I have a tendency to hold on to things. I like to think of myself as a “collector” — it sounds a bit more refined — because I enjoy gathering and keeping items that feel meaningful or useful. I’m always on the lookout for interesting things that can be reused in new and creative ways. Luckily, I work in a profession that embraces this approach (which is probably one of the reasons I do what I do).

This tendency sometimes clashes a bit with the fact that I also really love order. I’m not a fan of storage solutions or drawers stuffed full — that just doesn’t work for me. I like things to be accessible, not piled up. I really hate losing things I know are somewhere in the mess.

To balance these two tendencies, I regularly set aside time to sort and organize. I actually enjoy tossing things out and rearranging, moving things around, and reconsidering the order they’re kept in — both at home and at work. It feels a bit like flipping through an album or a scrapbook, rediscovering things, and choosing their place and importance anew — or deciding that something is no longer needed at all.

Lately, I’ve become more attuned to this feeling in my clients — that internal restlessness, mental clutter, that “too many open windows” sensation in the mind.

When I notice this kind of energy in the room, I sometimes suggest taking a break from the creative frenzy (which usually comes with a desire to accomplish a lot, harsh self-criticism, and pressure about the results). Instead of creating, I invite sorting — a physical sorting that also invites mental sorting as it progresses.

We might sort items or materials by shape, size, use, or color, and then dig into subtler differences and subcategories. I let the client decide the criteria, and I’m always surprised by the things that come up and matter to them. Sometimes the process is so enjoyable and soothing that clients ask me to bring something specific to sort together, sometimes over several sessions because the task is complex and involves many items.

This kind of sorting also often happens near the end of therapy processes — taking a focused look at the collection of works created during the process and organizing them. Even though it’s Passover season now, which often involves endings and transitions, this is a common time for therapy to wrap up. Maybe because the year is closing, and people try to get ahead of what’s late, or because the holiday itself invites a break between sessions — a world of cleansing and sorting that sometimes extends into the therapy room.

Sorting and organizing bring peace of mind, control, and a sense of capability. There’s a magic in the experience of feeling like we can manage the clutter and overwhelm around us, and that we can bring our personal logic into it. The ability to pause and look at “what’s here,” really seeing what’s in the space, and asking if all of it is needed — maybe we’ve lost our way amid all the tools, aids, and options, unable to see what truly matters. Letting go of what’s no longer needed — along with the fear that we might want it again someday — offers great relief and frees up room to live more authentically and simply.

So, amidst the pressure of cleaning, organizing, and the family gatherings ahead, I encourage you to take real stock. Let go of what weighs down your closets and shelves. Air out your storage spaces and pass along things that have been sitting unused for a long time. Through the items you release, you’ll free yourself from the burden that comes with holding on — making genuine space for what’s relevant now in your life.

I highly recommend doing this with your children too. Teach them to part with their belongings and creations with love and without dramatic stories, simply with the understanding that the item has served its purpose and can now make way for something new. Guide them and share the relief of a tidy, open space. Help them understand what they truly need, what’s hard to let go of and why, what has value to them and why — these are important, lifelong lessons that can and should start in childhood. It’s not too much for them.

Wishing you a joyful Passover—a holiday of freedom, with clarity, space, and cleanliness in both heart and mind.