Over the years, I’ve had thousands of conversations with women.
Some took place in kitchens while sorting through stacks of mail that had quietly accumulated over time. Others happened in closets crowded with clothes, many of which no longer fit, were no longer worn, or belonged to a different chapter of life. Some unfolded while sitting on the edge of a bed, carefully sorting through keepsakes, photographs, and memories that carried far more emotional weight than anyone could see from the outside.
What surprised me most was that very few of those conversations were actually about the belongings themselves.
A woman would hold up a sweater and suddenly find herself talking about a version of herself she missed.
A box of papers would lead to a conversation about a dream she had postponed for years.
A crowded garage might reveal a fear of moving forward, while an overstuffed closet often opened the door to discussions about confidence, body image, aging, identity, or expectations.
Again and again, I discovered that what appeared to be a conversation about organizing was often a conversation about life.
Women shared stories about their families, their careers, their relationships, and their responsibilities. They spoke about the pressure they felt to keep everything together and the exhaustion that came from trying to meet everyone’s needs while quietly setting aside their own.
They talked about regrets, hopes, disappointments, and dreams they still carried.
And perhaps most surprisingly, many of these conversations began while standing in front of a pile of belongings.
Over time, I began to notice a common thread.
Many women were carrying far more than what could be seen in a crowded drawer, a cluttered countertop, or an overflowing closet.
They were carrying expectations.
They were carrying responsibilities.
They were carrying invisible mental checklists, future worries, unfinished decisions, and the pressure of trying to be everything to everyone.
The clutter mattered, of course.
But it was never just about the clutter.
That realization eventually became the inspiration for Somewhere Under This Pile Is My Life: Funny, Honest Stories About What Women Keep—and What They’re Really Looking For.
I’ve always admired authors who could find humor in ordinary life. Erma Bombeck was one of those writers for me. She had a remarkable ability to help women laugh at the very things that often overwhelmed them. She understood that humor doesn’t diminish our struggles; it helps us navigate them.
That idea stayed with me.
Because despite the meaningful conversations I was having, there was also something undeniably funny about the human experience.
There is humor in the collection of tote bags we swear we need.
There is humor in decorative baskets purchased to organize the clutter created by other decorative baskets.
There is humor in the drawer filled with mysterious cords connected to devices no one owns anymore.
And there is certainly humor in believing that a new planner, calendar, notebook, or storage bin might somehow transform us into a completely different person by Monday morning.
The longer I worked with women, the more I realized that laughter and understanding often belong together.
Humor allows us to recognize ourselves without shame.
It softens our defenses.
It helps us see our habits, our contradictions, and our humanity with a little more compassion.
That is why I chose to write this book the way I did.
It is not a how-to guide.
It is not a decluttering manual.
And it is certainly not another book filled with instructions on how to become a better, more organized version of yourself.
Instead, it is an honest and humorous look at what women keep, what they carry, and what they may be searching for underneath it all.
My hope is that readers laugh.
I hope they see themselves in these stories.
I hope they recognize a familiar habit, a familiar thought, or a familiar struggle and realize they are not alone.
But more than anything, I hope they walk away feeling a little lighter.
A little kinder toward themselves.
A little less convinced that they are somehow falling behind.
Because if there is one thing I have learned from all of these years of listening, it is that most women are carrying far more than anyone realizes.
And most are doing far better than they think they are.
This book is my tribute to those women.
It is a celebration of their resilience, their humor, their humanity, and their ability to keep moving forward, even when life feels messy.
Or, as the title suggests, even when it feels like their life is somewhere underneath a pile.
Somewhere Under This Pile Is My Life is coming soon. Until then, be gentle with yourself, give yourself a little grace, and perhaps take a second look at that drawer full of cords. It may be trying to tell you something.
