Spring Cleaning: Not For The Weak!
A neurodivergent-friendly reset for chaotic homes. Featuring a project breakdown ready to follow along.
Content Warning: This personal essay discusses the neurodivergent struggle of executive dysfunction, decision paralysis, and the emotional weight of living in cluttered spaces.
The following episode of A Brazilian Girl’s Guide to Love, Fear & Foreign Places is part of the Spring 2026 Season: A Brazilian Girl’s Guide to Rituals, Regulation & Resistance.
TL;DR — The Questions I Can’t Stop Asking
Why does cleaning feel so overwhelming for some people?
What if messy homes are not the problem… but the aftermath?
How can we reset our spaces without spiralling into perfectionism?
What does it mean to clean your home to step into a new chapter?
Introduction
Aiaiai!
If you’re neurodivergent, make some noise!
If your home is constantly messy and you can’t catch up with cleaning, make some noise!
If you want to talk about the neurodivergent-friendly systems that make it possible to maintain a clean home that works with your brain instead of against it, makeee somee noiseee!
Hello, hello… my little monsters! My little grrrrrremlins! My little crrrrrreatures of the nIGHT!
How are we doing today?
Are we about to spring clean? Whaaaat! You? And me? Spring cleaning? TOGETHER? :000 Oh! Is your entryway also cluttered? Mine too!! Oh! Is your living room also dusty and crusty? Mine too!! I am afraid of looking behind my couch :)
Oh!! Is your bedroom also a mess with an unimaginable, uncontrollable, undistinguishable pile of laundry in a corner while your closet and wardrobe seems full but is functionally empty because you can’t put away your clothes? Me too, girl.
Oh!! Is your bathroom also full of bottles yet empty because the bottles you do use are always in a corner they shouldn’t be because the corner they should be is full of half-empty bottles you no longer use but can’t seem to throw away?? Oh myyy gawwwwdddd are we twinning??
AND YOUR VANITY IS ALSO A MESS??? Again: me too, girlypop. ME TOO!
So what you’re telling me is… your home is also out of control??? And you have reached the point where you would like to feel in control of your home, at least ONCE a year???
Oh my gawwwwdd! Stahp it! Are we… all in this together???
(*High School Musical dance*)
Okay. Let’s get to the point, shall we?
I don’t know about you, your neurotype, or what your home currently looks like. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m a 29-year-old late-diagnosed girlypop who still does not fully feel like an adult. I don’t see myself as your typical adult, adulting into adulthood.
I don’t feel like I’m keeping up with other people my age who seem to move through life with suspicious levels of competence, structure, and calendar management. Like, from where I’m standing, the three great pillars of adulthood seem to be:
Home under control.
Appointments under control.
finances under control.
But as far as MY OWN LIFE is concerned?
All three great pillars of adulthood have, at various times, been gloriously out of my fucking control. Part of that has to do with my lack of diagnosis for autism and ADHD, combined with the lack of accommodations and the lack of medications to support my executive function.
So, while I may not be ready to solve every domain of adulthood overnight, I can start somewhere tangible. And right now, that somewhere is my home, sweet home. Because if I want to feel more grounded, more capable, and more in charge of my own adult life… then taking control of the space I live in feels like the most honest first step.
And here’s the thing about my messy apartment. And maybe about yours too. The thing is that I don’t think messy homes are the problem. I don’t. I really, really, REALLY don’t. And I don’t think YOU are the problem either.
Now, do I personally think I am the problem most of the time? Yes. Unfortunately, yes. I am my biggest critic. I am my biggest opponent. I am my own worst enemy. So, yeah, I do tend to think that I am the problem MOST of the time. But not THIS time. Not when it comes to my home.
I don’t think I am the problem when it comes to my home. That is a realization that came with my late diagnosis. Ever since learning that I’m autistic and ADHD, my relationship with my home has changed C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E-L-Y! Not necessarily in terms of routine, organization, or systems (those are still works in progress) — but it definitely changed in the way I interpret the meaning of a messy home.
Because for most of my life, I treated my environment like evidence. Evidence that I was lazy. Behind. Immature. Failing adulthood. My messy home has always served as evidence of everything that could be possibly wrong with me. Evidence that it’s all my fault, as it always was, and as it always would be.
But the more I learn about autism and ADHD, the more I understand something very different: if my home reflects anything, it reflect my neurotype… and the systems that serve me, or fail me.
That’s it. Not my character. Not my worth. Not my standards. Just… something that isn’t working.
