Some people who care very deeply for me were very concerned about the state of my closets. I have to admit, I didn’t really think my closets were so bad. But of course, people with closet issues can rarely see their own stuff.
Actually, that was the problem: I had too much stuff, and I couldn’t see any of it.
Part of the problem was the closets themselves. We live in an old house with itty, bitty closets, and very few of them at that. It didn’t help matters that I crammed as much stuff into those closets as I possibly could. I stuffed my closet, my husband’s closet, and the kid’s closets. I stuffed the hall closet, the basement closet, and the linen closet. I put my stuff in every closet in the house. It didn’t matter to me… I had no closet boundaries. And since I didn’t know what was in there, I kept buying the same thing over and over. I was a repeat closet offender who clearly needed professional help.
Unfortunately, renovating my closets was not an option. There just wasn’t any way to make them bigger unless I took over my daughter’s bedroom, which was certainly possible, but probably not something she would go along with. I would happily sleep with my shoes. She would not.
Since I couldn’t fathom any other way to deal with the mess, I did what anyone else with closet issues would do: I ignored them.
Then one day a friend of mine suggested I hire a professional closet reorganizer. This person would come over to my house, look at my stuff, and give me some tips on what I could do to be a little bit less of a closet case.
It sounded like a great plan. My closets would get a makeover, I would be able to find all my stuff, my husband and kids would get their closets back, and no one would have to sleep with my shoes.
The first thing the closet lady told me was that I had to admit that my closets had become a problem and that I had become powerless over wire hangers.
Then I had to believe that a power greater than myself could help me restore the order to my closets.
Finally, my closets had to really want to change.
Then we went to work. We tossed. We arranged. We found the lost city of Atlantis buried under my shoes and Jimmy Hoffa behind my bags. When we were done, I assessed my cleaned-up closets. They were a color-coded, matched-hanger thing of beauty. I beamed at my clothes and gently, lovingly, closed the closet door. Then, not wanting to disturb the serenity of my gorgeous closets, I picked up my pile of clean laundry…
and stuffed the clothes into my dresser.