As the release of Somewhere Under This Pile Is My Life gets closer, I know people will naturally ask me what the book is about.
On the surface, it may look like a book about the things we keep, the rooms we live in, and the piles that somehow become part of the furniture.
But beneath that, it is about women.
It is about the lives we build, the responsibilities we carry, the stories we tell ourselves, and the way our homes often hold more than anyone can see.
When I began writing this book, I knew there would be humor. There are black sweaters, decorative baskets, tote bags, paperwork, mysterious cords, emotional support candles, and at least one chair currently serving as an alternative storage system.
But somewhere along the way, I realized the book was never really about those things.
The piles were simply the visible part of a much deeper story.
After spending decades helping people navigate clutter and chronic disorganization, I have learned something that continues to move me. Very few people struggle with clutter alone.
More often, they are navigating grief, overwhelm, self-doubt, loneliness, change, and responsibilities that seem to multiply faster than their energy. The clutter is often where those experiences become visible.
As I reflected on everything I have witnessed over the years, I realized there were four lessons hiding beneath almost every pile.
The first is that we are often holding onto far more than objects. We are holding onto memories, relationships, hopes, dreams, and versions of ourselves that once felt important. A sweater may remind us of a parent. A box may represent a chapter of life that ended too quickly. A closet may contain clothing that belongs to a future we imagined but never quite lived. When we understand the story attached to an object, we begin to understand why letting go can feel so difficult.
The second lesson is that clutter often accumulates when life becomes too much. Most piles do not appear overnight. They grow quietly during the seasons when we are caring for others, managing careers, navigating loss, facing health challenges, or simply trying to keep up with the demands of daily life. What appears to be disorganization is often exhaustion. Sometimes a pile is simply evidence that someone has been carrying too much for too long.
The third lesson is that the greatest source of pain is often not the clutter itself but the story we tell ourselves about what the clutter means. A pile of papers becomes proof that we are failing. An unfinished project becomes proof that we never follow through. A crowded closet becomes proof that something is wrong with us. Over time, we stop seeing the objects and start seeing the judgment. Yet many of those stories are old, inaccurate, and long overdue for reconsideration.
The fourth lesson is perhaps the most important of all. Peace does not begin when everything is perfectly organized. A calmer home can certainly support us, but self-acceptance is what allows us to truly exhale. The goal was never to become a person with the perfect closet, the perfect planner, or the perfect life. The goal was always to come home to ourselves.
That is ultimately what I hope readers take away from Somewhere Under This Pile Is My Life.
Yes, I hope they laugh. I hope they recognize themselves in the black sweaters, the baskets, the purses, the paperwork, and the piles. But more than anything, I hope they leave with a little more compassion for themselves.
Because in all my years of doing this work, I have never met a woman whose clutter was simply about clutter.
I have met countless women who were doing the best they could while living very full, very complicated, and very human lives.
And perhaps that is what the piles were trying to tell us all along.
