If you're a Gen Xer, you know the drill. There's a closet stuffed with things you promised to sort through "someday." A garage that's less functional storage and more archaeological dig site. And somewhere in the back of your mind, a nagging thought: your kids are going to inherit all of this.

For one mother, that someday arrived after her parents died. She found herself drowning in their lifetime of possessions, spending months wading through forgotten boxes, faded memories, and what she described as "a shoebox full of phone numbers of people who no longer live."

"So! Much! Stuff!" she wrote on Reddit, recounting the exhausting ordeal. The experience left her with a clarity most people avoid: she didn't want to do this to her own children.

"What stuff do I have saved just to save it? Stuff I never look at?" she asked herself while sorting through her parents' belongings. The answer was uncomfortable. "We found so many things that are really cool but they were hidden away. They basically just took up space."

Nostalgia whispered in her ear to keep everything. Exhaustion told her to let it go. So she made a choice that felt almost radical: she rented a dumpster.

"I told my kids to get what they want because I'm getting rid of everything else," she explained. The goal wasn't minimalism for its own sake. It was about sparing her children the same "chaos" she'd just survived. She kept a few meaningful items, donated what made sense, and threw out the rest. "I don't want my kids to spend months going through my things and figuring out what to throw away, what to keep, and what to donate," she said. "It was freeing."

Her story resonated. Commenters flooded in with their own tales of multi-story cleanouts, dusty attics, and storage tubs no one had opened in decades. Many shared her perspective, while others offered tactical suggestions—like hiring estate sale companies that handle sorting, pricing, donating, and hauling in a matter of weeks. One person described how professionals cleared their parent's house in two weeks and even discovered a forgotten family photo tucked inside a book.

But not everyone found quick solutions. Another commenter confessed they were still drowning in four sets of china, "so many gravy boats," and glassware their own children didn't want. Thrift stores refused donations. Dumping it felt wasteful. What else was there to do?

This exact dilemma—keeping things no one wants simply because they once mattered to someone—explains why the self-storage industry is absolutely thriving. According to StorageCafe, 33% of Americans currently rent self-storage units, and nearly half say it's because they don't have enough space at home.

Public Storage's website shows that a medium 10×10 storage unit—large enough to hold the contents of a one-bedroom apartment—costs between $90 and $130 monthly. That's up to $1,560 per year, just to avoid making the hard decision to let stuff go.

In Philadelphia, one commenter noted that storage units "has become an epidemic," pointing out that "a lot of old historic buildings that have lost their long-time tenants just turn into a self storage place." They asked the obvious question: "Where does all of these possessions come from? Who's holding onto all this stuff? Is it worth it to pay for a 'condo' for all this junk?"

For some, the answer is clearly no—but it requires a mental shift. One clever approach? Actually use the nice things. "I started using everything," a commenter said. "Have your orange juice in a martini glass in the morning. Why not?" Others turned to digital solutions, photographing sentimental items and loading them onto digital frames, preserving the memory while freeing up physical space.

Some have embraced what's known as Swedish Death Cleaning. The concept is straightforward: around age 60, start intentionally decluttering so your children won't be stuck with the job later. One commenter, not yet 60, said they'd already adopted the philosophy. "Been slowly doing that ever since."

It's not always simple. Some memories genuinely deserve space, and the process can unearth unexpected grief. That's why others prefer a hybrid strategy. "We have started the mantra: Toss, Donate, Display," one parent shared. "If it doesn't mean enough to display, we don't need it." Another suggested creating a "holding area" for tougher decisions, admitting that after six months, those items usually get donated anyway.

Through all the strategies and philosophies, one truth became clear: dealing with someone else's lifetime of accumulation is never quick and rarely painless. Whether it's a three-story house or a retirement condo, the clutter doesn't disappear quietly. That's what made the original post so striking. She didn't wait. She didn't rationalize. She acted—so her kids wouldn't have to.

"Not putting your kids through that shows how much you love them," one commenter wrote.

She agreed wholeheartedly. "Everyone who wants to purge but keeps putting it off, do it! It's worth it. My mental health is better and my house looks a lot nicer."