17 Lessons I’ve Learned From Other People’s Stuff

A thoughtful reflection on 17 years of listening, learning, and letting go.

When I started this work seventeen years ago, I didn’t know where it would lead.

At the time, I wasn’t trying to build a system or write a book - that came later. I was just trying to help people feel better in their own spaces. I thought that meant heavy lifting in closets, kitchens and garages. After careers in fitness and dancing, I was ready for the physical rigors of making over someone's space.

What I didn’t yet understand was how much helping people with stuff wasn't really about their stuff at all. It was about helping them process a lifetime of memories - triumphs, sorrows, and in between - and finding what still has meaning as they move forward.

Seventeen years later, here are some of the things I didn’t know then but have happily learned along the way.

1. Everyone has stuff.

Every single person. Even the people who swear they don’t. Even the ones with beautiful homes.

Stuff shows up in different ways. Sometimes it’s physical. Sometimes it’s emotional. Sometimes it’s the things we’ve never unpacked because we didn’t know where they belonged in our lives anymore.

Almost every client asks me one of two questions early on:

1. “Am I a hoarder?”

2. “Is my house the worst you’ve ever seen?”

The answer is almost always no, but those questions matter. They tell me this isn’t really about mess. It’s about fear, shame, and wanting reassurance that you’re not broken.

That's a great place to get started.

2. Most people think they’re disorganized because they don’t look “put together.”

We’ve been taught that organization means visual perfection. Clean lines. Matching bins. Magazine-ready spaces.

But organization isn’t about being picture perfect. It’s about whether your space supports your life. Whether it feels like you can breathe. Whether things make sense to you.

If it does work for you, then you will enjoy your space and have an easier time managing the things that matter.

3. Coming from a place of love changes everything.

When you truly want to help someone, where they are and as they are, you can’t really do this work wrong.

Judgment disappears. Patience shows up. Progress happens at the right pace instead of the fastest one.

4. Patience isn’t a personality trait. It’s a practice.

You can’t rush grief or readiness, and you shouldn't rush someone else’s nervous system.

I’ve learned to slow my pace down before I try to help someone else feel seen and move forward.

5. Hoarding is not a failure of willpower.

Hoarding is a mental illness that is often rooted in trauma. It deserves compassion, not shame.

This work has taught me to look past behavior and physical manifestations to ask better questions, like:

1. What happened here?

2. What does this person need to feel safe enough to let go?

The answer to those questions is where healing and change can begin.

6. One bite at a time isn’t cliche. It's the only way to progress.

You don’t declutter a lifetime in a weekend. You can’t make hundreds of emotional decisions without needing a break.

Small decisions build trust. Trust builds momentum. Sustained momentum is the only way to achieve your organizational goals.

7. How important it is to go through your things while you still can.

We're all busy, so going through old boxes and memories gets put in the "someday" category. Every person I work with thought they had more time to "have time.”

Make the time now so your family doesn’t have to carry both your belongings and your silence. There is kindness in taking responsibility for your own story.

8. Sometimes people change their minds after you leave.

I once worked with a hoarding client who later retrieved items from the dumpster after we were gone. These were things they had agreed to let go of while we were there.

Inside that pile were an elephant tusk, an Academy Award, and a plaque holding a folded American flag that had flown over the Pentagon in their name.

That experience stayed with me. It reminded me that nothing about this work is simple. Objects hold history. Identity. Power. Grief. What you keep, and how you keep it, has to work for you.

9. I’ve found a dead lizard in a basement.

This lesson feels worth mentioning.

10. One of my favorite parts of this work is the stories.

The lives people have lived. The places they’ve traveled. How couples met. What childhoods were like.

Organizing gives you a small, sacred window into someone’s life. I never take that lightly.

11. Sometimes the best thing you can do is work while someone is gone.

Unable to manage the process, I once organized a home while the client left the country. When they returned, they were overwhelmed - in the best, most rewarding way possible.

Sometimes distance creates the necesary safety to let go. Sometimes coming back to a transformed space allows people to see themselves differently.

12. Going through your stuff is physical.

Believe it or not, people don’t always expect that!

You can see it in their shoulders. Their breath. The way they suddenly need to sit down. This work moves through the body long before it makes sense in the mind.

That’s a big reason why it is so cathartic, empowering and freeing. Lift with the legs and stay hydrated!

13. I didn’t realize the lessons of my book would affect people the way it has.

The part I didn't expect about writing a book is the feedback loop that was created with readers from all over the country.

I’ve heard from people in grief.

From women struggling to conceive.

From younger women finding their way out of depression.

They saw themselves in my story and gave me the gift of feedback. That still humbles me.

14. I didn’t expect my own decluttering to deepen my purpose.

Doing my own work made me a better mentor, a better listener, and a better human.

You can’t guide people somewhere you’re unwilling to go yourself, and it's a process for me too.

15. I’ve learned I cannot do it all.

And I’m not meant to.

This work isn’t about fixing people. It’s about meeting them in a moment of vulnerability, doing meaningful work together, and then stepping back.

16. I’ve attracted the most incredible team by protecting the mission.

Most of my mentors found me slowly, by watching, reading and listening.

I’m selective about who I add, because this work is so intimate. You don’t just organize homes, you hold people. We all take that mission seriously.

After seventeen years, here’s what I know for sure...

17. The stuff about your stuff is not about your stuff.

It’s about what you’re holding onto, what you’re afraid to release, and what you’re ready to transform.

And if my life, from the stage to the gym to the quiet moments sorting through boxes, has taught me anything, it’s that learning through doing is one of the greatest gifts there is.

I’m still learning, listening, and moving forward, one gentle step at a time.

And I’m grateful, for every home, every story, every lesson, along the way. What is your story?