For neurodivergent brains, decluttering isn’t just another chore, it can be a total mindfuck.

I am sitting in the middle of the living room and it looks like an op shop has exploded around me. There are haphazard piles of stuff all around me and I am quietly spiraling. I am in decluttering hell and my inner critic is having an absolute field day.

I am so angry at myself and full of shame. I can’t believe how much money I’ve spent, how much junk I’ve brought into our house, how I could ever have called myself an anti-consumerist or an environmentalist. I am ashamed, exhausted and overwhelmed. I’ve spent hours jumping between tasks: trying to find homes for things that are homeless, getting distracted with re-organising systems, deciding what to get rid of and how so they don’t stay in the “get rid of” pile for the next year…. and doing none of them well. I’ve been at it for hours and I’ve barely made a dent, in fact, the piles seem to have grown as I find more and more stuff I didn’t even know I owned hidden away in cupboards and drawers. And the worst part is this is exactly what happened last time and the time before and so on, and each time I swore it would never happen again.

I can feel myself sliding towards meltdown. I try to remind myself there are neurobiological reasons (amongst others) for why I have landed in this hole once again and why it is so damn hard to dig myself out and to stay out. It is not because of character flaws or a moral failing. I try to focus on this inner voice, instead of the one calling me names. I know now making promises to myself will not help, no matter how determined and well-intentioned they are. There are psychological patterns and addictive processes at play. I know I need to get to the bottom of all this, I need to understand myself and the underlying drivers that prompt me to acquire things and to hold onto them, if I am to have any hope of making lasting changes to my home environment. I really want that because visual clutter stresses me out, I can’t find shit when I need it, and it is most definitely not good for my marriage!

So let’s do it, let’s confront the beast.

(But first I’m just going to take a quick tea break to calm my nerves…. and oops, how did I end up looking at some post-Christmas online sales??? This actually happened – I wish I was kidding.)

Why we acquire so much stuff

Acquiring things feels good to everyone. It feels damn good. In early human days, objects were tools that helped us survive – weapons, grinding stones, animal skins, etc. Having access to certain things could be the difference between life and death. No wonder our primal brains developed to chemically reward us with pleasureful feelings for acquiring a thing.

Just like food was once a scarcity and is now in abundance, so too are things. And, like eating, we have learned to partake in the acquisition of stuff for pleasure instead of need. So let’s acknowledge as a species we are hardwired to enjoy the getting of stuff. And let’s acknowledge the fact our modern capitalist society and economic system is built on encouraging excessive consumption. So already, even without accounting for neurodivergence, we are fighting against the current. But what about our ND brains?

We are impulsive

Impulsivity is a hallmark of ADHD. We tend to act more quickly and with less consideration for the future than our non-ADHD peers. On the plus side it makes us adventurous, curious and more ready to explore new things. The drawback is obvious – we take risks and some times we get burnt. For some of us it is hitting that “Add to Cart” button. We fall in love quickly with things and fall out of it quickly too.

We crave novelty

Closely related is our brain’s need for dopamine. New thing = novelty. The promise of dopamine is a really, really strong motivator for us and coupled with impulsivity, it makes it much more challenging for us to resist the lure of a new acquisition and the rewards it promises our brain.

We have lots of hobbies

Because of the above, ADHDers tend to be “jacks/jills of all trades” types and engage in lots of different hobbies, interests and projects. Hobbies usually require stuff. I can’t tell you how much of my cupboard space is taken up by crafting supplies.

Our need for novelty often results in a tendency to lose interest after a while and move onto the next hobby. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this no matter what society’s narrative might be about the moral superiority of “sticking with things”. But it does have the side effect of stuff accumulation, especially if we have trouble letting go when a passing fancy blows over. Come to think about it, it’s been at least a decade since i last touched a knitting needle or crochet hook. Maybe it is finally time to move on my crafting stuff…

We have FOMO

Making acquisition even harder to resist is when we are presented with a sense of scarcity. Maybe it’s a great deal, or it’s the last dress in your size, or it is a one-day only offer. It triggers anxiety about future regret and about falling behind the pack, very difficult emotions for us that go hand in hand with a sense of inadequacy – and something most of us try to avoid at all cost.

We have special interests

For the Autistics, we might have one or two deep abiding passions, but no less stuff. The Lego aficionados may struggle to keep their collection in check, the avid houseplant parent might find it hard to resist a plant sale, the boardgame geek might be unable to resist each newly released expansion pack of their favourite game (examples all taken from my household). There is a special kind of joy in finding and adding a new item to a collection we are passionate about. It’s just tricky to balance it with our finite physical spaces.

We use it to self-soothe difficult feelings

Acquiring stuff as a way to self-soothe is just as prevalent of a coping mechanism as stress eating, doomscrolling, or myraid other activities most people undertake these days to regain a sense of control and to distract ourselves from internal discomfort or turmoil. The increasing ease of purchasing (one-click purchases, ever faster deliveries and Afterpay etc) does not help. ND’s aren’t the only ones with trauma and difficulty self-regulating, but we tend to struggle with it more than the general population.