So even though my apartment is in extreme need of a spring clean, I REFUSE TO TURN THIS INTO A SHAME SPIRAL! I reeeeeeeefuuuuuuuuuseeeeeeeeee! I will NOT allow my brain to turn my messy home into a reflection of my character, my worth, or my standards. I will NOT lie awake in an overwhelming environment while my brain translates all that mess and clutter into my own personal, moral failure. And neither should you, friend. No, no, no. HARD PASS!
If your home is also messy, please show yourself some grace. Please be kind to yourself. Feeling guilty about the energy you didn’t have will noooootttttt heeeelllpppp! I promise it won’t! Feeling ashamed about the person you wish you were will not help either. I speak from experience, okay?
The ONLY thing that will ever help you is SUPPORT. S-U-P-P-O-R-T. Support.
What does support mean for you? I don’t know. Maybe that means scheduling a realistic cleaning day, or days. Maybe that means asking a friend to body double with you to get that dopamine going. Or maybe… you find a content creator that can serve as your body double and entertain you while you do get around to those boring chores. Maybe I’m not that creator for you. Maybe I am. And I body double you while you body double me.
Because that’s what this piece is. I am finally tackling a project I have procrastinate on for months. MONTHS, I TELL YOU! And I’m only addressing these issues now because I’m assuming I have company. Which is you, my wonderful people of the internet. My citizens of the void. My children of the corn.
And the beautiful thing about content creation is that it lives in the internet forever. So even if you’re not spring cleaning today, this will still be here the next time you need company. The next time the dishes pile up. The next time the laundry mountain gains political power against you. The next time you need someone beside you saying “ok, hold on… let’s do one thing at a time.”
See the magic? See how SMART we are? Double body double? Eh? Eh? Eh?
So, yeah~~~
I don’t think messy homes are the problem. I think messy homes are often the CONSEQUENCE of living inside systems designed for a different kind of brain. They’re the result of incompatible routines. Ineffective systems. Too many decisions. Too much clutter.
Say it with me:
“My messy home is NOT a reflection of my character, my standards, or my worth. My messy home IS a reflection of my overwhelm, my incompatible systems, and my unmet support needs.”
Because that’s all that it is. Messy homes are not the evidence. They are the consequence. The aftermath. The result of decisions we didn’t make. Clothes we didn’t put away. Objects we didn’t assign a place to. Thoughts we didn’t finish thinking. Lives we didn’t fully catch up to.
Because if spring cleaning really was just about cleaning… it wouldn’t feel this heavy, would it? It wouldn’t be so hard. It wouldn’t feel like something you have to mentally prepare yourself for. Or, at the very least, something I feel like I need to mentally prepare myself for.
Spring cleaning wouldn’t sit in the back of your mind for weeks, quietly judging you every time you walk past that ONE chair… that ONE pile… that ONE surface that somehow became a storage unit for your entire fucking life.
AND YET… here I am. Here you are. Here we are.
Spring cleaning is about more than cleaning. And it’s really fucking hard.
So why do some people seem to reset their homes overnight, easy peasy lemon squeezy, while other people like you and me spiral for weeks just thinking about it? Why does cleaning feel impossible to catch up to? And what does it actually take to start over?
Because that’s what spring cleaning is for me. It’s not a cleaning day. It’s not a productivity reset. But it is a reset, for sure. A quiet, slightly chaotic, very real attempt at becoming someone who can actually keep up with her own life. Someone who can wake up, make her bed, sit at her desk, and do the things she wants to do. Someone entering her teacher era. Her writer era. Her take-myself-seriously era.
And here is the uncomfortable truth that I can no longer avoid in good conscience:
It is really, really, reeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaally hard to take your life seriously when your environment doesn’t support you.
So, instead of trying to clean my entire apartment in one heroic day — which I know would send me straight into decision paralysis — I broke this project down into something my brain can actually handle. Hopefully, this can help you break down your own spring cleaning project, so it doesn’t seem like an eight-headed monster you’re afraid to battle.
So this is the breakdown I came up with for my own personal space:
Four zones. Four separate reset days. Not rooms. ZONES! Small, contained areas with a clear beginning and a clear end. No all-or-nothing thinking. No “if I can’t do everything, I’ll do nothing” mentality. NO PERFECTION! Just… progress.
Because maybe my goal is not to become a perfectly organized person overnight. Maybe my goal is simply to reduce the friction between who I am, how I think, and how I live.
