Okay, so here’s the thing: the truth about minimalism and happiness is way more complicated than people with spotless white kitchens and three perfectly folded linen shirts on Pinterest make it out to be. I know, shocking. I used to think if I could just declutter my closet or delete half my apps, I’d suddenly transform into one of those serene, tea-sipping humans who look like they float instead of walk. Yeah, that didn’t exactly happen.
Actually—let me back up.
When I Thought Owning Less Would Magically Fix Me
A couple years ago, I was knee-deep in what I like to call the Amazon box era. You know the one: cardboard piles stacked in the hallway, random gadgets you swore you “needed” but now they just stare at you like, “remember me?”
I remember sitting on my bed, surrounded by clothes I didn’t wear, holding two nearly identical black jackets like I was in some sad low-budget episode of What Not to Wear. And I thought: Okay, maybe minimalism is the answer. People say if you throw all this junk out, you’ll be happy. Boom. Done.
So I Marie Kondo’d my whole apartment. I thanked socks for their service, I said goodbye to mugs I hadn’t touched in years, I deleted like 500 pictures of random memes from my phone. (Still kept one folder though. Because you never know when you’ll need a cursed Shrek meme.)
And for about… two weeks, I felt amazing. Lighter. Like I’d finally figured it out.
Then one night I was doomscrolling TikTok again, my Amazon cart mysteriously filled itself (how does that even happen??), and my apartment felt… not so minimal anymore.
So yeah, spoiler: minimalism didn’t magically fix my life. But it did teach me something I wasn’t expecting.
Happiness Isn’t Hiding in Your Sock Drawer
The biggest aha moment? Happiness isn’t about how many things you own—it’s about your relationship with them. Like, you can live in a spotless apartment with nothing but a futon and a single spoon, but if you’re still stressed out, scrolling until 3am, eating gas station pretzels for dinner (been there), you’re not gonna feel like a monk.
On the flip side, my grandma has a house full of knick-knacks, lace doilies, and three different salt shakers shaped like chickens, and she’s the happiest person I know. She doesn’t care if it’s “clutter.” She just likes it.
So maybe the truth is: minimalism works if it feels good to you. Not because it looks good on Instagram or because some productivity bro with a standing desk and two matching gray t-shirts told you to try it.
My Most Un-Minimalist Confession
Can I tell you something embarrassing?
I tried that whole “one bag lifestyle” thing once. You know, where you pack all your belongings into a single carry-on suitcase and convince yourself you’re free. Yeah. I lasted two weeks. By day ten, I was crying in a laundromat in Arizona because I only had one pair of jeans, and they were wet.
The “freedom” didn’t feel free—it felt like I was grounded in middle school and my mom had taken away all my stuff.
That was the moment I realized: happiness doesn’t come from stripping away everything—it comes from finding your sweet spot. For me, that means a little clutter. A messy nightstand. An extra hoodie. Some comfort objects that make my space feel like mine.
Things Minimalism Actually Did Help Me With
Okay, so it’s not all doom and gloom. Minimalism did give me a few wins:
- I buy less random crap now. Doesn’t mean I don’t impulse buy, but at least I pause before ordering another novelty mug. (Keyword: sometimes.)
- I value the stuff I keep. Like, I finally admitted I don’t wear heels. Ever. Gave them away, and now the sneakers I actually wear feel like MVPs.
- Digital detox moments. Deleting half my apps wasn’t life-changing, but it made me realize I don’t need three meditation apps and six to-do lists to feel “productive.”
But happiness? That didn’t come from decluttering. That came from learning how to chill out about needing to be perfect.
Minimalism vs. Happiness: The Big Lie
Here’s the real trap: minimalism is often sold as happiness in a box. Like, “Get rid of 70% of your stuff and boom, instant joy!” But life doesn’t work like that. You can’t organize your way into peace of mind any more than you can diet your way into self-love.
Sometimes more stuff actually does make you happy. Like, the blanket I bought last winter that’s way too fluffy and takes up too much space? That thing is basically therapy. No regrets.
And sometimes less stuff makes you miserable. Like me and my laundromat jeans incident.
So maybe minimalism isn’t about “less is more.” Maybe it’s about “what makes you feel good is enough.”
A Quick Reality Check: Truth About Minimalism and Happiness
Minimalism doesn’t look like:
- A perfect white wall with a single cactus.
- A closet full of identical black t-shirts.
- An Instagram feed where your desk has only a laptop and a latte.
Minimalism can look like:
- Keeping twenty plants because they make your space feel alive.
- Owning five coffee mugs because each one tells a little story.
- Having some clutter on the floor but not drowning in it.
It’s not about less stuff. It’s about less stress. Big difference.
The Truth I Finally Landed About Minimalism and Happiness
So, the truth about minimalism and happiness? It’s this:
Minimalism might help you find happiness, but it won’t create it. Happiness is messier than that. It’s not an aesthetic—it’s a feeling.
It’s laughing at your own bad jokes.
It’s wearing your favorite hoodie even though it has holes.
It’s having enough stuff that you feel comfortable, but not so much that it feels like your stuff is suffocating you.
And if you’ve got an extra blanket, or even three pairs of black jackets that you secretly love? That’s fine. Keep them.
