• When the world followed the advice of Marie Kondo and decluttered, I did too.
• I soon discovered my digital life needed to be decluttered just as much as my house once did.
• A weekly routine helps me manage digital clutter so it doesn't become overwhelming.

Like most people, I have too much stuff. But it's not just physical stuff; the amount of digital clutter I amass is nothing short of spectacular. Between bookmarking apps, "watch later" lists, and email newsletters, it all adds up to one big mess of distraction that lingers at the edge of my subconscious and calls for my attention — attention that could be better spent engaging with the real world.

I didn't always know that my digital stuff was a problem, but I realized my physical stuff had gotten out of control when I (finally) read Marie Kondo's, "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up." The book launched me into a love affair with minimalism, resulting in a complete declutter of clothing, books, old papers, and dozens of boxes of stored possessions I hadn't touched in over a decade.

It felt amazing to wave goodbye to every load I donated, recycled, or threw away. But the invisible problem of digital clutter still weighed heavily in the back of my mind. I had to face reality: My digital life was a complete and total mess, and I was overwhelmed.

Tackling a physical declutter made me realize I had too much digital stuff

"Read later" apps were a big part of my problem. I'd been saving anything that looked even remotely interesting since my family first got a PC in 1998. As bookmarking options got more sophisticated, I tested several tools (and saved dozens of links) before settling on an organization app called Bublup.

The app's engaging interface, handy browser extension, and catch-all "Review Later" folder made it easy to save all types of content with a few clicks or taps. Between Bublup, the "Your Episodes" list in Spotify, and YouTube's "Watch Later" list, I managed to stockpile links to hundreds of articles, podcasts, and videos that I intended to look at — you guessed it — some nebulous later time that rarely materialized.

Things got worse when I briefly fell down the rabbit hole of second brains and Zettelkasten, systems that promised I could reclaim some of my attention by organizing digital clutter into a magical note taking app that would somehow free my brain to make new connections between the ideas contained in what I saved. But for that to work, I had to shoulder the task of taking detailed notes on every piece of content, categorizing them, and implementing an intricate cross-referencing system that would supposedly enable me to access entire hubs of externalized knowledge at a moment's notice instead of scrolling through endless bookmarks.

It was exhausting.

I finally had to admit that I needed a digital declutter

I started to feel like I was going nuts — until books came to my rescue once again.

Nicholas Carr's "The Shallows," Nir Eyal's "Indistractable," and Cal Newport's "Digital Minimalism," all opened my eyes to how my constant bouncing across content and tools was stealing attention from other, more important, areas of my life—things I truly enjoyed, like reading, knitting, and face-to-face interaction with friends. And the authors armed me with practical steps to refocus that attention on what mattered.

I dove into digital minimalism with enthusiasm, starting with Eyal's suggestions for dumbing down my smartphone. I turned off the color, shut off notification tones and badges, and moved distracting apps to a second home screen I couldn't access when the phone was in Focus mode. Then it was time to corral the collection of content that had run wild across my bookmarking and media apps.

It took days to go through the majority of my bookmarks, delete what I no longer wanted, and organize the rest with a system of subfolders and tags. As I had done during my physical declutter, I waved goodbye to content and apps that had long been taking up space and my fragmented attention started to unify for the first time in years. It was as if the brain I'd had when I was a kid was coming out of hibernation, the brain that could read an entire book in one sitting and had no problem staying focused on a game or craft for hours.

It felt like I was waking up.

I have to keep on top of my digital clutter every week

Is my system perfect? Of course not. But I've developed a weekly routine that helps me reign in digital clutter on a regular basis. Each week, I take about 30 minutes on Friday or Saturday to sort through anddelete saved content that no longer interests me. I turn the remaining content into reminders on my weekly schedule so I have something to read, watch, or listen to each day that's actually worth my time.

I often get busy and miss a week or two of digital cleanout. But learning about digital minimalism and doing a digital declutter has helped me become more focused—and think more seriously about how I spend my time and attention.

• In 2018, my husband and I had nearly 5 times more credit card debt than the average US household.
• So, in early 2019, we made a resolution to follow one simple rule. We called it Consumption.
• By spring 2019, we'd paid off our smallest revolving balance credit card and were debt-free by 2021.

Every Sunday night I opened my purse and piled up the weekend's bounty of receipts. This would typically trigger a piercing pain in my neck and shoulders and I'd start to feel hot. I was clearly stressed and for good reason.

It was 2018, and I was in my late 20s, married, a mother of three, and swimming in $32,000 of credit card debt — the average American household at that time had about $6,832.

Our spending, of course, added to the debt, but the interest was making it climb higher every month. We had no clue how to tackle this monster, and I couldn't stop spending.

How we got into so much debt

In the darkest of hours, I was dipping into future salaries. I'd promise myself that the check I'd receive in eight weeks would pay off that current weekend's haul.

I'd send huge lump sum credit card payments, only to turn around and swipe for groceries.

Groceries and household necessities like toilet paper, laundry detergent, and cleaning supplies made up the bulk of our joint spending, but then there were the others: sushi dinners, designer bags, and high-end makeup.

My husband and I grew up in lower middle-class homes. Necessities were provided, but luxuries were rare. We were approved for our first credit cards during the era of the YouTube haul and social media rise with little to no financial literacy, and our debt showed it.

I knew an income increase wouldn't solve our problems. My husband was already working two jobs. I worked full-time. His salary went to student loans. Mine went to daycare costs.

We had to change our habits. Decreasing our spending was the only way forward.

