Room to Bloom: Clearing Space for Healing
Healing after cancer isn’t just about physical recovery—it’s about reclaiming peace. When the body is worn down and the mind is carrying uncertainty, the home can either soothe or stir. A gentle, decluttered environment isn’t about chasing perfection. It’s about reducing overwhelm, restoring clarity, and making space for what truly supports you.
Why the Home Matters
During the three weeks I waited to learn whether I had kidney cancer, I spent nearly all my free time decluttering. It was late December, and the house smelled like cinnamon and pine—Christmas quietly unfolding around us. I remember sitting in the middle of the boys’ closet, boxing up toys they’d outgrown. There was a bittersweetness to it: a little sadness that they were growing so quickly, mixed with relief at letting go of what we no longer needed. I gave many of those items to the church that runs their Mother’s Day Out program—a place that had supported us the previous year.
Though I was physically exhausted, I found I could still sit and sort through drawers, cabinets, and closets. It gave me something I deeply needed: a sense of control. In a time when so much felt unpredictable, I could shape my surroundings, even if I couldn’t shape the diagnosis.
There was also a quiet practicality to the process. If the news had been terminal, I wanted my home to be easier to manage—for myself and for my family. I later learned this approach is called Swedish death cleaning, but it didn’t feel grim. It felt thoughtful. Protective. Loving. Responsible.
I finally donated items I’d been holding onto for months, even years. It felt like I had permission to release what no longer served us. And when the results came back, the peace I had created remained. The space I had cleared gave me room to breathe.
Reduce Inventory, Reduce Overwhelm
Every item in a home requires some level of attention—whether it’s being cleaned, stored, or simply processed visually. Reducing inventory isn’t about minimalism. It’s about asking: What do I have the capacity to care for right now?
Recovery was gentler in a home with fewer things to dust, organize, or keep in place. There was less for the kids to scatter across the floor, fewer surfaces to reset, and more space to simply rest.
Let go of what feels burdensome. Keep what feels useful, beautiful, or comforting. Begin with one drawer. One shelf. One corner. Let that be enough.
Gentle Strategies for Maintenance
1:1 Item Exchange: For every new item that enters the home, one item leaves. It’s a simple way to stay balanced. If a new book arrives, an old one is donated. If a new toy comes in, one is passed along. It’s not about purity—it’s about rhythm.
Landing Zones: Create designated spaces for daily clutter: keys, mail, backpacks, shoes. When everything has a home, tidying becomes less of a task and more of a habit.
Evening Reset: A five-minute tidy before bed (if you have kids, more like twenty) can make mornings feel less rushed and more intentional. Clearing counters, folding blankets, returning items to their place. I also set out items for the following day—clothes, backpacks, breakfast utensils. It’s a small act of care that makes a big difference.
Seasonal Check-ins: Every few months, walk through the house and ask: Is this still serving us? Let go of what no longer fits your life. It’s remarkable how things multiply, and managing the stuff in your home takes regular attention.
Sensory Calm and Intentional Aesthetics
Healing is supported by environments that feel safe and soothing. Consider:
Visual Calm: Clear surfaces, soft tones, and reduced visual noise help the mind rest. I’ve learned that having too much to look at increases my anxiety.
Natural Light: Open curtains daily to invite warmth and rhythm.
Freshness: A cracked window, a clean sink, a bowl of citrus—small shifts that change the atmosphere.
Quiet Clarity: Less input from cluttered surfaces, more soft ambient sound—like the hum of an air purifier, birds outside, or gentle music.
Meaningful Touches: Choose items that reflect your values and your story. In my home, everything has a purpose beyond aesthetics. Each object holds a memory, a moment, or a feeling. I don’t decorate for decoration’s sake; I curate spaces that speak to who we are and what we’ve lived.
A tidy space often brings:
A slower, deeper rhythm to your breathing
A heightened sense of control and safety
Spaciousness—physically and mentally
Relief—a soft exhale, a sense that you have room to exist
From Ashes to Wildflowers
Decluttering during those uncertain weeks wasn’t just a coping mechanism—it was a form of healing. It gave me peace in the moment and peace afterward. It reminded me that even in seasons of ash, we can choose what to carry forward. We can clear space for wildflowers to grow.
By the time of my cancer surgery, I had let go of more than twenty trash bags worth of items—things we no longer needed, things I’d debated donating for years. It felt like a release. And it’s a rhythm I continue to follow seasonally, not out of strict discipline, but to keep our home from becoming a source of stress. These gentle resets help support our family’s wellbeing, especially when life feels heavy.
If you’re in a season of recovery, or waiting, or simply trying to breathe again, know that your home can be part of your healing. Not through perfection, but through small, intentional steps. One drawer. One corner. One breath at a time.