Is maximalism just anxiety dressed up in colour?
I love the objects in my house, but lately I’ve been wanting to take a few things away.
The other day, I looked at my mantle and thought: maybe it’s too full. It wasn’t a judgement, but a kind of flickering awareness, like the way you suddenly notice the hum of the fridge after it's been running all day. It has a vase, several tapered candles, a small red toy car, a mirror leaning but never hung, and a few pieces of art. It’s a nice arrangement. Beautiful, even. But lately, it’s been starting to feel like too much.
There’s a pull I hadn’t expected. A desire to clear space, to make room, to let more of the house breathe. I feel it when I walk past the shelf in the hallway, with its crowded shelves of stacked books and a glass head wearing a pair of swim goggles. I feel it in the living room, where the pink-painted fireplace hosts a colourful pile of design and travel books I’ve collected, topped with an old plastic slot machine I thrifted years ago. Even the coffee table, which holds a vase of fresh tulips, a candleholder, coasters and more books, feels like it's pressing in.
This urge isn’t about minimalism I don’t think. I still love colour, still find a deep comfort in layers, still scroll past sparse beige rooms with a kind of allergy. But do think that something in me is shifting. I want a little less visual noise. Fewer things shouting for attention. A softer signal. Maybe it’s spring and the need to clean and refresh.
Whatever it is, it has made me wonder: is maximalism sometimes a form of self-protection? Have I been filling every shelf, every corner, every inch of the house as a way to fend off something more intangible? I don’t say that with shame. I think I’ve always lived this way. Even as a kid, I tore up the carpet in my bedroom and painted the floor black, then added silver, pink, and teal spray paint accents. Maximalism has always been my mode of self-expression. My comfort zone, my creative output, my aesthetic love language.
I do also sort of wonder if it’s a buffer. What if, in some seasons of life, too many beautiful things can feel like clutter, even when they’re carefully chosen? I don’t know. It’s not a rejection of abundance, just a gentle rebalancing. A reminder that “enough” isn’t a finish line or a perfect vignette. It’s a feeling. And right now, “enough” looks like one less thing on the mantle. Maybe two.
I haven’t cleared the shelves completely. I still love my little arrangements and the stories they tell, but I’m making a bit of space.
Here’s how I’m paring back and doing it gently
I want to be clear: I’m not purging. There’s a community garage sale happening in my neighbourhood today and won’t be hauling my treasure onto the front lawn. I’m not boxing things up with finality and taking them to my local thrift store. I’m just trying to notice what I pass by without really seeing. A small stack of books that doesn’t spark anything. A dish that’s become a dust collector. The third candleholder in a group of two that maybe doesn’t have to be there.
Some things are going to be tucked away and put into my storage closet. Just for now. I’ve also started moving a few pieces around. I think there’s something powerful in a good old game of “rearranging.” What felt crowded in the hallway might feel poetic in the bathroom. I’m reminding myself that editing isn’t always subtraction; sometimes it’s just rebalancing.
It’s almost summer, and this feels like the right time to loosen the grip a little. To let the house wear fewer layers. The days are stretching out, the light is coming in stronger, and I want room for that. I want surfaces that can hold nothing but sun. I want corners that feel like possibility. A bit of freedom, you know?
There will be a season again for stacks and stories and stuff everywhere. But for now, I’m letting it breathe. I’m letting me breathe.
Thank you for being here!
Lisa