We eliminated our debt by turning it into a game

In 2019, Marie Kondo's Netflix Series, "Tidying Up with Marie Kondo," had everyone sifting through their belongings, keeping the joy sparking items and ridding of the rest.

Our New Year's resolution that year was to do both. We'd minimize our belongings and decrease our spending. We made a game of it that we called Consumption.

Consumption was simple: My husband and I vowed to not buy an item until we consumed the stock we had. With that one, simple rule, we would reduce our spending and clear the clutter simultaneously.

That new limited edition lotion? Use the Jergens in the toiletries closet. A new must-have foundation release? Finish the five in the vanity. The recipe calls for cinnamon sugar? Mix the cinnamon and sugar in the baking cabinet.

Things I couldn't consume, like the clothes I'd "one day fit into," I sold on Facebook Marketplace and sent the proceeds to debt. And things we wouldn't consume, like gifts with purchase, we donated to shelters.

As the year progressed, the thrill of an online purchase was replaced with the thrill of a used item or extra online payment.

"CONSUMPTION," I recall screaming as I ran to my husband proclaiming victory after finishing a facial moisturizer, going as far as cutting the tube and squeezing out the very last drop.

Social media became my accountability partner. I updated my Instagram, following mostly family and friends and unfollowing spend-triggering influencers and YouTubers. I started sharing each emptied product and skipped sales on stories.

Before Consumption, our income was about $4,000 a month, and we were spending half of it on frivolous stuff. Our simple game helped us see we could afford to send an extra $100 a month to our credit cards to pay down the debt.

We tackled our debt with the snowball effect

We had paid off our smallest revolving balance credit card by spring 2019.

After that, we tackled the larger balances via a method called the snowball effect, which I learned about in Dave Ramsey's "The 7 Baby Steps to Debt Freedom."

By 2021, we were debt-free and continue to live debt-free today.

We no longer run around screaming "Consumption!" but the values that game taught will last a lifetime.

For example, I graduated college in 2022 with $0 in student loans because I'd already paid the $28,000 in tuition fees in cash, grants, and scholarships.

We have an emergency fund, brokerage account, high-yield savings accounts, and retirement accounts.

My husband contributes 16% of his income to his 401k. We put away 20% of our net income to savings each month. And our mortgage is on track to be paid off 20 years early.

Our home is no longer overflowing with useless stuff. My headspace is much clearer. We're even better neighbors and happier parents. And that burning pain I used to get every Sunday is long gone.

• My kids have a hard time letting go, even if it's a broken figurine with a missing head.
• Their playroom was getting overfilled and out of control so I took up an annual ritual.
• Once a year, while the kids are at school, I declutter their playroom, tossing anything unnecessary.

Come December each year, my 4 and 7-year-old's playroom is piled high with loose Lego bricks, long-forgotten bags, and discarded crafts.

Throughout the year, whenever doting friends or family visit, they bring gifts, despite my protests. And lately, birthday parties have gotten out of hand with all the presents.

When I suggest we let go of some of these things, like the broken figurines with the missing heads, I am greeted with a symphony of "No mama, I want to keep them!"

This gets me anxious.

The holidays are coming, and despite reminders to family and friends that the kids need absolutely nothing, I know there will be a new toy garbage truck or Lego set coming our way very soon.

Not to mention, I work from home, and the kids' collections invade my workspace. So, about five years ago, I started an annual ritual to clear the clutter.

My rec room revamp has become an annual tradition

My ritual is always the same. One day each December, after lunch, while the kids are at school, I grab a garbage bag and get to work on reorganizing their play area.

I work quickly, making sure my own sentimentality doesn't hold me back. I immediately remove the broken and maimed toys, sorting through the cars and trucks. I also make sure all the art supplies are functional and worth keeping.

After all is said and done, I typically amass enough to fill two full garbage bags ready to donate and another smaller bag with the broken toys packed up for the week's garbage pick-up.

The first time I did this, I worried about how my kids would react when they came home and saw that their pirate ship, for example, was missing.

However, I have done my rec room revamp every December for the past five years, and my kids have yet to notice a single toy missing.

In fact, after school, when they come down to their kid cave and see it with less stuff, they get more excited to play with what's there.

The fake food and mini cash register that was once buried under all the now-disposed-of junk is front and center, ready for action.

The puzzles that had been hidden from view are now visible and very appealing. Oh, and not one word was said about the pirate ship.

My upbringing was very different

When I was a kid, I had a fraction of the toys as my kids. I remember a box of gently used Lincoln Logs and a few Barbies, which my dad glued back together when they broke.

Each Christmas, my sister and I would carefully curate a list of wanted items from the Sears catalog, which we never got. However, getting less made me appreciate the few toys I did receive, like my beloved Kenny Rogers Collector's album.

Looking back, there was one word I heard more than anything from my parents, "No."

No, you can't get that. No, you can't go over to her house, you didn't finish your homework. No, you can't order soda.

They were tired, worked multiple jobs, but didn't give in when I threw a tantrum and demanded a pack of Skittles at checkout.

Hearing "no" as much as I did was probably the best gift my parents could have given me. It helped me see that life isn't about getting everything you ask for. In fact, it's often when you don't get what you want that you learn to appreciate what you already have.

However, I'm not so good at always saying no to my children.

I usually let my kids pick out a treat at the grocery store, and when they were toddlers, they amassed quite the collection of Hot Wheels cars purchased from the checkout end cap to avoid a tantrum.

Sitting here, yet again, among all my kids' stuff about to embark on my annual downsizing, I think it's time to also sort through some of my parenting protocols.