We have executive dysfunction and object impermanence

This means if we can’t see it, it doesn’t exist in our universe. It’s why ADHD surfaces are always cluttered – it’s the only way for us to find things. Put it in a drawer or an opaque container and it is lost from our consciousness. So when we need it and we can’t find it, we buy another one. I can’t count how many times I’ve kept something on the off chance I might need it again, only to be unable to find it when the occasion arises so I end up buying another one (then inevitably coming across it shortly afterwards whilst looking for something else *eyeroll*).

Kids and family

Once upon a time I was an actual minimalist. I traveled for months at a time with just a backpack. When my husband and I settled down we were militant about bringing as few things into the house as possible — no couch, no TV, make everything from scratch… we wanted a simple life. And then we had kids. Life was hard in the early years with two undiagnosed Autistic babies/toddlers. At some point, we became willing to do pretty much anything if it made things easier and that included buying stuff. Even though they are older now and we know more or less what we are doing these days, they still account for a lot of stuff that comes into the house. Not to mention they are miniature clutter creating experts and struggle with the same challenges we all do with respect to wanting new things and not wanting to let old things go.

Then there are family members who love giving gifts. Whilst the gesture comes out of a place of love, it can mean we end up with the headache of fielding deluges of stuff that we don’t want but feel pressured to keep.

Culture and generational trauma

There may be cultural factors too. I am Chinese – the cliche that we can’t pass up a good bargain isn’t entirely a lie… I also grew up with low financial security so “stockpiling” is a habit borne out of a fear of going without that is hard to break. My parents grew up with even worse — famine, political turmoil, rationing, etc — which had a huge impact on the way they lived and taught me to fear scarcity too. If we live in a household where one or both parents have hoarding tendencies, we may well pick up on those behaviours ourselves as ways to cope.

Society wants us to buy

Advertising has truly infiltrated our lives. There is no getting away from it. There are professionals whose sole job and expertise is to leverage all of the above to convince us to buy stuff. Social media constantly reminds us of the things we don’t have, that just might be the silver bullet to help us reach our goals. We want to fit in and belong. We want to be liked and respected. As ND’s we might strive for these things even more because they are so much harder for us achieve. We aren’t taught to budget or be thrifty in school. We are offered ever more sophisticated debt options. The world wants us to keep buying. It is hard to fight the world.

Why it’s hard for us to get rid of stuff

Making things all the harder and adding to the net gain of stuff are the challenges of purging. And, like acquiring things, there are good reasons why it’s so much harder for us to move them on when they are no longer needed.

Emotional attachment to objects

I have always had a strong emotional attachment to things for as long as I can remember. It could be the most mundane thing – a feather, a shell, a ticket stub – but they hold symbolic meanings for me that other people don’t understand, or they are representative of events, periods or stories that have sentimental significance, and makes it really hard to let go. The problem is, the older I get, the more reminders I accumulate.

There are apparently studies linking Autism to greater sense of attachment to objects. It makes sense. Objects are unchanging, they are predictable, they are tactile and often visually interesting. Objects bring me joy and comfort and it is turn my back on them.

Analysis paralysis, decision fatigue and our fear of regret

I suspect ND folks have a much stronger fear of regret than the rest of the population and it is a major driver of our actions. We grow up experiencing more external reproach and disapproval for the decisions we have made than others because we follow different decision making processes, and this constant experience of social punishment has wired our brains to fear making decisions.

When decluttering, every item we pick up is a decision that needs to be made. Should I keep this? Will I need it? Where should I keep it? Do I throw it away or donate it? Every decision is opening ourselves to a mistake. And mistakes can trigger negative core beliefs about our inherent value and worthiness — these are emotional spirals that are hard to tolerate. Each decision is like standing on a precipice. For our brains, this can quickly become overwhelming. We may end up holding onto things because we’re terrified of making the wrong choice.

So not only does this fear of decision-making contribute to avoiding the activity of decluttering altogether, or making it incredibly difficult, it also means we tend to keep more and throw out less.

Visual overwhelm

Anyone who has undergone a major cull of stuff will know the experience of overwhelm. There is mess and clutter everywhere, and even if it is only temporary, it is a hellish environment to be in if you are someone who is easily overwhelmed by visual clutter. It can be unbearable, made worse by the knowledge that in order to get rid of the trigger we have to stay in it and find a way to focus.

We have difficulty sustaining focus

Decluttering requires sustained effort and focus—two things that our brains aren’t naturally wired for. We might start strong and then find ourselves distracted by something halfway through. I tend to jump from one unfinished task to another and before I know it hours will have passed and there is even more mess than before. You all know what I’m talking about.

