The Mystery of the Chair That Holds All the Clothes

One, two, three, four, five…

That’s how many items of clothing I currently have sitting on the desk chair in my room. Okay, maybe a few more than that.

I don’t remember being this “messy” before.

Growing up, I feel like I was actually the opposite. I was organized. I liked things neat and tidy. But the funny thing was, it wasn’t just about being organized. It had to be done a certain way.

The pens in my pen holder all had to be black ink, the same size, and the same style. My clothes were put away in my closet, sorted by color and type. My bookshelves were organized by author and genre.

I was very particular about the little details. I wanted everything to look exactly how I pictured it in my mind.

If you can’t tell, there was definitely a pattern there. But it was a pattern I didn’t recognize until later in life.

Over time, I think the messier my mind became, the messier my environment became too.

Life happens. You never really know what is coming next or what things you will have to carry. For me, there have been seasons filled with grief, shame, uncertainty, and moments where I was just trying to get through the day.

And I think those moments changed the way I function.

The thing is, I still hate seeing a mess. Clutter makes me anxious. When I see things piling up, part of me wants to immediately clean everything because I love the calm that comes with having a clear space.

But at the same time, the thought of cleaning can feel completely overwhelming.

So I wait.

The mess builds.

Eventually, I get to the point where I have the energy, motivation, or patience to tackle it.

The funny thing is, when my space gets messy, it usually isn’t scattered everywhere. It’s usually contained to one area.

The chair.

And honestly, the items on that chair are almost always the same things. My everyday clothes. The sweatshirt I reach for constantly. The comfortable shirt I wear around the house. The pair of pants that aren’t quite dirty enough to wash but somehow never make it back into the closet.

It has basically become my unofficial second closet.

Not by choice. Just by habit.

The thing about that chair is that cleaning it isn’t really just about putting clothes away. It’s about making decisions.

Do these clothes need to be washed? Can I wear this again? Where does this even go?

It all sounds so simple. It’s just a pile of clothes. But sometimes those little decisions feel exhausting.

I think the part people don’t always see is that it’s not always the task itself. It’s everything that comes before it. The deciding. The planning. Figuring out where to begin.

Decision fatigue is real.

Sometimes I look at that chair and think, Why does this feel like such a big thing?

Because honestly, it is just clothes.

But sometimes simple things feel heavier than they should.

I’ve had the exact same desk chair for years. The same desk too. Since I was probably in my late teens.

I don’t know why I’m particularly drawn to that spot, but it has always been my visual closet. Not by choice, but because I haven’t always had the motivation, energy, or mental space to put everything away.

I see it every day. It annoys me beyond belief. But day after day, it sits there waiting for me to deal with it.

When I feel okay, things usually feel more manageable. When I’m overwhelmed, exhausted, or carrying too much, things tend to pile up.

And somehow, that chair ends up holding a little bit of all of it.

The younger me would probably be ashamed of myself.

She would look at that chair and wonder what happened to the person who needed everything organized perfectly. The person who had to have every detail exactly right.

Sometimes, I still reach for her. I still miss the version of myself who felt more in control. The version of myself who hadn’t experienced as much grief, uncertainty, and exhaustion.

But that’s not really how life works.

We change. Things happen. Sometimes things pile up. Sometimes we get tired.

Sometimes there are more important things taking up space than putting away a sweater.

So yes, I have a chair full of clothes.

Maybe it’s not the most organized system. Maybe it’s not what the younger version of me would have wanted.

But it’s mine.

And honestly, I have a feeling I’m not the only one.

What does your “chair full of clothes” look like?

“There is no such thing as perfect. There is only life.”— Milan Kundera