My Cluttered Closet Mirrors My Life

Closets can be a window into our mind.

Photo by Raathi Kugan on Unsplash

Careful, extended, scholarly research on the significance of cluttered, or clutter-less, closets results in the revelation that they are a window into the mind.

Does my messy closet indicate my life is a chaotic, confused mess?

I suspect there is a correlation.

Apparently the things we accumulate offer insight into our mental state, and possibly our physical health too. Our closet might indicate whether or not we have attention deficit hyperactive disorder, or compulsive obsessive disorder, are on the brink of dementia, or have contracted some other somber-sounding syndrome.

My closet is not neat, and has rarely been orderly. It is a muddled mess. I want to own a well-ordered space organized by items or color or use, everything carefully stacked on shelves or hung on hangers, but it has not happened.

Ever since a kid, my excuse for a jam-packed, disorganized closet was that it was too small. But it was never too small. The problem was that I owned — and still own — too many things.

I admit I do a very good job of packing empty space with stuff.

One item, then two things, followed by a steady stream of objects are carefully placed in what initially appears, to me at least, to be a huge space. Unfortunately my shipshape closet does not remain clutter-free for long. One day I toss something in, too tired or lazy or in too much of a hurry to put it away properly. This happens again…and again…and eventually the floor fills with shoes, pocketbooks, backpacks, and other items pitched in a busy moment. When a garment falls off a shelf or hanger, it sometimes remains on the floor. Occasionally I impatiently shovel through the growing mound in an attempt to find, for instance, a pair of shoes.

I purge occasionally, tossing things, filling bags for charity, and returning items I need/want/refuse to part with.

Before I know it I cannot find the pair of shoes desired, or the shirt I know I washed and put away, or the new pants never worn, all hidden in the dark cavern known as my closet.

So what does this tell the professionals about me? What long-winded medical term describes my inability to maintain a neat closet?

How does that infirmity spill over into the rest of my life?

Is my mind, and therefore my life, as cluttered as my physical space? Is there some test to find out? Do I want to know?

And perhaps the most important question of all:

If I have a disorder that can be diagnosed and named, will my medical insurance rates increase? Will my insurance company stop covering me completely, throwing me out into the cold, cruel world of the uninsured?

Will I be denied certain benefits because the malady affects other parts of my life and health?

Will they mandate special training, requiring attendance at classes aimed at de-cluttering my mind and restoring good health and physical space to my life?

Will I resist, happy with my life, unwilling to change?

Must I stand before a crowd and admit my weakness, my addiction, and my failed efforts at change?

The ramifications of my condition are profound.

But at my advanced age, can I change? Do I want to?

Not likely, and probably not.

The only solution that works, and it is only a temporary one, is to move and start over with sizable, empty spaces.

It would be that time again, except I moved into new digs less than a year ago, and I am too old to become a vagabond.

I am doomed to live with a cluttered closet.

I can live with that.

Originally published at https://merylbaer.net on July 19, 2026.