Let’s talk about that moment. You know the one, when you finally decide to declutter your life. One evening, I poured a dangerously strong cup of coffee, took a deep breath, and prepared for war. Here’s the thing: decluttering a family home isn’t just about tidying up. It’s an emotional stakeout. When it comes to children, their stuff is never just stuff. You are confronting entire eras of your children’s lives shoved into junk drawers and overstuffed cupboards. As a mum of three, my clutter is rarely random. It’s a lot more strategic, or at least I would like to believe so. My internal monologue is a constant battle between ‘get rid of it’ and that nagging voice whispering, ‘keep it, you might need it someday”. Then come the hand-me-downs from family, passed on with love and zero exit plan. Suddenly, every mismatched sock carries a backstory, and every outgrown outfit triggers a wave of quiet guilt the moment you eye the bin. I started with confidence. Yanked open the first drawer.…