So now that we’ve set the tone for this spring cleaning as something deeper than chores…
Welcome to Episode 02: Spring Cleaning Is Not For The Weak!
This episode is a deep dive on why spring cleaning is more than cleaning (at least, to me). This episode also features a neurodivergent-friendly project breakdown so you can clean along, or reset at your own pace.
My Home Before
So, here’s the deal about feng shuei… I don’t know it. Do you?
I know of it. I understand the general concept. But to claim that I know anything substantial about feng shuei would be a fallacy. A blasphemy. A lie, lie, lie!
But I do know this:
I don’t want to keep living like this.
The more attuned I become to my own energy, the more I’ve started appreciating the many lifestyles, traditions, and belief systems that care deeply about the condition of the home. Some come from spirituality. Some come from culture. Some come from plain old science.
But no matter where you live in the world, what language you speak, or what traditions shaped you, I guarantee there are routines, rituals, and systems meant to help keep “home sweet home” feeling like a safe haven.
And of all the frameworks out there, feng shuei is one I’d genuinely like to learn more about someday.
Because while I may not know the official principles… I know when something feels off.
And as of April 2026, my home does not meet the feng shuei guidelines in the slightest.
I don’t need to know feng shuei to know that. Because I can feel it. I feel it the moment I walk through the door. My eyes land on surfaces that don’t feel settled. Shoes technically have a place — in the shoe cabinet — but they’re almost never there. So the cabinet takes up space, yet still fails at its only job. Then there’s the couch… which exists more as a landing zone than a place to rest. Jackets. Purses. Random items. Things placed “for now” that somehow became permanent.
And I am spiritually afraid of looking under or behind that couch. What lives there? Dust? Lost objects? Regret? The void knows.
Then there’s the full-length mirror by the entrance. A mirror that is, somehow, almost always covered. Sometimes by groceries I never fully put away. Sometimes by a nearly empty drawer organizer that migrated there for reasons unknown. Sometimes by miscellaneous nonsense that arrived one day and simply… stayed.
Which feels symbolic, honestly.
Because how am I supposed to reflect on my life when even my mirror is blocked?
Now to be clear:
My apartment is not a disaster in some dramatic sense. It is not unlivable. In fact, compared to some previous roommate situations I’ve endured, this place is paradise. Even messy, it is still my sanctuary. Even with dishes in the sink. Even with paper that my dog shredded on the floor while I was at work. Even with the mountain of clean laundry sitting suspiciously close to the mountain of dirty laundry. Even with all of that… This is still my favourite place to return to.
Because it is my mess. My pets’ mess. My life. I’m not coming home to somebody else’s chaos anymore. And that matters.
But just because something is my mess does not mean it supports me. That does not mean it reflects my standards. That does not mean it works with my brain.
It simply means I got used to surviving inside it. And there is a difference.
Because my apartment functions. But it does not consistently support me. Everything feels slightly off. Like the space works… without actually helping. And the more I paid attention, the more I realized each room was holding onto a version of my life I’m slowly outgrowing.
My entryway feels like a transition I never fully complete. I’m always halfway arriving, halfway leaving. Things land there, but they never settle. There’s no sense of “I’m home now.” No exhale. No shift from work mode to evening mode. Just a continuation of whatever stress I walked in carrying. And for an autistic brain that deeply benefits from predictable transitions and routines? That matters.
My living room doesn’t invite rest. It absorbs things. Collects them. Holds onto them. It has become less of a living room and more of a passive storage system that slowly expanded without permission. My office and dining room were arranged based on convenience, not intention. Furniture went where it could fit during move-in. Not where it would best support the life I’m living now. The desk faces the wrong direction and makes the room feel smaller.
The dining table rarely serves food. Instead, it becomes a rotating cast member — grocery table. Clutter table. Projects table. Temporary holding zone table. It works. But it doesn’t support anything meaningful. And that becomes a real problem when I come home tired from childcare work and need my space to recharge my batteries.
Then there’s my bedroom. Honestly? My bedroom should be my favourite room. Instead, it’s the one I avoid. Which absolutely affects my sleep. I would probably go to bed earlier if my room felt like somewhere I wanted to unwind. But instead, it became the place where everything I didn’t want to deal with quietly accumulated. Clothes without systems. Storage without structure. Piles that made sense in the moment, but collapse the second I try to maintain them.
Not dramatic chaos. Quiet chaos. Cumulative chaos. The kind built through tiny decisions never made.
