You know what nobody tells you about divorce? It's not just your marriage that falls apart – it's everything. Three years ago when Mike and I split up, I went from a three-bedroom house full of stuff to a 900-square-foot apartment with two kids and way too many belongings. I'm talking about trying to fit a house worth of toys, clothes, kitchen gadgets, and random junk into a space the size of our old living room.
I didn't choose minimalism because I read some trendy blog or watched a Netflix documentary. I chose it because I was drowning, and getting rid of stuff was literally the only way to breathe again.
The first few weeks in our new place were chaos. Emma, who was seven at the time, cried because she couldn't find her favorite stuffed animal in the mountain of boxes. Lucas kept asking where all his Legos went (spoiler alert: they were buried somewhere under three boxes of kitchen stuff I'd probably never use). And me? I was spending my evenings after work just trying to find a path through our living room instead of actually, you know, living.
That's when I had my lightbulb moment. Well, more like my "I'm going to lose my mind if I don't do something" moment. I looked around at all this stuff – most of which we hadn't touched in months even when we had space for it – and realized something had to go. A lot of something, actually.
I started with the kids' rooms because honestly, that's where the most obvious excess was. Do two kids really need forty-seven stuffed animals? Apparently not, because when I made them choose their top five favorites, they didn't even miss the rest. Same thing with clothes – Lucas had drawers full of shirts he never wore because he always grabbed the same three favorites anyway.
The hardest part wasn't getting rid of the kids' stuff though. It was facing my own accumulation of things I thought I needed. I had a kitchen full of gadgets I'd used maybe once – a bread maker that had been collecting dust for two years, a juicer that seemed like such a good idea until I realized I hate cleaning fifteen different parts every morning. I had clothes in three different sizes because I kept thinking I'd fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans again someday (spoiler alert number two: I donated those jeans and bought new ones that actually fit).
But here's what surprised me – the more stuff I got rid of, the better I felt. Not just because I could actually walk through my apartment without stubbing my toe on something, but because this weird weight I didn't even know I was carrying started lifting.
See, all that stuff wasn't just taking up physical space. It was taking up mental space too. Every morning I'd wake up and immediately feel overwhelmed by the mess, by all the things I needed to organize or clean or find a place for. Decision fatigue is real, people. When you're constantly having to navigate around clutter or decide what to do with things you don't really want, it's exhausting.
After we'd been living with less for about six months, Mike picked up the kids one weekend and made some comment about how "empty" our place looked. He seemed genuinely concerned, like maybe I'd sold everything to pay bills or something. I tried to explain that empty and peaceful aren't the same thing, but he just didn't get it. That's fine – he's the same guy who used to buy storage containers to organize stuff instead of just getting rid of the stuff we didn't need.
The thing is, we're not actually living with less of what matters. Emma still has plenty of art supplies and books. Lucas still has his beloved Legos and soccer gear. I still have my favorite coffee mug and the one kitchen knife that actually stays sharp. We just don't have all the extra stuff that was making our lives harder instead of easier.
What we gained is so much more valuable than what we lost. Cleaning our apartment takes about twenty minutes now instead of two hours. I can find things when I need them. The kids can clean their rooms without having complete meltdowns because it's actually achievable. And honestly? Our utility bills went down because we weren't trying to heat and light storage space for stuff we didn't use.
I've connected with other single parents online who are dealing with the same challenges, and it turns out a lot of us stumbled into minimalism the same way – through necessity rather than choice. But that doesn't make it less valuable. If anything, it makes it more real. We're not minimalists because it's trendy or because we have unlimited time to organize our perfect Instagram-worthy spaces. We're minimalists because it works.
The hardest ongoing challenge is managing all the new stuff that wants to come into our home. Grandparents who show love through gifts. Birthday parties where kids come home with goody bags full of plastic junk. School projects that multiply like rabbits. I've had to get comfortable with being the mom who quietly donates half the birthday presents or who "loses" the annoying toy that makes obnoxious sounds.
My ex-mother-in-law still doesn't understand why I'm not thrilled when she shows up with bags of stuff for the kids. I've tried explaining that we don't have space, that the kids are happier with less, that experiences matter more than things. She thinks I'm being ungrateful or that I'm somehow depriving her grandchildren. It's caused some tension, but I've learned to stick to my boundaries. My sanity and my kids' well-being matter more than keeping everyone else happy.
Emma and Lucas are ten and seven now, and this is just normal life for them. They don't remember the chaos of having too much stuff because they've adapted to living intentionally. When they get birthday money, they actually think about what they want instead of just buying the first thing they see. When friends come over, they play with what we have instead of complaining about what we don't have.
I hope I'm teaching them something valuable about the difference between wanting things and needing things, about the peace that comes from not being buried under possessions. But mostly I'm just grateful that our home feels like home now instead of like a storage unit where we happen to sleep.
<a href="https://declutterglee.com/the-minimalist-approach-to-downsizing-letting-go-and-simplifying/"><a href="https://declutterglee.com/the-minimalist-approach-to-downsizing-letting-go-and-simplifying/">Living with less</a></a> isn't about deprivation or following some perfect minimalist rulebook. It's about making room for what actually matters – time with my kids, peace in my home, energy for the things I care about instead of constantly managing stuff I don't. Three years later, I can't imagine going back to the chaos we used to live in. Sometimes the best things really do come from the worst situations.
Theresa’s a single mom in Denver who turned chaos into calm through minimalism. She writes candidly about raising kids with less stuff and more sanity—proof that simple living isn’t just possible, it’s necessary
