No, I'm Not in a Cult - I Just Don't Want More Crap

Please Stop Buying Me Things - I Mean It!

When I told people I was becoming a minimalist, the reactions were… let's say, mixed. One friend literally said, "Yeah, right," like I couldn't possibly change. Another said it sounded a bit extreme - like I was about to renounce all of my worldly possessions, paint my house entirely white and live entirely off produce I grew in my own garden. One even asked me for tips after she saw the changes in me and how well I looked, so I made her a curated YouTube playlist - which she ignored entirely (turns out I'm quite good at curating: she's now been curated right off my friends list).

I get why people roll their eyes at minimalism. And honestly? Most people just ignore it anyway. They either don't get it, don't believe me, or think it's a weird phase I'll grow out of. But I'm not in a cult. I haven't renounced possessions entirely. I just don't want a house full of crap I never use and a life full of noise I didn't sign up for.

Minimalism, for me, started when my stuff started making me feel ill. Not just physically - though clutter absolutely messes with your head - but emotionally too. It felt heavy, like a constant low-level anxiety humming in the background, mixed with guilt about all the things I owned but never touched. I felt heavy (my brain and my body). So I started letting go. Not all at once. In rounds. Brutal rounds. But I didn't end up with nothing - I just ended up with what actually matters.

What Minimalism Actually Means (to Me)

Most people seem to think minimalism is about living like a monk with six items of clothing and a single fork - like you're not allowed to enjoy anything ever again. Honestly, it should probably be called ‘intentionality’, but that doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. To people who don't get it, minimalists seem a bit weird - like we've opted out of joy. But it's not about having nothing. It's about making space for what actually matters.

My version of minimalism looks like this: clothes I feel good in - and all of them match. Comfortable shoes. Books I genuinely want to read (I still have loads, but I got rid of about 70%). Wooden decorations and a few plants that make my space feel warm. Plushies on my bed because cosy is still a priority. A few pieces of fun art. My DCUK ducks, obviously.

It's not a blank white room. It's my room - but with less crap. I've pared back kitchen utensils that did the same job, replaced a thousand rubbish backpacks with one £60 Osprey that'll last for years, and culled my bathroom stash so I only buy toiletries when we actually need them (and don’t own toiletries that we might use “someday”). I even got rid of all the manky old tea towels and now have a curated set in their own little box. That's growth.

The result? I can tidy the whole house in ten minutes - even if guests suddenly announce they're popping round. No more panic. No more cupboards that attack you when opened. Everything has a home, and I no longer waste half my life looking for stuff I know we own somewhere. Even the kids have their own boxes inside a cupboard in the living room. You can't see the contents, but they know exactly where their things go.

My ADHD brain absolutely thrives in this setup - it's calm, manageable, and gives me the mental space to function like a human being. Minimalism works for me because it's practical and personal. It's still got character, still looks lived-in, but it's intentional. It's made everyday life smoother, lighter, and a hell of a lot calmer.

Digital Declutter (and Letting Go of Karen from Year 9)

Facebook. Twitter. Discord. The holy trinity of digital overwhelm - at least, for me.

I used to spend my mornings chasing Twitter followers, posting memes, and commenting on stuff just to keep the numbers moving. Facebook? That was mostly to stalk people I'd gone to school with and had no intention of ever seeing again (why do we have a morbid fascination with seeing how badly other people's lives are going compared to ours?! If they're succeeding, we sit there quietly seething!). Discord was leftover from my Twitch streaming days (a story for another time), and while it once served a purpose, it had become just another noisy room I didn't want to be in.

So I cut the cord.

I quit Twitter. I stopped using Discord except for messaging the kids. I deleted all but 25 people from Facebook - I kept mostly family from my dad's side, one or two actual friends, and a couple of outliers I have a weird nostalgic fondness for. Everyone else? Gone. People I hadn't seen in years, people who stopped responding, people who frankly didn't need to take up space in my head anymore. I even unfriended my brother, who had stabbed me in the back one too many times and was really only there so I could observe how fat he and his wife were getting (yes, I said it. Growth takes time - as well as girth!).

The guilt? Minimal. I thought it'd be worse, but most of them didn't even notice. One old school acquaintance asked where she could see my photos now I wasn't sharing them on Facebook - I ignored her. She only ever messaged when she wanted something! If I was important to these people, they'd still be in my life. They're not. So I curated them out.

I also unsubscribed from emails (pro tip: search for "unsubscribe" in Gmail and go on a rampage), left a bunch of pointless Facebook groups, and deleted any apps that didn't add value. My phone screen now holds only the things that matter - photos, my browser, WhatsApp, Apple Health. That's it.

The satisfaction I got from blocking certain family members was next level. Finding out they knew my mum was dying and didn't tell me - that was the last straw. They don't know that I know, but I do. And I no longer care whether they're baffled by my silence. There's peace in letting go. Also: deleting that cousin who ghosted me after a brief reunion? Cathartic. No regrets.

