Living by the Six-Month Rule: How Decluttering Changed My Life

As my hands pushed the thin wooden ceiling hatch upward, the ladder beneath me suddenly wobbled. My heart caught in my throat as I reached down to stabilize it. Thankfully, there wouldn’t be an early trip to the ER that day, but it was a reminder that gravity is real and watching with a mischievous and hopeful grin.

Trying again, I pushed the wooden hatch upwards and to the side. A barely visible string dangled from above. I reached my hand into the darkness, clasping for it a few times before pulling it. A floating light bulb revealed my attic’s treasures, and I groaned.

“More junk,” I thought. Four boxes, none of which I owned, sat and waited for inspection. It felt like bad karma to leave mystery boxes for the new owners as the old ones had for me. One box was filled with random papers. Another had erotic magazines from the 80s, which felt like a troll move to leave behind. Two boxes had children’s clothes and had been chewed up by some unseen rodent.

A month earlier, my spouse had surveyed my home and said, “Your move will only be more expensive and more difficult if you bring all this stuff.”

I was initially defensive, but in making her points, she initiated the best project I’ve undertaken: a quest of decluttering, which brought about self-discovery, a new lifestyle, and revealed the strange relationship we develop with everyday objects.

Every “thing” has its story

An acoustic guitar stood vertically in my closet, covered in dust, with only four working strings, a dent, and a crack in it. A decade prior, I learned to play guitar on it, and it somehow became an important artifact—despite my being one of the world’s worst musicians. This exercise of decluttering invoked many moments of me standing still, staring forward, lost in thought as I remembered old scenes and passions that were like seasons, fading in and out of my life.

Ancient homework assignments sat in scribbled piles. I didn’t even like school (which stands in contrast to my spouse, who saves her cherished homework assignments like they are family photos). A box for my Xbox, which was stolen years prior, sat empty on one shelf. I looked back and remembered admiring the shape of this box and being certain I’d store cool things in it — despite having rows of empty shelves already. A pile of broken black and white keyboards sat on top of each other, kissing with missing teeth. Half my clothes were unworn, and many didn’t fit — collateral damage from botched Christmas presents.

In the ensuing weeks, waves of junk haulers came to wash away my stuff. I marveled as wheeled castles of clutter pulled out of my driveway, leaving me wondering how things had gotten this bad and how I could ever make a joke about hoarders again.

Then, I patrolled my house and felt like a Roman emperor, deciding each gladiator’s fate. Some were given a second chance while others, like my uncomfortable couch and wobbly side table, were carried on stretchers to an early retirement at the Hillsborough County Waste Department.

There was an unanticipated and welcome consequence of this exodus. I felt more clear-headed and less stressed. As it turns out, this is precisely what happens per Dr. Stephanie McMains. When your home is cluttered, it creates visual competition between stimuli, adding to your brain’s workload. Your eyes are always surveying your surroundings, identifying points of focus and potential threats. With the presence of more distractions, it increases stress.

I’ve realized that clutter is the most subjective of all terms. Some stuff makes your home your home. But generally, through small omissions of convenience, things tend to pile up beyond their due.

The storytelling part of my brain creates my clutter problems. There’s this minority-party voice in my head that, if risen to power, could surely turn me into a hoarder. It whispers, “Oh—but remember these index cards? You could use those 5,000 cards for XYZ.”

I actively silence that voice.

I made $500 selling things on Facebook Marketplace and could have made more. But I eventually got impatient with the process. As new buyers showed up, I threw various objects in to sweeten the deal. One man showed up to buy my ladder and left with a free lawnmower, weed-whacker, and various lawn pesticides, free of charge (my new HOA includes lawn care).

I grew to enjoy the process of decluttering, and today, my home is minimalist and easy to navigate. My lifestyle has improved immensely. For example, I was once famous for losing my keys and wallet. It felt like I knew all the DMV employees and their life stories. Today, it never happens. Everything has a purpose and place, and I’m no longer at the mercy of my distractedness and my ADHD.

There were tactical steps, including removing crutch behaviors. For example, I have a no-floor-stuff rule and minimized the number of dressers kept in rooms because dressers are often refugee camps for junk and stuff.

It’s a crying shame that it took me so long to make this change because I knew better. My family moved 13 times before I turned 18. It was prohibitively expensive, and even after constantly throwing stuff away, my mom still jokes, “Your dad and I can’t get divorced because we have too much stuff to split.”

I began leveraging the six-month rule, which I learned from my parents. If you haven’t used something in six months, ask, “Is there a reason I’m keeping this?” Exceptions will abound. But I’ve found that, quite often, if you haven’t used something in the prior six months, it won’t be used in the subsequent six years.

I also use another thought exercise that helps: imagine all your belongings must be sent into space and with every object, there’s a cost per pound. I did this today and realized that my shanty laptop that didn’t even work and a bunch of comics that were never going to become rare — could not go to space with me.

A functional, non-cluttered house feels breezy and easy. It’s efficient and relaxing. It’s almost like weight loss. But instead of feeling lighter on your feet, you feel lighter in your mind. It’s easier to remember where that one really important thing is because you aren’t subconsciously tracking eleven other things you won’t ever use again. It also makes me appreciate my actual sentimental items that have survived this purge.

I’ve come to heed caution of the storytelling portion of my brain. Though I rely on him for so many things, he also loves to tell weird stories about objects. He’s the scarcity mentality at its most extreme, begging me not to throw away a broken stapler, selling me a far-fetched sentimental reason it should stay with me forever.

I harken to the old bartender phrase and line from Closing Time, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Remember my six month rule. If you haven’t used it in six months, consider getting rid of it. Make your life smoother, easier and less cluttered.