And then the bathroom. Which might be the clearest symbol of the whole pattern. Because nothing there is necessarily wrong. There is just… too much. Too many products. Too many options. Too many half-finished attempts to become a different person.
And I think that’s the real difference this time.
This spring cleaning is not about becoming someone else. I am not trying to become a woman with a totally different personality, brain, or aesthetic lifestyle. I’m not trying to cosplay a person who naturally thrives in systems that don’t fit me.
For the first time, I’m doing this because I accept myself. I love myself. I understand myself more than I ever have. So this is not a reset rooted in self-rejection. It is a reset rooted in self-respect. Because when everything is available all the time, nothing feels simple. Nothing feels automatic. Nothing feels like a routine.
And for someone whose nervous system deeply benefits from clarity, predictability, and reduced friction… That matters. So eventually, it clicked. This isn’t just about cleaning. It’s about misalignment. Because the version of me who originally set up this apartment is not the same version of me who lives here now. That version of me needed flexibility. Quick fixes.
“Good enough for now.”
This version of me needs clarity. Structure. Support. The old version of me was surviving. The current version of me is trying to build. And my environment hasn’t caught up yet.
My apartment is still organized around an old chapter of my life. A chapter where reactive survival was the goal. A chapter where confusion was normal. A chapter where getting through the week was enough. And I’m grateful for that version of me. She did what she had to do. But I don’t live there anymore. At least… I don’t want to.
And I think that’s why my home started feeling uncomfortable. Not because it’s bad. Because it’s outdated. For a long time, I thought that discomfort meant I needed to fix myself. More discipline. More motivation. More effort.
But now I see it differently. Maybe the issue is not that I’m failing my environment. Maybe the issue is that my environment was built for someone I no longer am.
That realization changed everything.
Because for years, every spring clean felt like an attempt to become a better person. Now it feels like an opportunity to support the person I already am.
This is not about changing my identity. It is about updating the systems around it. Rebuilding my home to match the life I’m entering. Making room — physically, mentally, emotionally — for the chapter already trying to begin.
Not through one dramatic transformation. But through small, intentional shifts. Zone by zone. Decision by decision. Starting with one simple question:
What here is no longer serving me?
Zone A: Entryway / Living Room
As I’ve established, I don’t think messy homes are the problem. I think they’re the aftermath. The aftermath of decisions we didn’t make. Shoes we didn’t put away. Objects we didn’t assign a place to. Tasks we postponed. Corners we stopped seeing. Because if cleaning were just about cleaning… It wouldn’t feel this heavy.
It wouldn’t feel like something you have to mentally prepare for. It wouldn’t sit in the back of your mind for weeks, quietly judging you every time you walk past that one chair, that one pile, that one surface that somehow became a storage unit for your entire life.
And yet… Here I am. Here you are. Here we are.
So if I wanted a real reset, I knew the first place I had to begin was not my closet, or my desk, or my routines. It was the threshold. The place that greets me every time I come home. The place that decides whether I feel overwhelmed… or at ease.
So I made the entryway and living room my first zone. I grouped them together because they are both transition spaces. They sit between the outside world and my inner one. They are the spaces where stress either follows me in… or gets left at the door.
And then came the first Saturday.
Now, did I wake up and leap heroically into chores like a productivity influencer at sunrise? No. Of course not. First came the sacred routine. Good morning kisses and cuddles with all the pets: my husky, Bibo, and my two cats, Puma and Mia. Then I refilled kibble bowls, refreshed water bowls, and tended to domestic affairs like the humble village woman that I am.
Saturdays are also plant-care days. I watered my banana plant, emptied the flower vase, and placed rose petals to dry in a dark corner above the kitchen cabinets like the mysterious neighbourhood widow from a folktale.
Then I took Bibo for a long walk so he’d be set up for the day. And then I set myself up for the day. I got myself a little treat. Because big girls get little treats for doing big girl things. That is policy. Sorry, I don’t make the rules!
Then I came home, rolled up my sleeves, and began.
And what I found there…was exactly what I expected. Shoes that belonged somewhere, yet nowhere. Surfaces that had become dumping grounds. A couch that had not been properly cleaned in so long that I preferred not to calculate it.
Again: nothing dramatic. Nothing hoarder-level. Nothing worthy of a reality television intervention. Just buildup. The kind that happens slowly. Quietly. Almost politely.
Until one day it no longer feels polite. It feels heavy.