I used to keep people around out of politeness. That classic British "well it would be rude to delete them" mindset. But why? If we haven't spoken in a decade (or three) and you never liked me anyway, I don't need to know what you had for lunch or how your kids are doing in Year 6. Harsh? Maybe. Liberating? Absolutely.

Digital decluttering has done the same thing for my brain that physical decluttering did for my home - it gave me space. I'm calmer. More present. Less agitated. I replaced doomscrolling with meditation apps. I get my news in small, manageable doses through Alexa - sometimes even through the kids' news brief, which is genuinely cheerful and fun (more stories about space missions and new species, please. Less existential dread).

I'm not anti-social media. I'm just done with digital chaos I never consented to. I've unsubscribed - and not just from emails.

Past Hobbies, Kids' Stuff & the Emotional Sh*t Drawer

I've always been a creative person - drawing has been a lifelong love, and it'll always be part of who I am. But like a lot of creative people (especially those of us with ADHD), I also cycled through a *lot* of hobbies that didn't stick.

There was the time I made gorgeous ribbon hair bows for my daughter. The phase where I made earrings with my eldest son to sell on Etsy. The polymer clay kits for my youngest, mosaic making gear for my daughter, a paper-cutting phase (don't ask), and a full acrylic pouring paint set I never used - though I did pass that on to my daughter-in-law's mum, who actually enjoys it. I still have loads of wool because I *might* still crochet one day… but most of the other gadgety bits? Gone.

Letting go of those things was surprisingly hard. It felt like letting go of a version of myself - or of moments I'd planned but never made real. The cute canvases I'd bought to paint with the kids? Oof. But the *aha* moment came when I realised I didn't need the items to keep the good memories. In fact, keeping them was making me sad. I wasn't preserving joy - I was storing guilt.

Same with the kids' old clothes and toys. I donated them, after checking if they wanted to keep anything (they didn't). I held onto a few truly sentimental pieces and let the rest go - partly inspired by the idea of *Swedish Death Cleaning*. If I'm the only one who cares about it, and my kids would just bin it when I'm gone… do I really need to keep it?

Now I've got a few boxes of memories - just for me. The rest has gone on to new homes, maybe making new memories for other families. And while the idea of seeing another kid in my daughter's old coat might make me want to wrestle it off them (I'm kidding… mostly), it genuinely feels good to know those things are being used and loved again.

I don't have strict rules for what I keep sentimentally, but I go with gut instinct. I kept the shoes they scuffed at the park, not the ten hardly worn pairs. I kept the one toy they carried everywhere, not all five variations of it. I want the stuff I keep to *mean* something - not just represent everything we once owned.

Letting go lifted a huge weight - both emotionally and physically (most of this was stored in the loft above my head, literally hanging over me). I'm not done yet. But I've made a dent. And that dent feels like space.

The Crap That Sneaks Back In

Despite my best intentions, I’ve realised that decluttering never really stops — it just slows down. Things still sneak into the house: unwanted gifts we feel bad about charity shopping (for about five minutes), impulse buys, second-hand “bargains” that turn out to be just more clutter in disguise. It’s a constant dance between *intentional* and *oops*.

Let’s start with gifts. If I’ve asked you not to buy me stuff and you do it anyway… sorry, not sorry — it’s going to the charity shop. I used to feel guilty, but now I see it as a boundary. If you don’t respect my preferences, I’m not obligated to store the consequences. If it’s someone close to me (like my mother-in-law), I’ll gently say, “I don’t need that, but thank you anyway.” Otherwise, I smile, say thank you, and pass it on.

Impulse stuff still shows up too — like my husband’s *Temu tat collection*, or the jeans I bought off Vinted that didn’t quite fit right. I’ve stopped keeping things “just because I only just got them.” If it doesn’t suit me, it goes. Life’s too short for itchy jumpers and jeans that give you a complex.

Books? That’s my soft spot. My library is either underfunded or has terrible taste, because I can rarely find what I want there. So yes — I still buy second-hand books, but I’m quick to donate the ones I know I won’t re-read. I don’t consider books a waste, but I also don’t want overflowing shelves just for show.

Sales used to tempt me, especially Prime Day — I’d scroll for hours adding “deals” to my basket because they *seemed* like a bargain (spoiler: they weren’t). Now I shop with intention, not dopamine. I got a few things this year, but I chose them carefully and didn’t go down the rabbit hole.

Stationery… well. The quest for the perfect handwriting pen is ongoing. But even there, I’m picky. I imagine my house with the new thing in it, and if that image makes me sigh instead of smile, I don’t buy it.

To manage all of this, I keep an Amazon wishlist for birthdays and Christmas. It’s full of candles, books, and notebooks — things I’ll actually use or enjoy. And I regularly donate clothes that don’t fit, don’t suit, or just don’t have a home. If something can’t find a home, I ask why I’m keeping it. If I don’t have a good answer, out it goes.

