I’ve had a singular enemy in my home since I was in high school. It’s devoted to me, following me from high school to college, from state to state, from my teens into my thirties. It’s devious, cunning, and more than anything, consistent in its chase of me.
It’s my laundry chair.
Now what’s this? I came here for a listicle with 50 ideas of inspiration for how to finally squash the rising panic of having no time, no rest, and no backup plan. Why is she giving a diatribe?
Dear reader, I’m giving you a story before the list because the list flits into your “saved” folder online for some future date, where as a story is like gum that sticks to your subconscious and comes back to you while you’re waiting for the bus. A story—lived or told—is the most effective way to change. We remember it.
Back to that devilish laundry chair. I’ve been a woman who struggles with keeping a tidy space for my whole life. Messy backpack, messy childhood room, messy adult apartment. I’ve also been a person who overstuffs her schedule, and like the laundry pile, the pile of overcommitments rear themselves out from the places I’ve shut them away just like that laundry pile.
Inevitably, the stress and displeasure of overwhelm eventually overtakes me and I spend a spree of folding, cleaning, checking off to-dos. Now, before any of you diagnose me—yes, this is within the standard of normal human behavior (new readers, I am a psychiatrist). Is there a bit of anxiety and maybe attentional concerns? Sometimes. But I also think that this overwhelm is something so many of us feel right now, and that when so many people are feeling one way, we have to ask if there is something in our environment that is making us so.
My mother has been trying to help me be tidier (gently) for 30 years has given me lots of advice. Every time I finally take one and it works, I facetime her and say, “Yes, mom, you were right and you can say I told you so if you like.” And we laugh. And I think we both feel lighter in our own ways.
Recently, I started my fellowship in child psychiatry. With the start of a new phase of training, there is inevitably the increased time, emotion, and learning that comes with trying to acquire a new set of skills to help people with. Am I always surprised at this and confused why it feels badly for the first few weeks of a new chapter in my life? Yes. But I figure out why it feels bumpy much faster than I did in, say, Freshman year of college. New people, new commutes, new concepts—all being figured out and mapped anew for me. With this on top of regular routines—well, laundry pile. Overwhelm.
Reader, before you attempt to change things or consider steps I’ve taken in the last few weeks to lighten the (laundry) load, the above step is important. Getting kindly curious about why our sense of overwhelm, busy-ness, anxiety, or ease to frustration is happening can help direct us to what we need. It can also help us give ourselves compassion for why the laundry pile is a bit larger lately.
Now for the philosophical and tactical piece of advice from my mother: Your laundry will be much easier to do and put away if you let your drawers only be half full. Pick out the clothes you use all the time and set them aside—like you’re going on a two week trip. Put those in the easiest to access places. Next, take your special occasion or clothes you wear only a couple times a month and put them in the next easiest place. For things you wear hardly never—or that you pick up or put on and feel uncomfortable and would almost always choose something else 9 times out of 10—put them in a bin or a box and tuck them under your bed. Repeat with most of your clothes and shoes—again, pretending like you’re going on a 2 or 4 week trip.
Live like this for a couple weeks. Notice how often you need to open one of the boxes (you’ll find it’s probably not often). When you put laundry away, don’t fold things that don’t need to be folded (underwear, workout clothes, pjs) and just throw them in their drawer. Fold the few things you need to, and hang the few things you need to. Easily close the door of the drawer with space to spare, without having to tetris all your clothes so they easily fit.
Do you already feel how a small detail like that, made better, can matter? Some small thing that pisses you off or makes you feel anxious when you look at the pile or can’t find the shirt you want because it’s jammed into the overfilled dresser can add up when we practice it everyday. The laundry pile stops existing because putting away laundry takes two minutes. Getting dressed in the morning becomes easier because you’re sure where you clean and dirty clothes are, and where.
In two weeks or a month, return to the boxes, or just one box at a time. Review what can be donated, or should have been in the drawer. If you add something, you may need to take something out, because the drawer still needs to be roomy. I call this Montessory dressing (like they do with kids with their toys), as when you’re bored of some clothes, you use the others and swap em out.
As with your laundry, so with your time. Now that I’m saving time each day with getting dressed, putting things away, and maintaining a clean and clear home, I’ve had time to reflect on how this method can apply to my schedule and my intake of content/social media/stimuli. I am very aware I am overfilling my cup at times, but I can keep much of what matters to me if I’m willing to declutter the junk time-spenders, and put some things I care about into the metaphorical box under the bed until another season. This idea feels like a relief, especially in a busier, new time in my life. It might be for you, this fall, too.
Lastly, it’s true that all of us have different responsibilities and different levels of flexibility in our lives and our communities. Take from this how you can, but find the dose of change and choice that you do have in your life, and go from there. Maybe your drawers can’t be only half filled, but they could be 2/3rd filled, and that level of space for error and slowing down may be enough to have a big impact on you.
Take care, and take your time,
Margaret of Bad Art Every Day