The Great Declutter: I Tried to Marie Kondo My Life and Accidentally Threw Out My Tax Documents.

Let me set the scene.

It was a Saturday morning. I had just watched three episodes of Tidying Up with Marie Kondo and one YouTube video titled “Minimalism Will Save Your Soul (And Also Your Closet).”

Inspired and dangerously over-caffeinated, I stood in the center of my apartment and declared,

“Today, I become clutter-free. Today, I spark joy.”

The journey that followed included emotional breakdowns, accidental tax evasion, and the loss of one extremely comfortable but aggressively ugly sweatshirt. Was I better afterward? Yes, but also slightly traumatized.

Let’s begin.

Phase 1: The Clothes (and an Identity Crisis)

Marie Kondo says to start with clothes. Pile them all in one place, then touch each item and ask, “Does this spark joy?”

Here’s what actually happened.

I dumped my entire wardrobe onto the bed. It looked like a thrift store exploded. Then I sat down and immediately spiraled:

“Why do I own seven nearly identical black turtlenecks?”

“Why am I emotionally attached to this shirt I wore once in 2014 to a Chili’s?”

“Can joy really be sparked by denim?”

I held up a sweater I bought during a breakup and whispered, “You don’t spark joy. You spark codependency.”

It was getting real.

Eventually, I kept five outfits, donated three garbage bags, and cried over one sock that reminded me of my childhood cat. Progress.

Phase 2: Books and the Great Pretending

Next up: books.

Marie says keep only the ones that bring you joy. Which is tricky, because I believe all books bring potential joy. Even the ones I’ve never read. Especially those.

I picked up War and Peace and thought,

“Sure, I’ve never opened it. But what if one day I get stuck in an elevator with a Russian literature professor and finally become interesting?”

The same with The Art of French Cooking (I burn toast) and Intro to Quantum Physics (bought during a breakup, obviously).

In the end, I kept 80% of my books and justified it by saying they’re “decorative emotional support.” Minimalism, but make it delusional.

Phase 3: The Drawer of Doom

You know the one. Everyone has it.

The drawer was filled with batteries, broken pens, a key to something you no longer own, receipts from 2017, three rubber bands, and a pair of scissors that have never cut anything successfully.

Marie Kondo would faint if she saw it.

Cleaning this drawer was like opening a time capsule curated by a chaotic raccoon.

I found

A friendship bracelet from middle school.

Expired cough drops.

A postcard from a dentist I’ve never met.

I did my best. I threw out 90% of it, kept the scissors (for loyalty), and made peace with my past.

Phase 4: Paperwork and the Tax Document Incident

Ah, yes. Paper clutter.

Marie says most paper should be discarded. I interpreted this as, “Let’s throw away all envelopes with scary fonts.”

You can guess what happened.

Somewhere in my frenzied tossing, I accidentally discarded a very official-looking envelope. Days later, I realized it contained my W-2 form. It was now buried beneath coffee grounds and yesterday’s spaghetti.

I briefly considered dumpster diving. Instead, I emailed HR with a subject line that simply said, “Sparking Regret.”

Lesson learned: never declutter important documents when running on caffeine and vibes.

Phase 5: Sentimental Items and Spiritual Chaos

This is where things got weird.

Marie says to handle sentimental items last because they’re the most emotionally intense. I should’ve listened.

I found

A shoebox full of movie ticket stubs.

An ex’s hoodie I forgot I still had (smelled like Axe and unresolved issues).

A sock puppet I made in fourth grade named Larry.

I held Larry and cried. Not because of the sock puppet, but because adulting is hard and I wasn’t ready to emotionally confront my attachment to childhood arts and crafts.

In the end, I kept Larry and burned the hoodie in a symbolic candlelit ceremony. Very therapeutic. Very flammable.

Unexpected Discoveries:

While cleaning, I also discovered

A box of unopened candles I’ve apparently been hoarding for a candlepocalypse.

Five chargers that fit nothing I currently own.

One tiny sombrero (no explanation, no memory of purchase).

I also found space. Real space. Like, actual empty shelf space. For a moment, I stood in silence, staring at it like a pilgrim reaching the promised land.

What I Learned from Decluttering

1. Decluttering is emotional cardio.

You will confront everything from your failed hobbies to your high school prom hairstyle. It’s cleansing and mildly traumatic.

2. Sparking joy is subjective.

Sometimes joy is a comfy old hoodie. Sometimes it's a completely empty drawer. Sometimes it’s just knowing where your scissors are.

3. Marie Kondo is a tiny, tidy wizard.

She makes it look easy. But she doesn’t warn you about the existential dread that comes when you realize your sock has more emotional depth than your last relationship.

4. Decluttering does feel good—eventually.

After the chaos, tears, and panic over maybe tossing a utility bill, you’re left with a home that feels lighter. Calmer. Like you’re no longer living inside a chaotic scrapbook.

I tried to declutter my entire life in one weekend.

I got rid of 9 bags of stuff, cried over a sock puppet, and threw away my tax forms.

Minimalism is not for the faint of heart or the overly sentimental.

But once you survive it, there’s a weird and wonderful peace in your now-empty drawers.

If you’re considering your own declutter journey, I say: do it.

But be gentle with yourself. Keep the sock puppet if you must. Back up your tax forms. And remember, joy doesn’t have to be Pinterest-worthy. Sometimes it’s just finding your floor again.