I wouldn’t say I’ve come close to a full relapse, but the never-ending mission to curate the perfect wardrobe has left me with a few “what was I thinking” purchases. At first, I felt guilty getting rid of them so quickly — but now I think, hey, at least a charity shop will make a few quid out of it. That helps ease the guilt.

And the Lego? Oh, I nearly fell for that again. Until I remembered the *hundreds* of dusty sets already in the loft. I don’t have the room, I don’t want to dust them, and honestly, I’d rather see that money in my bank account than scattered across a shelf collecting regret.

Time Minimalism

My days used to be filled with so much pointless crap. Meet-ups with friends who drained me (emotional vampires, anyone?), appointments I knew would be a waste of time, evenings out when I'd rather be at home with the cats and kids (I guess I'm *that* boring), and of course - endless, mind-numbing scrolling.

Take one example: I'd be stuck in traffic, wondering what had happened on the road ahead, so I'd go looking online when I got home… and fall into a massive bloody rabbit hole reading about unrelated road accidents from last year. Half an hour gone and I'd found out a sum total of jack shit. Instead of losing half an hour to traffic, I'd now lost an hour to my scrolling habit! I'd reply to some troll on social media thinking *this time* I'd make a rational point and change their mind. Spoiler: I never did. It just turned into a flame war and they still ended up being an arsehole.

I also used to do favours I didn't want to do - like photographing people and editing the shots for free, just for some elusive sense of "kudos." That stopped. I stopped chasing people too - the ones who only met up when *I* initiated it every single time. If I matter, they'll show me. If they don't, I'm done chasing.

And just like that… I felt calmer. Mentally freer. Sure it's hard to admit that we really don't mean that much to people, but it also gives you the freedom to move on. Instead of scrolling, I read. Or meditate. Or do Pilates. Or just sit with my thoughts. Instead of running around after people who don't appreciate me, I'm building a life that actually feels like *mine*.

**Boundaries I now live by:**
* If I've scheduled time for *me*, that time is sacred.
* I don't drop everything just because it's convenient for someone else.
* Staying home is just as valid a plan as going out.
* I value my time - even the quiet bits.

Things that are worth my time now? Things that make me feel good. Things that energise me instead of draining me. Things that don't leave me lying awake later thinking, *Well that was a complete waste of my life.*

Yes, I still have ADHD. But honestly? All that endless scrolling made my symptoms worse. There's even research suggesting that fast-paced content (like social media feeds) constantly hijacks dopamine and makes it harder to focus on anything slower or less stimulating - like, you know, *real life*.

Minimising my schedule has given me mental clarity. It's helped me focus on what matters. I'm less scattered. I'm more present. And I think my kids are starting to notice the difference too. I'm not lecturing them - just showing them. Hopefully, some of it rubs off.

Because I genuinely enjoy life more now.

Closing Thoughts + TL;DR

If I had to sum up what minimalism has given me? Freedom. Room to breathe. Calmness. Peace. Stability.
Yeah, it sounds cheesy – but when I think back to how life used to be… it didn't seem that bad at the time, but I wouldn't go back there for all the tea in China.

These days I've got space to move, space to think, and space to be. My house is tidier (even at its most cluttered), and I can actually clean without tripping over one of my ADHD "piles" (if you have ADHD, you know all about the pile system!). I function better. I live better.

If you're curious about minimalism but feel overwhelmed, start small. One drawer. One shelf. One digital folder.

Watch some Marie Kondo – her voice might be soft but her system is ruthless, and it really helped me. Just remember to tweak her advice to suit you. Treat her TV show as a guide, not an instruction manual.

Ask yourself: Where do you feel most overwhelmed?
Is it clutter? Is it your screen time? Is it your social calendar?
Pick one and start there.

If I could talk to my past self, I'd tell her to slow the fuck down with the Funko Pop and LEGO buying, and stick that money in savings. I'd have enough for that camper van I've always wanted by now.

I'd also tell her to stop pretending she didn't have time to take care of her body – the truth is, she didn't have clarity. Once I cleared the chaos, time showed up.

Yes, I sometimes feel annoyed when I think about the years I wasted. But I'm not here to live in the past. I'm here to curate my future.

And if you've read this far, I hope you feel inspired.
You don't need endless willpower. You don't need to be perfect.
You just need a spark – that moment when you say, "No more."
It's not too late. You only get one life. One body. One shot at living it how you want to.

(And if you're wondering - yes, I'm still trying to convince my 73-year-old mother-in-law that she doesn't need 17 spatulas. It's not working. Some people are beyond saving!

TL;DR:
* Minimalism isn't about owning nothing - it's about owning what matters
* I still have books, ducks, plushies, and cosy things. I just don't keep crap I don't want
* Digital decluttering gave me mental peace (Goodbye, Karen from Year 9)
* I let go of hobbies, kids' stuff, and sentimental clutter - and I don't regret it
* The crap still tries to sneak back in - but I have boundaries now (and a wishlist)
* I protect my time like I protect my drawers: no junk allowed
* It's not about being perfect. It's about being free