we’re on top of it all. In one closet, I had a stack of games from my kids’ childhood. One had never even been played! I kept a few, but the rest went into the give-away pile. I had boxes of photos, and I decided right then and there to give myself a good scanner for the holidays.

Then I went through the bin holding my tax returns. I have filed taxes online and scanned the necessary documents for years now, but for some reason, I also kept paper copies. I pride myself on keeping records organized, and indeed, each year was neatly clipped together. All 13 years. What? I knew that seven years was enough, so I started a shredding pile. A big one. I added old paperwork from my personal files as well. Eventually, I scanned them all. It took three days of shredding, but my closet and files look a lot leaner.

I left the hardest decluttering task for last—the memory boxes and clothes from my children’s childhood. I had already cleaned out much of the garage, but in one corner stood two tall stacks of large plastic bins mocking me. You call yourself a minimalist? What about us? Toys and mementos and clothes from the last two decades. Slowly but surely, I began going through bins of itty-bitty clothes, children’s awards and toys, cards, and photos. It took some time because I had to stop and read their class evaluations, see what their teachers had said about my precious offspring, leaf through childish handwriting in grade-school notebooks. I’ll scan those later. I recalled what Joshua Fields Millburn said about discovering his mother’s collection of his childhood memorabilia. It was one of the triggers that started him on the path towards minimalism.

I asked grandparents I knew whether their kids ever used what they had saved for the next generation. The answer was mostly no. Perhaps a few items, almost no clothing. I swallowed hard as I sorted, and except for a few sentimental outfits, I discarded the rest to be donated. I filled two enormous bins and have three large empty bins ready to donate.

I still have some bins left, but fewer than I’ve had for years. I have very little from my own childhood; my mother didn’t keep much. I want my children to have those memories, but they don’t all have to be the items themselves. For most, photos and scans will be enough. As I go through the last of my son’s bins, I discover Bruno, the brown bear he so dearly loved for years. I pick Bruno up and breathe in the smell of a childhood favorite. Bruno stays.

Suggestions

• To avoid getting overwhelmed and quitting, declutter bit by bit. Pick a drawer, a cupboard, a shelf. Slow and steady wins the race!

• Decluttering is a process of layers (or sweeps). Layer 1 may focus mostly on the superficial, Layer 2 may dig a bit deeper, and Layers 3+ will get to the deep decluttering.

• Decluttering isn’t a one-time job. It took a long time to accumulate that stuff, and it won’t go away in an hour or two.

• To keep future decluttering to a minimum, adopt a one in, one out policy. If I buy a book, I find one book to donate.

RESOURCES

Millburn, Joshua Fields and Ryan Nicodemus Essential: Essays by The Minimalists

Everything That Remains: A Memoir by The Minimalists

Minimalism: Live a Meaningful Life

Becker, Joshua The More of Less: Finding the Life You Want Under Everything You Own

For more resources, go to this page: Resources

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