I’ve come to understand that decluttering a home and pruning a plant are guided by the same underlying principle: growth doesn’t begin with adding more, it begins with removing what no longer supports life.

This is something I’ve returned to many times over the years, not as a lifestyle philosophy or a reset ritual, but as a practical response to moments when things start to feel heavy. When stress creeps in without an obvious cause. When my thinking feels crowded. When decision fatigue sets in and I can’t quite tell why.

Decluttering has always been one of the few actions that reliably shifts my internal state without requiring analysis or interpretation. It works because it reduces friction: less to navigate, less to manage, less pulling at my attention all at once.

The effects are immediate: stress and anxiety drop. Mental clarity returns. Focus sharpens. There’s a greater sense of control and confidence, not because anything dramatic has changed, but because the environment stops demanding so much from me. Cleaning becomes easier. Maintenance becomes lighter. Life feels more workable.

Today, that instinct took me to the porch.

It’s a small space, but over time it had quietly become dense. Plants had grown into each other. Some leaves were yellowing, curling, clearly past their time. Objects had accumulated there not because they belonged, but because they hadn’t yet been decided on. Nothing was broken. Nothing felt urgent. But the space was congested, and I could feel it.

I didn’t repot anything yet. I didn’t overhaul the area or create a plan. I simply paid attention. I noticed which plants would soon need more room, which leaves were already finished, and which objects were blocking light and airflow. I made a mental note of what would need tending later, and then I removed what was obvious.

Dying leaves came off. Items that didn’t belong were moved. The floor opened up.

That small act was enough to change the entire feel of the space.

Light moved differently. Air flowed. The porch stopped asking to be managed and started offering itself as a place to sit. To read. To rest. I didn’t experience that as a reward for getting something done, but as a natural response to a space that had been given room again.

This is what pruning does for a plant. It removes what is dead, diseased, or overgrown so the plant’s energy can be directed toward healthy growth. It allows better light penetration and airflow. It prevents overcrowding. And importantly, it doesn’t force the plant to become something else. It simply creates the conditions for vitality.

Decluttering works the same way, whether the clutter is physical, digital, or mental. Physical clutter shows up as clothes that no longer fit the life you’re living, books you’ve already absorbed, gadgets that promised ease but only added complexity. Digital clutter hides in unread emails, saved photos, forgotten files, and apps that quietly drain attention. Mental clutter is often the heaviest of all: overwhelm, background anxiety, deferred decisions, and the constant hum of things waiting to be addressed.

Removing clutter at any one of these levels reduces pressure across all of them.

What I trust now is that true decluttering isn’t about organizing. It’s about removing. Not putting things into prettier containers, but being honest about what’s actually used now and what isn’t. Starting small matters because overwhelm leads to inaction, and clearing one drawer, one shelf, or one corner gives you the room to build momentum. Quick wins matter too, especially removing what’s already finished: expired items, broken things, decisions that have already been made but not acted on.

And this isn’t a one-time fix. Neither is pruning. Both are forms of ongoing maintenance, quiet acts of care that sustain health over time.

What feels most important to name is this: making room doesn’t require certainty about what comes next. You don’t need to know exactly how a plant will grow after it’s pruned. You just need to trust that removing what’s lifeless creates the conditions for growth.

Life seems to work the same way.

Growth doesn’t begin with adding more. It begins with making room.

Strategic Reflection Prompt:

Where in my life would removing what’s already finished create space for healthier growth?

About Giselle

I’m Giselle Hudson — writer, possibility thinker, musician, Organization & People Development Sensemaker™, and MCODE Legacy Coach. I help leaders and soul-driven professionals decode the deeper patterns shaping their business, work, identities, and results especially when it look like a performance issue but it’s really misalignment in disguise.

If something in your life or business feels off and you can’t quite name it, message me. Sometimes one conversation is all it takes to see what’s really going on.