u/-marshmallowperfume

I moved into my place a year ago with almost no furniture (my bed, bedside table, and a tv table) and have slowly and finally furnished my apartment — except my closet. I have no organizational system, clothes are on the floor or in cardboard boxes still. I didn't have enough hangers to put up all my hangables, I have boxes of non-clothes in there that need to be sorted, I need to purge a lot of stuff, and I have SO MUCH to fold. It's daunting!!

I just bought 30 new hangers (should be enough!) and 4 plastic bins for the meantime til I can get a cabinet or chest of drawers. I have a plan, it's just going to be time consuming and I know I'm going to wish I had help, but I also know I got this. Or I think I got this. :)

I love this sub, it has helped me so much. I hadn't lived on my own in almost a decade and my old house had built ins in the closets, so I went from organized to a year of chaos! With all y'all's advice in other post, I am ready to reign that chaos in and have a closet I'm not embarrassed by when people walk through it to go to the bathroom!

Wish me luck, leave some kind words, give me advice, point me towards an affordable and stylish (and preferably in the teal/haint blue/sage green color scheme) chest of drawers! I have a place in my bedroom for one and while I do love a couple of IKEA pieces, I would like to expand my search!

Thank you!

I will have lived on my own again for a year on May 17th. I have re-signed my lease, added my cat to it, and am absolutely over the moon!

I'm 41 (42 on Thursday!), chronically ill, and financially dependent on my well-off family. I have been sick since I was little, I have never been able to work.

My parents and grandma are amazing people, but they are cloying and treat me like I'm a sickly Victorian child even though modern medicine is pretty miraculous and I'm a fucking resilient, strong bitch. After a health scare, they made me move back in with them, and they would support me moving out to have independence til they decided I was well enough ... a decade later.

I'm sitting on the sofa watching a podcast, swimming in my light high (I rarely dip into weed until the evening, but needed some anxiety intervention today), and thinking about a guy I really like I had a date with over the weekend. My life fucking rules because I live alone with my cat; I never got to have a cat, watch what I wanted, relieve anxiety, vape inside, or date when I lived with my family.

I just talked to my dad on the phone, he was being over-concerned, over-involved, overbearing in the name of "advice" about a medication I'm trying. Advice I didn't ask for, but like all his concern, "it's coming from a good place!" so I guess that means I have to listen. So I listened, and then dumped it out as I hung up from him without a soured mood because I'm in my own bright, sunny apartment, by my own damn self. He can stress himself out all he wants—I am unbothered, in my lane, moisturized, good hair, etc.

It's a process.