On becoming a minimalist.featured
I wish I could say that I had always lived by minimalist principles. That we didn’t get caught up in the “keeping up with the joneses” mentality as a young couple with an income far above what either of us had been raised with. Luckily, two tiny babies reminded me who I wanted to be and gave me the courage to work to become that person. But it came in small steps.
When Molly was born, Jeff and I were living in a large, 4 bedroom home on a pretty pond in the suburbs of West Lafayette. The house was brand new and beautiful in a somewhat boring way, and we had spent the last two years filling it with nice things until it was just about perfect. And then we had a newborn. And I had a husband working fourteen hour days. And suddenly the two hour distance to either of our families seemed to stretch so far. Luckily I had a dear friend close by who time and again dropped everything to save me from new parent emergencies, but I felt guilty asking one person for the amount of support I needed. I was overwhelmed. We were isolated. And the beautiful home that we had created didn’t replace the lack of family close by and a community of friends.
Two months after Molly was born, Jeff recognized my spiral into a severe bout of post partum anxiety, named it for what it was, supported me in getting treatment, and started looking at homes in South Bend that night. I thank God daily for the gift of marrying him. We decided that we wouldn’t rush into buying another home in the midst of the life upheaval we were choosing. My dad had decided to move to Texas around the same time and offered us an incredible deal to live in my childhood home while we figured things out. That’s when the reality of just how much we owned set in.
Most minimalists have a moment they view as their turning point. Mine was shortly after the movers left when I realized that the three of us, one of whom had no say over the items there on her behalf and another who still happily wore the same t-shirts he’d had in college, filled that house more than my family of eight growing up. A month later, I vocalized my observation to a friend who has been a minimalist since before the term trended. What he didn’t know at the time was that I had been scouring sites he’d shared reading stories of others who had made sudden changes of direction and were now living freer, more peaceful, fulfilled lives.
I had to try it. Not only because of the shame I felt in amassing so much stuff in two years, but because of the weight I felt organizing and caring for so many things when all I really wanted to do was sit on the floor and play with Molly. And take a nap when she did. And spend a relaxed evening talking to Jeff. And host our families and friends without the stress of cleaning up. And return to a clean, peaceful home after weeks of travel.
It wasn’t until later that I discovered the weight and overwhelm I was feeling as a result of my anxiety also lightened as our piles of belongings decreased. Removing items from our home removed the never-ending pressure of missed chores, unfinished projects, and expectations that came with a life that we had assumed we should live but didn’t want to live. Minimalism became a tool to eliminate distraction and gain time. What we choose to do with that focus and time is what is making our lives full, peaceful, and well-lived.
