Everything must go.

I am a collector, an appreciator and a connoisseur of knick-knacks and trinkets, both silly and sentimental. I love the feel of a real book in my hands and the look of them lined up on my shelves. I have more than one matchbook filled with baby teeth — my own and my childrens’. I take great pride in the response that people have to our gallery walls and curated shelves filled with curiosities. I love the thrill of the hunt in a junk shop or thrift store, and knowing that I am now the custodian of something that was once loved by another person. Whatever meaning it held for them is a mystery, and they will never know what meaning their scuba diving trophy or murano glass lemon holds for me.

I have a maximalist’s style that matches my maximalist life; I have always prided myself on a filled calendar and an overflowing to-do list. My idea-to-execution runway is about five minutes long (no comment on my initiation-to-completion ratio), and I believe in my soul that I can fit 48 hours into a 24-hour-day, regardless of what the clock says.

This was the Summer of Surrender, a lowering of the bar as my Stay At Home Husband re-joined the corporate world and passed the baton of Primary Parent to me, who unsprisingly said, “yeah, no big deal, I can do this no problem. More is more, buddy.”

(It was a problem, it was a big deal, and more was too much).

I got hardly any work done this summer — an affront to both my Midwestern work ethic and to my sense of self worth — but I was constantly in motion. I hadn’t taken anything off my plate, I’d just done what I’d always done and heaped more and more onto it, my eyes many times bigger than my capacity.

It was too much, and while I lowered the bar and tread water and tried to manage the tasks, there was another level of overwhelm apparent to me only now that I was spending a significant amount of time in my home: it was all too much. The house was as cluttered as my mind, but I’m the only one who has to live in my brain.

I found myself booking a bulk trash pickup with the city, emptying the shed onto the lawn, going through every drawer and shelf in our house and letting things go. The guys at the thrift store know that everything in the trunk is their problem the moment I pop it, and that I’ll be back in ten minutes with another round of neatly packed and organized donations.

This week — as school started and the Summer of Surrender officially came to an end — I figured I’d get back to normal. I scheduled meetings and interviews and expected myself to hit the ground running at full speed, like I did before.

I scheduled a meticulous routine for the boys and I that blew up by Monday afternoon because I did not account for life, which has never once gone exactly to plan. One kid didn’t have what he needed for music class, we missed an ortho appointment that was definitely on the calendar but in my head was on another day, and by the time I got them to and from their activities it was time for dinner and that meal had not even crossed my mind (the full, blood-pressure raising recap is here if you want to feel better about yourself).

These are not serious issues. As my father would say, nobody died, so who cares? But my father is dead, and I do care about everything going right all of the time and I cannot bear the disappointment of others. And the disappointments have been racking up. I’m behind on my work, I’ve missed deadlines and pushed things around and many things have fallen off my calendar and my to-do list entirely.

And that’s why it made perfect sense to buy a million miles of bubble wrap and start removing items from our walls and shelves this week. I didn’t know what the plan was (there isn’t one), I just knew that I had to do it and — like everything feels with ADHD — it had to be done now.

Wall by wall, shelf by shelf, the feeling that has been tugging at my sleeve all summer made itself clear: even if I am surrounded by things that I love, the thing I need the most is space. Not just for what is next, but for what is, right now.

Maybe you do, too.

❤️ The Shark FacialPro Glow is basically a hydrafacial at home. This one also comes with the DePuffi, which gets really cold (for my undereyes) or soothingly hot (for my TMJ).

❤️ Sophie loves EBY, so I got myself a bralette…the summer collection is very Nora.

🎤 I looooove speaking about mental health, grief and other hilarious topics. You can email bkane@apbspeakers.org if you want to bring me to your event or organization.

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