Confessions of a pile-maker mom: How clutter is breaking me

I nodded along in solidarity when Bekah Martinez’s video about “little piles” showed up on my feed recently. There she was, pointing out a random assortment of items on her piano—a lightbulb, a pacifier clip, a Shrinky Dink parrot—and I thought, “Yep, that’s my life too.” It’s no wonder this video has been viewed over 6.5 million times.

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The pile predicament

Because I am the pile maker in my house. And also the pile noticer. And inevitably, the pile manager.

They’re everywhere in my home—the kitchen counter, the stairs, the nightstand, that weird corner of the dining room table. Little mounds of randomness that somehow become permanent installations in our home’s decor. The pile on my dresser currently contains: a broken earring I keep meaning to fix, a “Frequent Crier Program Lifetime Member” sticker I bought a few weeks ago and can’t decide where to stick it, a birthday card I need to mail, and a beaded Frida Kahlo pendant I won’t wear but can’t part with.

Decision fatigue is real

The thing about these piles that Martinez nailed so perfectly is the crushing weight of the micro-decisions each item demands. That birthday card? To mail it, I need to find a stamp, which means going to my office, which reminds me I need to file those papers, which reminds me we need to update medical forms for summer camp, which spirals into deciding whether to switch pediatricians, and suddenly I’m researching doctor reviews instead of just mailing the dang card.

And that’s just ONE item in ONE pile.

“That’s where that lives now”

The worst part might be my habit of mentally declaring, “Well, that’s where that lives now” when something sits in a spot long enough. The shelf by the door isn’t for backpacks anymore—it’s where the parking ticket that needs paying and shoes that need returning have taken up permanent residence. The corner of the coffee table? That’s the forever home of the Trader Joe’s plant that I haven’t quite killed but haven’t quite kept alive either.

The eco-guilt trap

I hate envisioning things in a landfill, or wasting something that could be used by someone in need—but then the donation piles grow bigger and become yet another thing to deal with. Like that pacifier clip Martinez mentioned, I’ve held onto several random shin guards because my youngest outgrew them or misplaced one, but throwing them away seems wasteful, and donating them means another task on my to-do list that never ends.

Enter “Tornado Mode”

Eventually, though, something in me snaps. Every few months, I hit my limit and tear through the house on a real bender. Suddenly, I’m ruthlessly efficient, tossing things I’ve been deliberating over for weeks. That mystery piece of plastic? Garbage. The charger that might work with something? Bye. The craft project we’ll “definitely get to someday”? Straight to the donation pile.

For about 48 glorious hours, my house is pile-free. Then, inevitably, they start to form again, like little dust bunnies of decision fatigue multiplying when I’m not looking.

The invisible labor… that’s actually mine to bear

What makes it worse? I’ve come to accept that this is largely my domain. It’s not that my partner doesn’t see the piles—he most definitely notices and actually does a great job of breaking them up when he tackles them. But inevitably, certain things remain untouched because one too many arguments have spawned from me frantically searching for something important that he either threw away or put somewhere he can’t recall. (“It’s organized! I just don’t remember where I organized it TO!”)

So the job rightfully remains mine or our teenagers‘—though convincing adolescents that the floor is not, in fact, a storage solution requires energy I don’t always have. The mental load of being the household’s primary pile-manager is honestly exhausting, even when I acknowledge it’s partially self-inflicted.

Solutions from fellow pile warriors

After watching Martinez’s video and relating a bit too much, I scrolled through the comments, curious if anyone had figured out a solution that actually works.

Some of the advice actually seemed manageable:

The one-month test

“Get a basket and throw every little pile in it,” suggested user @geena1227. “If you don’t go to the basket to look for something within a month, you don’t need it so throw it away or donate!”

I like this approach, though I worry my basket would quickly become its own overwhelmingly massive pile. Still, containing the chaos seems like a step up.

The professional approach

“Hiiiii! I’m a professional organizer!” shared @abbyrottler with a solution that spoke to my organizational fantasies. “Create 3 baskets that live in an area that you can ignored for a while. 1. Needs home (think the light bulb) 2. Donate (think the pacifier clip) 3. Memories (think the shrinky dink).”

She suggests revisiting these baskets weekly for 20 minutes to an hour to deal with the contents: “This can be your dumping zone for those items that need a little more attention but you don’t want to put the energy into immediately! Then, once a week, or at a cadence of your choice, revisit the baskets and take a solid 20min-hour creating a more permanent home or getting rid of those items!”

The petty revenge strategy

My favorite comment, though, was the one that embraced the petty revenge that occasionally lives in my heart: “I like putting the little piles on the stairs so I can watch the people, to whom they belong, walk by them on the stairs on their way to bed,” shared @callsigndesign. I’ve totally done this—strategically relocating my daughter’s abandoned socks to her pillow just to prove a point.

The long-term solution

Another mom, @samkelly_world, offered what might be the most sustainable solution: “So real! I teach my kids how to NOTICE AND DO so I’m not the only one who sees the piles and has to do something about it! 🙌”

Teaching my teenagers to help manage these piles might ease some of the burden. But I have to be honest with myself—I’m largely the source of the problem. My partner actually does a great job tackling clutter when he sees it (sometimes too good a job, as my frantic searches for “missing” items can attest).

So tonight, I’ll start with one small pile. Not all of them—that’s a recipe for burnout. Just one. Then maybe another tomorrow. Small steps toward breaking my own pile-making habits seem more realistic than expecting everyone else to change.

And who knows? Maybe I’ll finally develop the courage to let go of that beaded Frida without the guilt spiral. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Related: Confessions of an overstimulated toddler mom