Minimalism as a maximalist’s child
Finding Balance in a World of Extremes
I never imagined I’d crave simplicity. Growing up, I was the child of a maximalist—someone who embraced abundance with open arms. Our home was a kaleidoscope of textures, colors, and keepsakes. There were books stacked on every available surface, closets overflowing with possibilities, and a kitchen brimming with ingredients for any culinary whim. Life was big, bold, and beautiful—and for a long time, I believed that was the only way to live.
Yet somewhere along the way, I felt the pull toward minimalism. Not because I suddenly hated the fullness of my upbringing, but because I craved breathing room in my soul. This is a journey not about renouncing what raised me, but about redefining what fullness means. As a maximalist’s child, I’ve found myself carving out a new path: a middle ground where both simplicity and abundance coexist.
In this post, I want to share the lessons I’ve learned about minimalism through the lens of growing up surrounded by more, and how the call to simplicity doesn’t have to feel like a rejection of beauty, but rather an invitation to intentional living.
Understanding the Heart of Maximalism
To understand why minimalism spoke to me, I first had to appreciate the beauty of maximalism. My childhood home was alive. It was a place where collections told stories and every surface had a memory etched into it. My mother (or father) would often say, “This is more than just stuff—this is life.” And it was true.
Maximalism, at its core, is about connection. It’s the joy of layering memories, embracing the richness of experience, and surrounding yourself with objects that bring comfort, joy, and inspiration. It taught me that beauty is meant to be enjoyed, not hidden away. But, there’s a fine line between abundance and overwhelm.
What I didn’t realize as a child was that even abundance needs boundaries. Without them, joy can become noise, and the very things meant to bring peace can turn into a source of stress.
The Shift Toward Minimalism: A Subtle Invitation
I didn’t wake up one day and decide to be a minimalist. It happened quietly, almost imperceptibly. It began with a longing for quiet. Not just physical space, but mental and emotional space. I found myself feeling weighted down—not by my belongings, but by the expectations and noise of a cluttered life.
Minimalism isn’t about owning fewer things just for the sake of it. It’s about clarity. It’s about choosing what matters and letting go of the rest. The shift came when I realized I didn’t have to reject my maximalist roots to embrace simplicity. Instead, I could honor them by choosing intentionally.
Embracing Minimalism Without Losing Beauty
One of the myths of minimalism is that it’s sterile, boring, or devoid of personality. Growing up as a maximalist’s child, I knew beauty wasn’t something I wanted to sacrifice. Minimalism, to me, isn’t about stripping life bare—it’s about curating it.
Here’s how I’ve learned to balance the two:
Edit, Don’t Erase. I didn’t throw away all my keepsakes or favorite books. Instead, I asked myself: Does this bring joy or weigh me down? It’s a process of editing, not erasing.
Quality Over Quantity. I grew up surrounded by abundance, but I’ve learned that fewer, well-loved items often bring more joy. I now choose pieces that feel special rather than many that feel ordinary.
Create Breathing Space. I realized that white space—whether on a shelf or in my calendar—brings a kind of peace that clutter never could. There’s beauty in empty spaces that let the eye and mind rest.
The Sacredness of Simplicity in Faith
As a Christian, I’ve come to see minimalism as a spiritual practice. The Bible invites us to live simply and focus on what truly matters. Jesus Himself lived with little, emphasizing the importance of relationships over possessions, and presence over productivity.
In Matthew 6:19-21, Jesus says:
"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven."
This verse isn’t a call to reject beauty but a reminder that our hearts should be focused on what lasts—faith, love, community, and service. Minimalism, in this light, becomes less about deprivation and more about devotion. It’s about letting go of what distracts us from God’s presence.
Lessons from a Maximalist Parent
While my journey has led me toward minimalism, I still cherish the lessons I learned from my maximalist parent. Here are a few I hold close:
Celebrate Beauty. My parent taught me to find beauty everywhere—in the ordinary and the extravagant. Minimalism isn’t about rejecting beauty, but finding it in simplicity.
Be Generous. A maximalist often has an open hand, willing to share abundance with others. Minimalism can learn from this, embracing generosity with time, energy, and resources.
Live Fully. Maximalism is about fullness, and minimalism can be too—just in a different way. It’s about being fully present, fully engaged, and fully alive in each moment.
Finding Balance: A Hybrid Life
For those of us raised in a maximalist home, minimalism can feel like a stark contrast. But it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. I’ve found peace in embracing a hybrid life—a life that values simplicity while honoring the fullness I was raised with.
Here’s how I find balance:
Rotating Keepsakes. Instead of displaying everything all at once, I rotate cherished items. This allows me to enjoy them without feeling overwhelmed.
Seasonal Abundance. I embrace abundance in seasons—decorating fully for Christmas, but keeping it simple the rest of the year.
Intentional Collecting. I still collect, but I’m intentional. Instead of collecting for the sake of it, I ask: Does this tell a story? Does it inspire me?
Minimalism as a Legacy
I’ve come to see minimalism as a legacy I want to pass on to my children. Not because I want them to reject abundance, but because I want them to understand the value of intentionality. I want them to know that life isn’t about how much you have, but how much you cherish what you have.
Minimalism isn’t about less for the sake of less. It’s about making room—for joy, for faith, for relationships, for what truly matters. It’s about embracing what God has given us with open hands, willing to let go of what doesn’t serve us anymore.
Conclusion: Finding Joy in the In-Between
As a maximalist’s child, minimalism has taught me that less can be just as beautiful as more. It’s not about rejecting my roots but refining them. It’s about finding joy in the in-between, where abundance meets simplicity, and beauty finds balance in quiet spaces.
Whether you lean toward maximalism or minimalism, the invitation is the same: live intentionally. Choose what matters. Let go of what doesn’t. And remember that a life well-lived isn’t defined by how much you have, but by how much meaning you find in the spaces in between.