ADHD and Clutter: Why My House Looked Like My Head (and What Helped)

(Why My House Felt Like My Head)

Honestly? Lately our place has looked like a tornado hit the toy aisle at Target. Ben and Will, my two little magpies, can’t help themselves—birthday loot, holiday swag, random trinkets from the $5 bin—nothing leaves, it only multiplies. My side of the bed? Imagine a ceramics pop-up shop run by raccoons: mugs, bowls, the occasional spoon I definitely accused someone else of losing.

Every time I walked in, it was like my brain got the same cluttered, frizzy feeling as my nightstand. Total overwhelm. Then, one night, I kinda lost it—snotty crying, screaming, the whole nine yards. I told Ben the house was an actual disaster and I had zero clue where to start untangling it. Ben, being the king of solutions, just goes, “Let’s toss it all.” Ha! If life were that easy, Marie Kondo would be our queen.

But, you know, that wasn’t really the answer. Not for me.

So, I sat with it. And the mess started to look less like piles of junk, more like echoes of my own childhood. I never really stayed put growing up. You blinked and we were in a new school, new house, new city—by 18, I’d racked up eight different addresses, as of today I’ve different at seventeen different addresses. We basically lived in a state of cleanliness and harsh minimalism, partly because of my dad’s crazy allergies. Mum ran a tight ship. Clean meant safe…no dust, no clutter, no room for error.

Fast forward to now, and honestly, a messy house feels less like an inconvenience and more like somebody yelling in my brain. But the kids? Stability is baked into their bones…they’ve only known two houses, ever. Clutter to them is just… home. Why would they freak out?

And it hit me: it’s never just about dirty dishes. It’s about the part of me that learned chaos equals danger. I thought safety meant tossing out everything before you could get too attached.

But, you know what? Connecting those dots flipped a switch for me. I don’t have to white-knuckle my way to a minimalist mansion. Maybe I’m allowed to keep the messiest corners, to let some things breathe, and not chase perfection like a lunatic. Maybe clearing my nightstand, even just that tiny bit, could be enough.

So, I did. Threw out the graveyard, wiped the slate. It felt weird and good, you know? Not just ‘clean’ but lighter, like I’d vacuumed up old baggage.

And if you’ve ever stared at your own pile of “stuff” and felt like it was swallowing you whole, just know—it’s almost never about the junk. Sometimes it’s old stories tangled up with socks and souvenir mugs. And when you figure out what your clutter really means, you finally get to give yourself some slack. Balance over perfection, always.

If clutter feels like more than “just stuff,” you’re not alone. Anchored Coaching supports ADHD, Autism, stepfamilies, and mental health with tools to find balance.