I don’t know what came over me. It was a random Sunday afternoon, and I walked into my bedroom to put away some laundry. Nothing dramatic—just a normal chore. But as I stood there, basket in hand, I realized I had nowhere to put anything. My dresser drawers were overflowing. My closet? Stuffed. The floor? Covered in a collection of “I’ll get to that later” piles that had been waiting… for months.
Something in me just snapped. In the best, most necessary way.
I dropped the basket and yanked open my top drawer, pulling out old t-shirts I haven’t worn in a decade. Then I moved to the closet. Off came hangers, shoes, bags—anything that didn’t feel like me anymore. Then the linen closet. Before I knew it, I was in full-on purge mode.
That was two weeks ago. Since then, I’ve been working my way through the house—room by room. I’ve repainted nearly every wall. I’m talking full reset. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m creating a home I actually enjoy being in.
And not just enjoy, but feel connected to.
I’m finally done trying to follow trends. For years, I tried to make my home look like the Pinterest boards or the Instagram squares, but none of it ever felt like me. Through this whole process, I realized my actual style is French country—feminine, cozy, a little romantic, and honestly? Pretty girly. I’ve always loved soft textures, vintage touches, and anything floral. So I stopped pretending and just went with it.
I even put pink curtains in my kitchen. PINK. CURTAINS. And they make me smile every time I walk in there.
I’ve also started embracing the idea of space. Like, literal empty space. I’ve always had this urge to fill every corner with something—a chair, a basket, a little table—but this time, I’m resisting it. It’s hard. But I’m learning to let the house breathe. I even decided not to put the table back in our breakfast nook for now. That little corner just needed to be.
And you know what? So did I.
Clutter Reflects the Mind
It’s wild how much our surroundings reflect what’s happening internally. I didn’t fully realize how heavy and chaotic I felt until I started clearing things out. As the drawers emptied, it felt like my brain did too. I could think more clearly. I could breathe easier.
For the last few years, I’ve been in survival mode. Between parenting teens, the stress of managing a household, stepping back from work after the gym I ran closed during the pandemic, and finishing my degree as an adult learner (which I’m proud of—but wow, that was A LOT), I just… ran out of steam.
My workload lightened, but so did my sense of direction. I had fewer responsibilities, but also fewer distractions. And without the chaos to keep me busy, I realized how apathetic and disconnected I had become.
I stopped doing fun things. I isolated myself. I was working from home in the country, hardly ever seeing people outside of my family. I stopped indulging, stopped going on trips, stopped putting energy into creating beauty around me. Even though I was finally getting rest, I still felt exhausted. Even though I had “freedom,” I felt trapped.
Creating My Own Joy Again
This season of purging and repainting and shifting my space has been more than just a home makeover. It’s been the beginning of reconnecting with me.
I still don’t have it all figured out. Far from it. But doing something—anything—to change my environment gave me momentum. It reminded me that I don’t have to wait for joy to show up on its own. I can create it. I can design a life, a home, a routine that supports who I am now—not who I used to be or who I think I’m supposed to become.
And let’s be honest: midlife is a weird place to be. You’ve done so much. You’ve been so much—for your kids, your partner, your job, your community. But when the dust settles a bit and things get quieter, you’re left sitting in a house full of stuff and asking, “Who am I now?”
That’s what this process has helped me start answering.
I don’t know where it’s all headed yet. But I know this: I want beauty. I want simplicity. I want a home that doesn’t overwhelm me. I want to feel peace when I open my eyes in the morning, and a sense of pride when I look around. And I want to build all of that for me.
Finding a Creative Outlet That Works for Me
I’ve always said I’m not creative. I’m a literal, rigid, type-A Virgo. I don’t paint. I don’t scrapbook. I don’t daydream and doodle.
But I’m realizing now—creativity doesn’t have to look a certain way. For me, this process has been creative. Choosing paint colors. Picking out new curtains. Moving furniture around. Finding joy in aesthetics. Reimagining what my space could be.
That’s a creative outlet. That counts.
And maybe there are more of those out there for me—ones that don’t require me to suddenly become someone I’m not, but instead help me reconnect with the version of me that’s been buried under years of stress, sacrifice, and self-neglect.
This Is Just the Beginning
So yeah, it all started with a pile of laundry I couldn’t put away. But it’s turned into so much more.
I’m finding drive again. I’m feeling sparks of motivation that I thought were gone forever. I’m starting to remember what it feels like to enjoy the space I’m in—not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, spiritually.
If you’re in that place where everything feels blah, or like you’re just floating through your days… maybe it’s time for your own version of a Sunday afternoon snap. You don’t have to tear your whole house apart (unless you want to, and then I highly recommend it), but maybe there’s one drawer, one room, one thing you can clear out. Just to see how it feels.
You might be surprised at what starts to clear inside you, too.
