While it happened over the course of three days, the work at The Professor’s only took 12 hours. I know what you’re thinking: ONLY 12? Kids, trust me, that’s a rapid amount of time for what happened. In four hours on Friday, six hours on Saturday, and two hours on Sunday, we ended up with 10 giant trash bags (the kind you use for cleaning up leaves); 7 for donation and 3 for consignment. In addition, we had 3 more bags of stuff that couldn’t be salvaged for donation or consignment. I so regret not taking a picture to show off the sheer volume of what we did. And the results? Well, I think I’ll let Tim Rice and Alan Menken say it for me:
I’m incredibly proud of what we did this weekend, but more than anything, I’m proud of The Professor for doing the hard work. It wasn’t easy for her on a lot of levels, and it was as much a cleaning out of some emotional space as it was making space in her closet. And, she only cried once – happy tears! #SoProud
Here’s what The Professor has to say about the whole thing:
I am The Professor. Yes, someone pays me to mold young minds. And yet, I haven’t had an organized closet, desk, or even purse in probably a dozen years. Now that I think about it, that’s around the time I left for college. Anyway, I live in a constant state of disarray, and it’s always worked for me.
Well, that’s a lie.
I’ve always wanted to be better about cleaning up after myself, but I grew up an only child with a doting mother… and then I went to college, where it seemed cool to be messy… and life got busy… plus, barely anyone important stops by my office... and no one should really be snooping around my bedroom anyway… plus, I’m busy…
In fact, I became so “busy” over the years that I was willing to overlook my anxiety before bed. (You know, the nagging feeling that you shouldn’t just pick up the pile of clothes on your bed and move it to another dumping ground… maybe you should put the clothes AWAY?) So “busy” that I notoriously stayed late at work, opting for dinner and Netflix over tidying up and/or making my house look presentable. When I did laundry, my clean clothes were tossed in laundry baskets and moved two flights of stairs up to my bedroom. In the case of company coming over, said laundry baskets were then moved – still with clean clothes in them – into closets.
The Bitch and I are very different people. Has she mentioned that?
Anyway, I’m over 30, consider myself a professional, and some people (i.e., my students) put the word “doctor” in front of my last name when they talk to me. And yet, my room looks like a pig sty. What the hell am I doing with my life?
Enter The Bitch.
From our FaceTime consultation, I knew she meant business. To be honest though, I didn’t think she stood a chance. (Sorry, friend.)
The only time I allow people upstairs in my house is within one week of my mother leaving. (I’m in the middle of reading a book about codependency. I highly recommend it!) When The Bitch arrived, it had been maybe two weeks since my mother’s latest visit. My room was a bit disheveled, but probably not as badly as she remembered it from our FaceTime adventure. Prior to The Bitch's arrival, I had ordered 100 velvet hangers. Within 2 minutes, she knew I’d need more. All I knew was that I needed a drink.
When I think about my weekend with The Bitch, two things stand out: (1) her show tunes; and (2) our shared levels of shock and awe. The Bitch was shocked by several things, mostly the number of bags, bras, and socks I own[ed]. I was awed by how patient The Bitch was with me, how empowered I felt throughout the weekend, and how absolutely stunning my closets and drawers looked at the time of her departure. My boyfriend likened it to a boutique. In the weeks since, I have been able to utilize the tools I was given to maintain a room I am proud to call my own. What a gift.
To learn The Bitch's process, I had to take an active role in the editing effort, making decisions about consigning versus donating, and putting all of my wardrobe pieces (no longer referred to collectively as “stuff”) back together in the same drawers and closets that have haunted me for years. I got rid of carloads of items, and I can hardly put into words the sheer relief I felt after dropping my gently (or heavily) worn clothes, shoes, and bags off at my local second-hand shops. In the end, I donated 18 bras to women in need through Soma Bra Donation, I gifted name-brand bags to family members, and I discarded some 70 pairs of socks. Yes, 70. Best of all though, I have a system that works for me and that I can maintain for years to come. Oh, and these days, I even let visitors tour my whole house.
And here are the results:
