How a closet full of family memories reminded me why I organize in layers—and why you don't have to finish every detail to make a space functional.
I stood in front of my closet, staring at a mountain of plastic totes, cardboard boxes, photo albums, and containers stacked on top of one another. And I thought, what in the world am I going to do with all of this?
Now, here's the funny part. I'm a professional organizer.
I help other people figure out exactly this kind of problem. But there I was, looking at my own closet, wondering whether I needed to buy another shelving unit to make the space usable.
And to be fair, it looked like I did.
Four large green totes were stacked on top of one another. Boxes were piled in front of them. More boxes filled the upper shelf. And somewhere in that collection were photographs spanning my childhood, my children's childhoods, and even memories from my mother and grandmother.
But before I tell you how I ended up with this mountain of memories, you should know something. I thought this closet was organized.
Years ago, after my divorce, I moved. And like anyone who's ever packed up a home filled with decades of family memories, I had decisions to make. What was I going to do with all those framed family photographs that had once hung on my walls? The portraits of my children, the family pictures, and the photographs that had been part of my everyday life? I wasn't ready to hang them in my new place. But I certainly wasn't going to get rid of them. So I decided to create one designated space for everything related to family photographs.
Photo albums? Closet.
Loose photographs? Closet.
Framed family portraits? Closet.
Empty frames and scrapbooking supplies? You guessed it. Closet.
And at the time, it made perfect sense. Everything had a home.
I knew exactly where to find my photographs. Or so I thought.
For years, I didn't think much about that closet. Why would I? As far as I was concerned, I'd already organized it.
Until one day, I wanted to find a particular photograph. It was a picture of me as a little girl, and I remembered how much I looked like my granddaughter then. I wanted to see it again. Such a simple thing, right?
Except when I opened the closet, I realized I had absolutely no idea which container held that photograph. And finding it meant moving boxes, unstacking totes, opening containers, and digging through years of memories. By that point, looking at family photographs sounded more like moving day than a pleasant afternoon.
And that bothered me.
Because these weren't things I wanted to get rid of.
These were things I wanted to enjoy.
The Closet Was Organized. Or So I Thought.
Years ago, I'd already gone through this collection. I'd eliminated duplicates, condensed boxes, and gotten rid of things I didn't want. I'd even established what I thought was a pretty good system. Everything related to personal photographs went into one closet.
And at that point in my life, that was exactly what I needed. But there's a difference between knowing where something is and being able to get to it. I knew where my childhood photographs were. I couldn't tell you which box contained them without practically excavating the closet. My original system solved the location problem. Everything was in the right room, but it hadn't solved the problem of accessibility.
And that's where this story gets interesting.
I Almost Bought the Wrong Solution
My first thought was shelving. If I could get the albums out of those totes and line them up like books, I could walk into the closet, find the album I wanted, and pull it right off the shelf.
I started looking at shelving units. One was too tall. Another was too deep. I even considered repurposing a metal shelving unit I already owned. It measured four feet wide and two feet deep. On paper, that sounded promising. In reality, it would have filled practically every available inch of the closet. I wasn't even sure the doors would close. I tested one of my large green totes sideways in the closet. Nope. The door wouldn't close. Then I found a shelving unit online for around $120. It was 18 inches deep, which was much closer to what I wanted. And I'm glad I didn't buy it on impulse because I needed to discover something first before I started the entire project. I was trying to design storage for a collection I hadn't examined in years. I couldn't remember exactly what was in those totes. They'd been sitting in that closet for years because I believed I'd already organized everything; I'd never had much reason to revisit them.
I remembered having lots of photo albums.
Or at least I thought I remembered having lots of photo albums.
So I started pulling everything out.
To my surprise, those totes weren't all filled with albums. A substantial portion of the collection was framed family photographs that had once hung on my walls.
There were portraits of my children, family pictures, and photographs I'd taken down during my divorce. I'd kept them because I wanted to hang them again someday, when I settled in my home.
Then there were completed albums. Loose photographs. Empty albums. Unused picture frames. Scrapbooking materials. Family VHS tapes. Suddenly, I realized something. I didn't have a collection of photo albums. I had several smaller categories sharing the containers.
This is where my organizing method really came into play.
I like to organize in layers.
I start with the big picture - the macro - and work toward the smaller details - the micro.
And I don't move to the next layer until the current one makes sense. So instead of opening every album and sorting every loose photograph, I started creating categories.
Completed albums together.
Framed photographs together.
Loose photographs together.
Unused frames and albums together.
VHS tapes together.
Miscellaneous photo-related supplies together.
That's it.
And something remarkable happened. The collection started shrinking because I was eliminating the wasted space created by how everything had been stored. All those unused frames and empty albums I'd deliberately kept for future use? They fit into one small box.
The loose photographs I'd thought were scattered throughout an enormous collection? I found shoebox-sized photo containers and some plastic photo cases.
The completed albums? There were far fewer than I'd imagined.
The more I separated the categories, the clearer the storage solution became. I wasn't trying to fit four green totes into the closet anymore. I was figuring out where each category belonged.
That $120 shelving unit?
I didn't need it.
Once I'd pulled out the albums, I discovered that the ones I wanted to browse could stand upright on the existing upper closet shelf. Just like books. I could pull one out without moving a tower of plastic containers. And the lower closet could hold the remaining categories.
I had spent all that time trying to figure out which shelving unit would fit the green totes.
But once the albums came out of the totes, I didn't need the green totes at all.
Four totes and a pile of cardboard boxes were suddenly empty.
Think about that for a moment.
I almost bought more storage because I thought I had no choice if I wanted accessibility. But what I really needed was to stop storing unrelated categories together in containers. The space hadn't changed. The photographs hadn't disappeared. The way I was using the space had changed.
My Favorite Discovery Was an Old Red Chest. While sorting through everything, I found a red chest that belonged to my mother. Years ago, when I worked with a funeral home, I'd used that chest as part of a display about telling your story and being remembered. I always liked it, and I'd kept it. This time, I found it a new purpose. I had three boxes of family VHS tapes. Three boxes of memories I couldn't even watch right now because I no longer own a VHS player. Those tapes didn't need the most convenient spot in the closet. They just needed a safe, designated home until I decided what to do with them. All three boxes fit inside that one red chest.
Not only had I consolidated another category, but I was using something meaningful that I already owned. A chest that once helped encourage people to preserve their stories was now holding part of my own family's story. Sometimes the best organizing solution isn't something you order online. It's something you've had for years, waiting for the right purpose.
Now, let me tell you where this project could have taken a completely different turn.
Remember those loose photographs? I had boxes and boxes of them. And if you've ever opened a box of old family pictures, you know exactly what can happen. You pull out one photograph. Then I might have found pictures from a birthday party. Then a vacation. And suddenly, you're sitting on the floor, surrounded by memories, while the closet you intended to organize is still in pieces.
I could easily have spent an entire afternoon doing exactly that.
Would that have been enjoyable?
Probably!
Would it have accomplished my goal of making the closet functional? Not even close.
I wasn't looking for an afternoon of reminiscing. I was trying to make it possible to find those photographs whenever I wanted. And that required me to stay focused on the bigger picture. So I gave the loose photographs their own category and kept moving.
As I continued, I discovered something else. I already owned plastic photo organizers I wasn't using. Which meant I had a perfectly good solution waiting for those loose photographs when I was ready to tackle them. But I didn't have to tackle them that day.
That realization is at the heart of how I organize.
Why I Organize in Layers
I didn't reorganize the photographs inside the boxes, rearrange the albums, or start filling empty albums.
I established categories, assigned them homes, and made sure I could retrieve what I wanted without moving half the closet.
And when that was done?
I could close the closet doors and call the project a success even though thousands of individual photographs were still waiting for attention.
My Organizing Method: Macro to Micro, One Layer at a Time
Here's something I've learned over the years. When you look at a cluttered space, it's easy to see everything that needs attention.
The closet needs organizing.
The photographs need sorting.
The albums need filling.
The frames need decisions.
The VHS tapes might need digitizing.
Before you know it, what started as one closet has turned into six different projects. And suddenly, the whole thing feels exhausting.
That's why I work from macro to micro.
I start with the largest problem I need to solve and work inward, one layer at a time.
Because putting photographs into individual albums is another layer entirely.
That's the micro work.
Maybe I'll do it tomorrow.
Maybe next month.
Maybe next year.
Maybe I'll decide I don't need to put every photograph into an album at all.
The important thing is that each completed layer makes the space more functional without requiring me to complete every layer that follows.
This is something I wish more people understood.
You don't have to organize every drawer to organize a room, sort every receipt to create a functional filing system, or decide where every childhood photograph belongs before you can enjoy opening your photo closet.
You can solve the larger problem first. Then, when you have the time and energy, you can work on the details. And because the larger system already functions, you aren't starting from chaos every time you return.
Years ago, my macro goal was to get all my photographs into one closet.
And I accomplished that.
At that stage, having everything in one place was enough.
This time, my macro goal was different. I wanted to make the closet functional.
That meant understanding what was inside the containers, separating the categories, and giving everything an accessible home.
Once that was done, the closet was finished as far as I was concerned.
Now I can look at the loose photographs as their own project.
My next goal might be as simple as transferring them into those plastic photo organizers I already own.
That's a manageable afternoon.
And once those photographs have a home, I can decide whether I want to take the next step. Maybe I'll arrange them into albums. Or maybe I'll leave them in the photo organizers because that works perfectly well for me. The important thing is that each layer stands on its own. I don't have to finish the next layer for the previous one to succeed.
Imagine Applying This to Your Kitchen
Let's say you're standing in your kitchen, frustrated because your cabinets are overflowing. You open a drawer and find three spatulas, two sets of measuring spoons, a vegetable peeler, birthday candles, batteries, and a screwdriver. You could spend the next hour deciding which spatula is your favorite and shopping for the perfect drawer divider.
But would that solve the problem?
Not really.
You still haven't figured out why the screwdriver and birthday candles are sharing a drawer with your cooking utensils. Instead, imagine pulling back and looking at the kitchen as a whole. You find baking supplies scattered across cabinets. Everyday cooking utensils are mixed with gadgets you use twice a year. And the cabinet closest to the stove is filled with things you rarely touch.
Now you're seeing the real problem. You start gathering similar items together and deciding where each category makes the most sense.
And the screwdriver finally finds its way back to the toolbox.
When you open that kitchen drawer again, you might discover you don't need a divider at all.
Or perhaps you do. But now you know exactly what the divider needs to hold.
That's what working in layers does.
It keeps you from spending time and money solving little problems before you understand the big one. And when you're ready to organize those measuring spoons, you can give them your full attention without an entire kitchen waiting to be put back together.
That's the power of working in layers. The big picture tells you which details actually matter.
There's a question I think is worth asking before you start organizing any space:
What problem am I actually trying to solve?
Not what could be organized.
Not how many little details need attention.
What would make this space work better for you?
For me, it was being able to find and enjoy my family photographs.
That was the goal.
And once I accomplished it, I didn't need to invent another dozen tasks to call the project complete.
I think that's where so many people get stuck with organizing. They imagine the finished result, including every perfectly arranged drawer, labeled container, and neatly sorted photograph.
Then they look at the amount of work between where they are and that picture in their mind. And they don't know where to begin. But what if you didn't have to do all of that? What if your first layer was getting similar things together?
What if your second layer was finding a functional home for those categories? And what if you could stop right there, enjoy the improvement, and come back to the finer details when you wanted to?
You might discover, just as I did, that the next layer is much easier once the big picture makes sense. And you might also discover that some of those details you thought were so important don't need your attention at all.
That's the beauty of organizing in layers. You're not trying to finish every possible project. This also cuts down on decision fatigue for each project you want to accomplish.
And sometimes, as I learned from a closet full of family photographs, the best organizing solution is the $120 you didn't spend.
At Clutter 2 Confidence, I believe organizing should make your home work for the life you're living. If you're overwhelmed by where to begin, my 30-Day Decluttering Challenge helps you build momentum one manageable layer at a time.