I need to start with a confession.
Back in December, I did a decluttering challenge: 25 bags in 25 days. Someone asked me recently if I actually finished it.
I did. I think I ended up with 27 bags.
And here’s the funny part—it looks like nothing happened.
Which, honestly, tracks.
Once you have a child, your house becomes a multiplying organism. Stuff just… appears. And my tolerance for clutter is basically nonexistent these days. Anything visually overstimulating—clutter on the counters, the floors, the anything—and my nervous system is immediately like, nope.
Still, I keep thinking: imagine if I hadn’t done the 27 bags.
That’s where this whole idea begins.
The idea that changed how I clean my house
A few years ago, during what I lovingly call my wild mammal era, I started noticing something strange.
I don’t move through my home randomly.
I move through it in seasons.
Not in a “third Monday of the month” way—that’s capitalism and patriarchy and the Gregorian calendar. We’re not doing that.
But in waves.
Rhythms.
Cycles.
Wild mammals rebuild dens. Birds rebuild nests. Living creatures adjust their environments to survive seasons, threats, and transitions.
So even though our homes aren’t being blown over in storms, I started wondering:
What if we still have that instinct?
What if the urge to clean, declutter, rearrange, or purge isn’t just about mess—but about change?
That’s what I now call The House Theory.
Why you feel called to clean specific spaces
Have you ever had a moment like this?
- “I need to clean the floors. Immediately.”
- “I should reorganize paperwork.”
- “I have to clean out my closet right now.”
Not because it’s urgent. Not because it’s on your to-do list. Just because it feels… right.
Here’s my theory:
The space you feel called to clean might reflect something shifting in your subconscious.
Not in a literal, guaranteed, clean your bathroom and heal your trauma way.
But in a pay-attention-to-the-patterns way.
At any given time, there are dozens of things we could clean. And yet, we choose one. I think that choice is worth noticing.
How I interpret different spaces
This part is personal—your interpretations might be different—but here’s how it shows up for me:
- Basements feel like the subconscious. Foundations. The dark, stored-away stuff.
- Bathrooms feel like vulnerability and cleansing. Water, exposure, becoming new.
- Closets feel like identity—how I want to be seen, how I show up in the world.
- Kitchens feel like the heartbeat of the home.
- Floors feel foundational. The big-picture support system you walk on every day.
Again, this isn’t science. It’s curiosity.
Cleaning as a moving meditation
When I feel that pull to clean something specific, I treat it like a moving meditation.
I don’t expect my life to change overnight because I cleaned a drawer.
But I do clean with intention.
I’ll ask myself:
- What could this space represent?
- What am I clearing?
- What am I making room for?
And then I clean—and let whatever wants to shift, shift.
And sometimes? There is no intention. Sometimes the toilet is gross and I have 20 minutes before daycare pickup. That’s not spiritual. That’s life.
Both things can be true.
Why this matters even more in this season
This practice became especially important for me in motherhood.
I don’t have the same time or space for meditation, rituals, or long stretches of quiet. I’m interrupted constantly. And a small but real part of what makes this season hard is losing access to the practices that used to ground me.
So turning everyday cleaning into something intentional has helped me stay connected—to myself, to change, to transition.
Which brings us to timing.
The Year of the Snake and the urge to shed
We’re closing out the Year of the Snake in the Chinese zodiac. Lunar New Year arrives in mid-February, ushering in a new cycle.
Snake years are about shedding skin. Letting go. Transformation.
We’re also moving from a nine year (endings) into a one year (beginnings).
Put all that together, and it makes sense that so many of us feel a pull to clear things out—not in a spring-cleaning way, but in a finish-the-shed way.
That energy showed up for me all through January.
What shedding looked like in real life
It looked like shredding old paperwork and thinking, my house doesn’t need the energy of this anymore.
It looked like cleaning out my underwear drawer postpartum and deciding:
I am not living in a world where my underwear makes me mad.
Some things were nostalgic.
Some things didn’t fit.
Some things just didn’t belong in this version of my life anymore.
It also looked like vacuuming corners—not just because dust exists, but because I wanted the old, stale energy out of the nooks and crannies.
Not to invite “new” in a consumerism way.
But new in an opening, unfolding, making‑room way.
The point of the House Theory
This isn’t about manifesting perfection.
It’s not:
“I cleaned my makeup brushes and now I’m rich.”
It’s about awareness.
If your home reflects your internal world, and you feel called to tend to a specific space, you might ask:
What part of me is asking to shift?
Then you clean. With intention. And you wait.
If you want to try it
Set an intention before you clean.
Clear, organize, declutter, rearrange, or air out a space.
Not because something is wrong—but because something is ready.
Then watch what shifts.
You don’t have to believe the theory for it to be useful.
Curiosity is enough.