Because over the last year, I had focused mostly on survival chores. Dishes. Garbage. Laundry. Pet care. Repeat. The tasks that keep life running. But not the tasks that make life feel good.
And that distinction matters.
So on the first Saturday of this reset, I said:
“No mas. No mas mess. No mas clutter. No mas passive chaos. This threshold will become peaceful… or so help me God!”
And I began with the simplest task possible.
I vacuumed the couch. Then I looked under the couch. Regrettable. Then behind the couch. Even more regrettable. I found objects that had clearly entered another dimension. Flip flops that I assumed were lost forever. Hair clips. Miscellaneous artifacts from past eras.
I cleared off the shoe cabinet completely. Put pairs together. Gave every shoe a designated place. Even if that place was not perfect yet. I did not redesign the room. I did not buy storage bins. I did not create a Pinterest-worthy mudroom. I simply removed what didn’t need to be there.
And almost immediately… something shifted. Not in a dramatic “I am reborn” kind of way. But in a quiet, suspicious way. The kind of subtle shift that makes you pause and go:
Wait. Hold on. Why does this feel different?
And I realized something important.
You cannot step into a new life through a cluttered doorway. Not because of mysticism. Not because of manifestation. Not because Mercury is in retrograde or the moon is upset with you. Although, respectfully, I’m not ruling anything out.
No.
It felt different because my brain had less to process. That’s it.
Every time I came home before, my nervous system had to immediately scan clutter. Register unfinished tasks. Notice misplaced items. Recall things I meant to do. Feel guilt about not doing them. Then either avoid, justify, or ignore all of it.
That takes energy. Real energy. And for years, I interpreted that drained feeling as a personal failure. Lack of discipline. Lack of motivation. Lack of effort.
But maybe I wasn’t failing. Maybe I was simply spending my battery the moment I walked through the door.
And that realization changed everything. Because spring cleaning, for me, is no longer about becoming a person who naturally keeps a perfect home.
It is about making it easier to be the person I already am. Someone who needs peace when she gets home. Someone who needs transition time. Someone whose environment can either drain her… or support her.
And that new chapter began here. With one couch. One pile of shoes. One cleared surface. One threshold that finally felt like it belonged to me.
Next came Zone B: The bathroom and vanity. Which turned out to be much less about soap… And much more about letting go.
Zone B: Bathroom / Vanity
And then came the second Saturday. I was ready to tackle Zone B.
But not before honouring the sacred Saturday ritual. First, a long walk with Bibo. Then a little café stop for an iced latte, because if I am about to confront years of delayed bathroom decisions, I deserve refreshments. Then home. Then sleeves rolled. Then action.
If the entryway was about beginning again… Then the bathroom was about letting go.
Because before I could reorganize my life, my routines, or my environment, I first had to confront something much less aesthetic:
What I had been holding onto.
And weirdly enough, the clearest example of that was not my closet. It was my bathtub — more specifically, the ledge of my bathtub. The shelves. The cabinet drawers. The shelf above the toilet. The entire bathroom had quietly become a museum of unfinished intentions. Half-used bottles. Products I bought during phases where I thought this would be the item that finally fixed everything. Haircare from a version of me who was definitely about to become consistent.
Skin care purchased by an aspirational woman I had apparently hired internally. Items used once. Items never used. Items kept because they were expensive. Items kept because “what if I need this someday?”
Nothing dramatic. Nothing dangerous. Just excess. And standing there, looking at it all, I had a very simple realization:
I did not have a bathroom routine.
I had options. Too many of them. And for a brain like mine, too many options can become no routine at all. Because suddenly a shower is no longer a shower. It is a decision-making obstacle course. Which shampoo today? What order should I use things in? Should I exfoliate?
And when every basic task becomes that mentally noisy… you start avoiding the task itself. So instead of organizing everything into complicated categories or buying twelve acrylic containers from the internet… I did something simpler.
I took everything out. Everything. Every bottle. Every drawer. Every product. Every little artifact of self-improvement eras gone by. And then I asked two questions:
Do I actually use this?
And…
If there was poop on this, would I clean it… or would I throw it away?
Not:
Did I spend money on this?
Not:
Could future me become the kind of person who uses this?
Not:
Should I keep this because it represents hope?
No.
Just:
Do I use it? Would I keep it if tested?
And if the answer was not a clear yes…
It did not stay.
What remained was surprisingly simple.
For the shower area: Two shampoos. One conditioner. One hair mask. Soap. Body wash. Body oil. A couple practical grooming tools. That’s it. For the shelf above the toilet: Towels. Toilet paper. A few plants. For the sink area: Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Mouthwash. Hand soap. Hand lotion. Actual basics. For the vanity drawers: Things I genuinely reach for. Skin care I use. Makeup I wear. Hair tools I need. Products that belong to my real life, not a fantasy version of it. No duplicates. No backup personalities. No evidence folders from abandoned identities. Just tools. Useful, chosen tools.
And for the first time in a long time… The bathroom made sense. Everything else found one of three homes: Another proper storage space. Donation or pass-along pile. Trash. Especially the near-empty bottles. The dried-up products. The things are technically still usable, but realistically never get used.
And throwing those things away felt strangely emotional. Not because of money. Not because of waste. Because of symbolism. They represented all the little attempts to become someone else. The woman who suddenly has perfect routines. The woman who loves twelve-step beauty regimens. The woman who is transformed by purchasing the right bottle.
And I think that’s when the deeper lesson hit me. Cleaning is not just about removing clutter. Sometimes it is about releasing expectations. The expectations you had for yourself. The ones you didn’t meet. The ones you quietly abandoned but never consciously let go of. Because every unused product can become a tiny monument to a version of you that never happened. And keeping all of them around does not prepare you for the future. It just makes the present heavier.
So I let them go. Not with candles. Not with a dramatic soundtrack. Not in a moonlit ceremony. Just quietly. Practically. Honestly.
And when I finished, the bathroom did not look like a luxury spa. It looked like mine. Calm. Functional. Clear. A room that was no longer asking questions the moment I entered it. No mental noise. No guilt. No twenty-product negotiation. Just a space that supported basic care.
And honestly?
That felt luxurious enough. Because if the entryway was where I chose to begin again… then the bathroom was where I chose what I was no longer carrying with me.
Next came Zone C: The bedroom. Which was less about laundry… and more about identity.
Zone C: Bedroom
If the bathroom was about letting go… then the bedroom was about deciding what stays.
And if I’m being honest, this was the zone I avoided the most. Because this is not just where I sleep. This is where everything lives. The clothes I wear. The clothes I don’t wear. The clothes I might wear if I became a slightly different person. The random objects that didn’t belong anywhere else. The things I didn’t have the energy to deal with, so I quietly relocated them here under the ancient household law of: I’ll deal with it later.
And as we all know… “Later” is a DANGEROUS lie!
There is something uniquely personal about a messy bedroom. Kitchen mess can feel practical. Bathroom mess can feel temporary. Living room mess can feel social.
But bedroom mess? Bedroom mess feels intimate. It feels like evidence. Like your life is not just disorganized… But unresolved.
And the more I looked around, the more I realized the real problem was not the room itself. It was the absence of systems. Because every time I did laundry, I had to make the same decisions over and over again. Where does this go? Do I still wear this? Should I keep this?
Why do I own seventeen versions of the same emotional concept?
And when every simple task requires that much thinking… you stop doing the task altogether. So instead of merely cleaning the room, I had to do something much more uncomfortable:
I had to redesign it. Not cosmetically. Functionally. Structurally.
Emotionally, too, if we’re being honest.
I started with the layout. I stacked both cube shelves sideways, one on top of the other, and moved the TV above them. Then I moved the wardrobe beside the shelves, creating one continuous wall of storage. A closet wall.
And that simple shift changed more than I expected.
Because suddenly the room made visual sense. It felt intentional. Like things belonged to the same story. Like the room had stopped improvising. And sometimes that matters more than people realize. When a room looks chaotic, your nervous system often feels chaotic with it. When a room feels coherent, your brain gets to rest.
Then came the harder part.
The clothes. Oh my gawwwwd. The clothes. A full wardrobe containing many things I did not wear. Meanwhile, the clothes I did wear most often were living in laundry baskets like feral little nomads. Cube shelves full of miscellaneous items.
Wardrobe shelves occupied by books, random objects, and decisions deferred since ancient times. So I pulled everything out. Everything. And I had to ask a different kind of question.
Not just:
Do I wear this?
But:
Who was I when I bought this?
Because some clothes are not clothes. They are intentions. They are identities. They are imagined futures on a hanger. The girl who dresses like this. The girl who goes out more. The girl who has her life together enough to wear this regularly. The girl who definitely owns trousers for mysterious adult occasions.
And letting go of those things did not feel like decluttering. It felt like admitting something didn’t fit. Which is uncomfortable. But also strangely freeing.
