My nine-year-old has a penchant for keeping things聽鈥� all things. From all places.
It started out innocently enough, and it was a sentimentality to which I could relate. (Confession time: I still have all my high school year books, photo albums stuffed with treasured stickers, and a scrapbook I made in Grade 12 that actually has chewed gum intentionally preserved within its pages. What can I say? It was a big crush.)
Now that that embarrassing bit of information is out of the way, I found it sweet when I learned my daughter had kept her ticket stub from the first time we went to see The Nutcracker, a handmade Valentine from her best friend, and knitting projects from Grade 1. But add to that all the bibs and bobs I have tucked away on her behalf 鈥� first birthday cards from great-grandparents who have since passed and trinkets from one grandmother who adores bringing gifts for the girls every time she visits 鈥� and her space was starting to look more like a museum than a kid鈥檚 room.
Then there are the ribbons and 鈥渕edals鈥� she鈥檚 received for participating in countless sports classes and the odd competition, a plethora of elastic bracelets, and collections of lip balm, stickers, and stuffed animals. That鈥檚 how it started. And lately it seems as though my daughter has been drowning in her 鈥渟tuff.鈥� Not only that, she鈥檚 been irritable, argumentative (particularly with little sister) and easily overwhelmed.
Clean clothes folded neatly on her bed couldn鈥檛 find their way in to drawers and often ended up on the floor, wrappers started appearing from lunch snacks and, well, everything. Artwork, crafts and accompanying supplies never seemed to find their way back to the place from which they came. In short, it was starting to look as though we could become the next subjects of the TV show Hoarders.
To call it a mess would be generous. Daily we would have words, sometimes loud words, about cleaning up. There may have been tears. Often it would either end with me doing all the work while she sat paralyzed 鈥� unable or unwilling, it was hard to tell 鈥� to lend a hand, or I would close the door simply so that I would not to have to see it.
Then two weekends ago while she was out, I decided to not just tackle her room, I was going to own it. I got bins and boxes and was completely ruthless. I took out everything that wasn鈥檛 a necessity or her most prized possessions. The shelves and dresser were wiped clean and only a handful of things returned. I eliminated about half of her clothing, I removed all the art supplies and left only a few of her most treasured stuffed animals, namely the ones with which she sleeps.
In the process I eradicated gifts from family and friends, things that I personally loved but never resonated for her, and many, many items that she had made.
There was good amount of trash that found its proper home immediately. Most of the items I took downstairs in clear bins just in case I had inadvertently cleared out something exceedingly precious that would need to be retrieved.
Her response was a huge smile and 鈥渢hank you鈥� and the biggest hug. She was elated. Not because mom had done all the work, but because she could breathe again. She was visibly relieved.
Since then some of her anxiety is lessening. She鈥檚 getting along with family better than ever, and she鈥檚 mostly kept it clean 鈥� even making her bed in the morning without being asked.
It鈥檚 been a week and nothing has been called for or moved back into her room 鈥� except for her sister, who likes it so much that she has since taken up residency on the top bunk. Seems that not only did we deal with the problem of too much stuff, we seem to have unwittingly tackled a sibling issue at the same time.
