Why My Feng Shui Attempt Turned Into Chaos

I take it you’ve heard of Feng Shui? Of course you have. Everyone has. It’s right up there with Pilates and oat milk. Heard of it can’t be arsed with it.

I suppose in theory, I absolutely love the idea. Clear surfaces. Calm spaces. Energy flowing serenely around the home like a gentle stream in the Lake District.

In reality? Not a chance.

You see, I am not a minimalist. I am not even slightly minimalist. I am maximalist. I am “if there’s a shelf, fill it”alist. There is not a surface in my house that couldn’t benefit from a charming trinket from a charity shop or another pile of paperbacks I’m definitely about to read.

Every windowsill is curated chaos. Every sideboard tells a story. Dusting in my house is an Olympic event. It requires strategy, stamina and occasionally a lie down. So I simply don’t bother. There are too many objects to lift, admire, get distracted by and then forget where they originally lived.

Anyway, after eight-ish years in this house, eight-ish being the point at which cupboards begin to groan audibly when opened, and with my recumbent exercise bike now fully repurposed as a seasonal wardrobe, I decided enough was enough.

The bike hasn’t seen a thigh in years. It’s currently wearing six cardigans, two dresses and what I believe is a impulse buy beach kaftan from 2017. Shoes are breeding in the hallway. Handbags are having land disputes on the landing.

So I announced, with great drama, that I was having a clear-out.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I thought this Feng Shui attempt would take a couple of hours. A brisk sort and a few decisive bin bags. Nope in fact I lost three days of my life.

Three days of standing in the middle of rooms holding objects and whispering, “But what if I need this?” Knowing that five minutes before I had no idea I had any of this tat.

The stress was unreal. The emotional negotiations. The “keep” pile slowly morphing into “definitely keep” and then “emergency keep” then thinking “fuck it…chuck it”.

On the bright side, I had absolutely no idea how much glorious, eclectic nonsense I had amassed over the years.

But I was ruthless. Well. Ruthless-ish.

There are now nearly twenty black bin liners waiting to go to the charity shop. Twenty. I feel like I’ve dismantled a small independent retailer.

And now? Now my bedroom feels so bare that tumbleweed could genuinely roll past the bed. I half expect a lone harmonica to play mournfully in the distance.

It’s unsettling. There’s only one thing for it. I shall have to go shopping.

Only joking. If I came home with so much as a scented candle, I think Rymondo would file for divorce before I’d got the receipt out of the bag.

I must admit though… I do feel slightly calmer. Slightly lighter. Like my house has taken a deep breath and stopped shouting at me.

So perhaps there is something in this Feng Shui lark after all.

Maybe just one small purchase to celebrate…A book on Feng Shui.

Purely for research, obviously.