Because once I stopped trying to preserve every version of myself I had ever imagined… I could finally make space for the person I actually am.
So I kept what I genuinely wear. What I genuinely reach for. What fits my real life. Not my hypothetical life. And everything else? Donated. Released. Thanked for its service. Escorted out.
No more maybe piles. No more emotional negotiations. Just decisions.
And once that part was done, everything else became shockingly simple. I reorganized the cube shelves into categories that matched how I actually live. Not how organizing influencers insist a person should live. Then I did something small that changed everything:
I labelled things. With labels. Beautiful, glorious labels. Not because I wanted a magazine-worthy closet. Because I wanted clarity.
Because I know myself well enough to know that if I have to think too hard about where something belongs… I will simply place it somewhere cursed.
So now I don’t have to think. It is already decided.
That is the beauty of systems. They reduce friction before the moment of overwhelm arrives.
Then I created a laundry system. A real one. Not “I’ll sort it later.” Not “future Laura can handle this.” No. Present Laura was handling it now.
Separate bins. One for bedding. One for work clothes. One for everything else. No giant mystery pile. No sorting marathon. No delayed decisions breeding in corners.
Just a system that still works when I’m tired, distracted, overstimulated, or deeply uninterested. Which is the only kind of system worth building.
And for the first time, maintaining the room did not feel like a separate chore. It felt built into the structure itself. That is a huge difference. I cleaned the nightstands. I made the bed.
And suddenly, the room no longer felt like somewhere I was avoiding. It felt calm. More importantly… It felt mine. Not perfect. Not minimalist. Not styled within an inch of its life. Just supportive. Gentle. Usable. Mine.
And I think that’s when it clicked again.
I wasn’t just organizing a bedroom. I was deciding who gets to exist in my daily life.
Because every item you keep is something you are choosing to carry. And every system you build is something you are choosing to support you.
And for the first time in a very long time… those choices felt aligned with who I am now. Not who I used to be. Not who I thought I should be. Just me.
Next came the final zone. The office and dining room. Which turned out to be less about furniture… And more about the future.
Zone D: Dining Room / Office
If the bedroom was about deciding what stays… then the final zone was about deciding what I’m building. Because once the clutter is reduced — or at least reduced enough to breathe — you are left with a different kind of question.
Not:
What do I need to clean?
But:
What is this space actually for?
And for me, the answer had changed.
For a long time, this room had been everything at once. Office. Dining room. Storage zone. Temporary holding area. Miscellaneous nonsense headquarters. A place where furniture existed more out of necessity than intention.
And to be fair… It worked. Technically. The desk held my computer. The table existed in table form. The cabinet stored things. The freezer froze. No one can say the room was not trying.
But function and support are not the same thing. A room can technically work… while quietly making your life harder. And that is what I was finally starting to understand.
So instead of simply cleaning the room, I decided to reorient it. Literally. I turned my desk to face a different wall. And that sounds so small. So boring. So aggressively unsexy. But the moment I did it, the room felt different. Like I was no longer sitting in the same version of my life.
Perspective matters. Sometimes emotionally. Sometimes spiritually. Sometimes, because your desk was just facing the wrong damn wall. All valid.
Then I hung my paintings. Not because I had some flawlessly curated design vision. But because I wanted to look up and see things that felt like me. Beauty. Story. Wonder. Meaning. Things that remind me why I want to sit down and do the work in the first place.
I moved the cat bed under the desk so the workspace felt softer. Less corporate. More alive. More like somewhere I would willingly return to. Which is, frankly, the dream.
Then I moved to the dining side of the room. I repositioned the china cabinet. Moved the freezer beside it. Yes, it blocked a bit of light.
But the trade-off was worth it. Because what I gained was space. Actual space. Walkable space. Thinkable space. Breatheable space.
Sometimes we chase perfect aesthetics when what we really need is room to move.
Then I pushed the dining table against the wall where the cabinet had been. And suddenly the room opened up in a way it never had before. There was room to pass through. Room to pause. Room to exist without brushing against the evidence of every unfinished task.
And I know that sounds dramatic for furniture movement. But if you know, you know.
The microwave? I still had no clear plan for the microwave. And for once… that did not bother me. Because not everything needs to be solved immediately.
That realization may have healed something in me.
Spring cleaning is not about resolving every issue in one glorious burst of competence. It is about removing what no longer works. Improving what can work better.
And creating enough structure for the next steps to emerge naturally. Some things are allowed to remain in progress. That includes rooms. That includes systems. That includes me.
