Every so often I feel the clutter in our house build up to screaming point… or suffocation.
When I have been preoccupied with big creative projects, I don’t have the energy or headspace to do anything other than get meals in front of people, keep the mountain of dishes from toppling and burying us alive, and making sure that homework gets done most nights.
But the clutter builds and grows.
Our girl turned six yesterday. The kids have just switched rooms, which required a swap of belongings, and trying to configure a way for our eldest and youngest to share the biggeset bedroom in a way that works for them both.
I have written before about how I struggle with taking up space. And moving into space.
The first thing that needed to happen was to clear off my dressing table, which also acts as a minor altar space.
Ahhh, breathing space… what had seemed to impenetrable and overwhelming, was sorted and cleared in a matter of minutes… and then I moved on, patch by patch through my bedroom. I sorted my new bookshelf, which I hadn’t even been able to reach, and re organised it shifting my books I live by to it, and bringing others up from downstairs which I previously felt vulnerable about visitors seeing… you know the Vagina Monologues sorta thing! And another little altar.
And then onto the kids room…
Seven bin bags of clothes and three large boxes of books for charity shop. Five bags of rubbish, three of recycling…
Sun shining outside. A picnic lunch on the green.
I feel really proud of myself. And I can breathe.
I feel that I… and my kids… have spaces that reflect our needs and passions… we are at home here… and no longer camping or living out of boxes.
There is space to think… and be… and breathe… for the light to shine in.