Earlier this year, like millions before me, I delved into Marie Kondo’s book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. However, about a dozen pages in, it became clear to me that this book wasn’t designed for parents. The reality of my life is that I lack both the time and the space to embrace her structured method.
I won’t be emptying my wardrobe onto the floor to sort through everything in one go, nor will I be rolling my T-shirts as though they were sushi in a bento box. And don’t even get me started on my collection of spare buttons; those are too valuable to toss aside.
Nevertheless, there’s a core message from Kondo’s philosophy that resonates with me: “Does this object spark joy?” she prompts. “If it does, keep it; if not, let it go.”
Soon after reading her book, my 6-year-old son, Jake, approached me during a two-week school vacation. “I have too many toys,” he announced. “I’d like to choose some to donate.” So, we dove into the task together, sitting in his playroom and sorting through his toys, one plastic storage container at a time. He created two piles: one for his kindergarten class and another for the thrift store.
The following day, we tackled books, and the day after that, we organized his art supplies. On the final day of our holiday, we sorted through DVDs, clothes, and stuffed animals, which seemed to require their own unique category. Surprisingly, he decided to part with just one stuffed animal, a gift from a recent flight, but I held my tongue as several boxes filled with donations piled up.
Watching Jake make decisions about what to keep and what to donate helped me realize that children instinctively understand Kondo’s joy principle. Adults, however, often burden their possessions with emotions, leading to clutter. Jake retained items that mattered to him, even when I couldn’t see their significance. He held onto a crooked stick figure made of pipe cleaners, some laminated leaves, and an ordinary pebble from the beach.
“Why keep those?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I love them!” he replied, as if it were obvious.
Conversely, he easily discarded things I thought he’d cherish forever. A small toy car, once a favorite, had lost a wheel and was destined for the trash. I assumed he’d be attached to it, yet it flew into the bin without a second thought. “Wasn’t that from Grandpa?” I asked the next day while he sorted through books. “Yes,” he responded, “but I like other gifts from Grandpa better. That one wasn’t very interesting.”
It was refreshing to see someone so free of guilt. Jake seemed to grasp that letting go of an unwanted gift doesn’t diminish your feelings for the giver. In fact, keeping only the most cherished items enhances your appreciation for those who gave them to you.
Since Jake’s major decluttering effort, I’ve noticed he’s become more discerning about what he chooses to keep. If something breaks, he tosses it without a second thought. I’ve found many items in the recycling bin—a gold crown he wore for two minutes, a paper airplane he crafted, and a magazine he read once. I’ve been tempted to voice my opinions on wastefulness but have held back; he understands that the joy these items once brought has passed. Why would I impose a sense of obligation on him to hold onto things?
Instead, I’m trying to learn from him. I’m going through my belongings—not in Kondo’s prescribed manner, but in a way that suits me. I’m beginning to grasp that the act of letting go allows me to embrace the present.
Clothes have been easy to part with. I’m not going to shrink in size again, nor will I take the time to mend that hole or fix that sleeve. I can appreciate the beautiful scarf that was a gift, but I know someone else will treasure and wear it more than I ever did.
I’ve let go of my wedding dress and my child’s baby clothes, yet the meanings of marriage and motherhood remain etched in my heart. My memories aren’t tied to those physical items as much as I once thought.
Digital items have been a breeze to shed; the best photos are printed, and the humor from certain text messages lives vividly in my mind. Even books—my biggest struggle—are getting easier to release. I visualize Jake with his treasured gifts from Grandpa and feel liberated from guilt. I’ve removed the “should-reads” and the “have-read-once-but-won’t-again” titles from my collection, leaving just a few novels on my bedside table that I’m excited to finally explore.
Marie Kondo is right. Tidying can indeed be transformative, instilling a sense of lightness and joy while clarifying your priorities. But I didn’t need a book to discover that truth; I just needed my son to illuminate the way.
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In summary, through a simple act of decluttering, I discovered that joy and attachment are more about the memories we carry than the items we hold onto. My son’s instinctive approach to letting go has inspired a transformative journey for both of us.
Keyphrase: tidying with children
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