And it’s not enough to just decide to get rid of stuff. We need to maintain prolonged focus to actually get it out of the house whether it is donated, gifted or sold. There are pitfalls every step of the way – donation bags can sit at the front door for months. Gifting on Buy Nothing Facebook groups require finding takers and organising logistics for pickups. Selling involves taking photos and posting online, deciding on price points, dealing with queries and negotiations, and how long do we wait if it doesn’t sell – and where does all the stuff sit whilst we are waiting?

Sunk cost fallacy

It is hard to let go of something that you have spent money, effort and time on, especially if you haven’t got the use out of it that you intended. Our past selves put valuable resources into acquiring it and it feels like we are throwing all of that away with the object. It feels wasteful and triggers feelings of guilt, and the belief that we are bad – if we get discard it it’s a confirmation that we did indeed make a mistake. But keeping it leaves open the chance we might still use it one day, even if the chance is low, which would justify the purchase and put off those difficult feelings and beliefs.

Confronting unmet goals

Decluttering forces us to confront the gap between our intentions and reality. That pile of unread books might feel like a symbol of the person we wish we were or had for all intends and purposes planned to be. The unused treadmill might be a reminder of how we have disappointed others or ourselves by not following through. The unplayed guitar symbolises our aspirations to be a certain type of person and it is really painful to acknowledge we might not be that person. Or it might be the simple fact of being confronted with the sheer amount of stuff we have accumulated again despite our past attempts to change our behaviour. Decluttering can make us feel like utter disappointments and failures and send us into a shame spiral, and nobody wants to feel that. It might be easier to just leave things be, even if it is a cluttered mess.

It triggers past trauma and painful core beliefs

Many of us grew up with parents who could not understand why we are so messy and struggled to tidy and keep things neat. They didn’t know how to help us and in their own frustration may have done some lasting psychological harm or contributed to our negative self beliefs. Dealing with stuff is often an activity that is steeped in painful experiences and memories that are evoked every time we need to deal with stuff.

Individual items could also be memory triggers for painful or traumatic past events that we are simply not ready to deal with.

Executive dysfunction

OK so even if we do get to the stage of deciding what we can let go of, there is still the task of actually getting it out of the house. Unless we are willing to dump it all in the rubbish bin, it is really hard to physically move things on. Donations require putting it all into bags, finding donation points and actually driving there. If we want to gift it to others such as through Buy Nothing groups that requires even more steps such as taking photos, listing, and organising pick ups. And if we want to sell? Then it gets even more complicated. All these tasks require executive functioning, focus, motivation and energy and provide very little in the way of dopamine reward.

It’s boring

Decluttering is not an activity of choice for the ND brain. Like doing taxes, or paying the bills, or cleaning the bathroom. There is little dopamine on offer and a huge amount of effort and bad feelings to get through first to get any reward. It’s repetitive, it’s rote, it isn’t intellectually stimulating. It’s a chore.

What’s next?

When the rate of stuff coming into a space is greater than the rate of stuff going out of the space, it is inevitable we will find ourselves at breaking point. For neurodivergent people we have extra struggles on both sides of the equation. Some factors will be more relevant than others for each person and situation – but each one can be a huge obstacle on it’s own. Many are trauma-related — our nervous system is driving our actions as a response to perceived threats to our safety. This isn’t just about changing our habits. If we want to live in clean, tidy spaces, that is conducive to living well (and we all deserve this), we need to understand what is happening for us on the inside when we acquire stuff and when we resist getting rid of stuff.

This latest decluttering crisis has been a wake up call for me. I realise I am still a slave to stuff. I am trapped in a cycle of acquisition and holding on, and the consequences creep up on me ever so slowly and steadily that I am lulled into a sense of complacency. But working through this process has made me realise there are real and valid reasons for these struggles, and that decluttering is like fighting an uphill battle dotted with hurdles. Decluttering isn’t simply another boring task – it’s a mammoth endeavour that evokes all sorts of awful emotions and beliefs, trauma and inner turmoil. I struggle because it really is that hard and not because I am lazy or weak-willed or incompetent or lack will-power.

In order to make it to the top of the mountain and to stay there, I am going to have to understand each hurdle that might come up along the way. I don’t want to purge stuff only to go back to old habits, and repeating it all next year. I want to have a healthier relationship with stuff.

This time I won’t be going in with just strong intentions and an iron-will – they aren’t enough. It’s like trying to climb the mountain with broken legs – I might be able to hype myself up to crawl a little ways but it isn’t sustainable, and I will slide right back down again.

This time I am going to work on putting in the infrastructure to scaffold my way to the peak. Crutches, wheelchair, climbing rope, someone to carry me partway… whatever metaphor works. I am going in with a sense of curiosity about what drives me so I can go forward with deeper self-knowledge, and with plenty of self-compassion so I can cope with what I find. We have to truly know ourselves in order to problem solve, be creative, mourn what we can’t change, make plans to change what we can, learn from what doesn’t work, so that we can make lasting changes that result in a more peaceful home environment that is conducive to living well.

The mess is still here and I am still in the middle of it. But I don’t feel so overwhelmed and hopeless anymore. I know what lies ahead and I know that with time and patience I can overcome it.