So many of us pride ourselves on being able to manage. We soldier on, keep busy, and tell ourselves we’re fine. But when life hands us something heavy, like the loss of someone we love, that instinct to “manage” can quietly become a weight we carry for far too long.
I have struggled recently putting my business out there, and by that, I mean my face! However, I realise that if I am expecting people to ask me for help when they are feeling their most vulnerable then I need to ask for help with this. I did, and of course it is opening up conversations, finding common themes and connecting me with the people I want to align my business with.
When my own parents died, close together, clearing their apartment was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Of course, I understand now I was trying to do it in a time when I was probably feeling the saddest ever in my life. It wasn’t just the physical work, it was the emotion tucked into every corner, every drawer, every object. Each decision felt enormous. And yet, even in that exhaustion, I found it hard to ask anyone for help. I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. I didn’t know how to explain what I needed. I just kept saying, “I’ll manage.”
There’s something very Irish about that. We’re known for our warmth, our humour, our sense of community, but also for our reluctance to be a bother. We’ll show up instantly for someone else, yet hesitate to accept help ourselves. I was the biggest offender of this! It’s a kind of pride that comes from generations of resilience, and while it’s admirable, it can leave us feeling isolated when we need connection the most. It can also help us avoid how we are actually feeling and having to process in some way.
We tell ourselves that others are worse off than us and for me it was a ‘natural order’ loss. Sometimes that stoicism keeps us from the very support that could make things gentler, easier, and more healing. Having gone to therapy I understood it wasn’t normal for parents to die within ten days of each other!
There are many reasons asking for help feels so hard. Pride is one thing but fear can be another. Fear of being judged, or of becoming someone else’s burden. And often, when we’re grieving, we don’t even know what kind of help to ask for. The fog of loss can make even small decisions feel enormous. It’s easier to just keep going, one drawer or one day at a time, even if it’s quietly breaking our hearts.
I remember standing in my parents’ apartment, holding something as ordinary as a mug, and feeling completely undone. How could I explain that kind of moment to anyone? How could I ask for help with that?
Grief is heavy, it’s not linear and it doesn’t respond to a schedule, even though I wanted it to! There’s a strange pressure to “get through it,” to keep life moving, to make the practical arrangements and eventually “get back to normal.” But when someone we love dies, there is no normal to return to but rather a life that has completely changed and we have to learn to live around.
Clearing a loved one’s home is never just about sorting through belongings. It’s about navigating love, memory, and identity. Each object tells a story, and letting go of it can feel like letting go of a piece of that person. No wonder it feels impossible at times and no wonder we hesitate to ask for help.
What I’ve come to learn, both through my own experience and through the work I now do is that asking for help isn’t weakness. It’s a form of care. It’s saying, what I need matters and I can’t do it alone. No one is meant to do it alone. Grief is something we live through together, even when it’s quiet, even when we don’t know what to say.
That’s really where Kindred Sorting began. I wanted to offer the kind of help I wish I’d had or rather that I needed. A gentle, practical support for people who are trying to make sense of loss, and who want to do it with compassion, sustainability, and respect. Clearing a home can be a deeply human process when done with understanding. It doesn’t have to be rushed or transactional. It can be a way of honouring someone’s life.
If you find yourself saying “Ah sure, I’ll manage,” maybe pause for a moment. Maybe you don’t have to manage it all. Maybe letting someone help is the strongest, most human thing you can do for yourself.
What I bring to this enormous task is organisation, ideas, crafters, energy, sustainable options but mostly and more importantly compassion, understanding, time and thought.
If you’re facing the task of clearing a loved one’s home and don’t know where to start, you can reach out any time to start the conversation. Kindred Sorting was built from this experience. Trying to make a painful process a little lighter, a little kinder, and a lot more human.
Kindred Sorting 