And I think that was the biggest shift of all.
For the first time, I was not trying to create a perfect home. I was trying to create a usable one.
A home that supports the version of me who wants to show up consistently. The version that wants to sit down and write. The version that wants to prepare lessons. The version that wants to think clearly, follow through, and feel less scattered.
Not because I suddenly became more disciplined. But because my environment stopped working against me. Because I removed enough friction for things to feel possible. And possible is powerful.
When I stepped back and looked at everything — the entryway, the bathroom, the bedroom, this room — it did not look like a television makeover reveal. There were still things to do. Corners to refine. Systems to improve. Little messes waiting for their turn.
But it felt different. Quieter. Lighter. Kinder. Like my home had finally caught up to my life. Or maybe… like I had finally caught up to myself. And I think that is what I had wanted all along. Not a perfect home. Not a perfect routine. Not a perfect identity. Just a space that does not make life harder than it already is.
I used to think spring cleaning was my yearly attempt to become someone new. A better woman. A more disciplined woman. A woman who somehow emerges from one weekend transformed and alphabetized.
But now I understand something gentler and truer.
Spring cleaning is not about becoming someone new. It is about removing what makes it harder to be who you already are. It is moving a desk. Throwing away an empty bottle. Letting go of a shirt you do not wear. Making your bed.
Creating systems that love you back. Choosing, again and again, to live in a space that supports you instead of quietly overwhelming you.
And no, my home is not perfect. There is still plenty to do.
But for the first time in a very, very long time… it feels like a home that is on my side.
Conclusion
I used to think spring cleaning was my chance to overwrite my “programming” and become an entirely different, better, worthier person — in an entirely different, tidier, minimalist home. But if this experience has taught me anything, it is that spring cleaning is nooooot about becoming someone new living in a new place. I don’t know about you, but at least for me, spring cleaning is hereby about removing everything that makes it harder to be who I already am and live the life that I already live in a way that works for the brain I already have.
I’m not the issue. My home is not the issue. My mess is not the issue. All of it is the aftermath of incompatibility, inefficiency, and my own ignorance about my neurotype and accommodations that actually benefit people like me to make room for a new chapter in life.
And maybe, just maybe, “making room for a new chapter” isn’t some big, dramatic, cinematic moment. Maybe it looks exactly like what I just did. Moving a desk. Throwing out an empty bottle. Letting go of a shirt I don’t wear. Making my bed. Choosing, over and over again, to live in a space that supports me… instead of a space that quietly overwhelms me.
And the thing about my home is that it’s not a perfect home. It isn’t. There’s so much to do. But for the first time in a really, really, really long fucking time… it feels like a home that is on my side. On the same team as me. Holding my hand. Recharging my battery. Accepting me for who I am, supporting me in the goals I have, and making room for me to love my life as it is.
Alright… Thank you so much for listening (or reading) or spending this time with me. I really, really appreciate you being here. If anything in this episode resonated with you (or didn’t) I would genuinely love to hear your thoughts. Do you agree? Do you disagree? Are you somewhere in between? Let me know in the comments, or wherever you found this.
And if you’re on your own journey with nervous system regulation… I’m really curious — what does that actually look like for you right now? Because for me, this is still very much a work in progress. And I have a feeling I’m not the only one figuring this out in real time.
So stay tuned for the rest of the season — Rituals, Regulation & Resistance — where we’ll keep exploring what it means to build a meaningful life… in the middle of all this chaos.
Until then… take care of your body, take care of your mind, and don’t let the world convince you that being human is a weakness. It might just be the most radical thing we have.
I’ll see you in the next one. Tchau, tchau!
TL;DR — Where I Landed
Cleaning feels overwhelming because it is not only physical — it is emotional and cognitive.
Messy homes are often the result of postponed decisions and unsupported systems.
A neurodivergent-friendly reset focuses on zones, not perfection.
Letting go of excess reduces decision fatigue and mental load.
Building systems makes maintenance easier than relying on motivation.
Resetting your space can be a way of aligning your environment with who you are becoming.
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Archive:
Show: A Brazilian Girl’s Guide
Show Code: ABGG002
Series: Rituals, Regulation and Resistance
Series Code: RRR02
Title: Soft Power in the Age of Collapse
Date: April 24, 2026
Tags:
Longform Essay
Personal Reflection
Social Commentary
Spring Cleaning
Late-Diagnosed Autism ADHD
Executive Dysfunction
