Minimalism as a Sanity Keeper when You’re a Triplet Mom

I still remember that day. We went in for an echo, expecting the normal moment of wonder and nerves, but came out with three heartbeats instead of one. Joy. Love. Shock. Then, almost soon, comes the most unromantic question of all: How the hell do you handle three babies?

We had just moved to a new place. We didn’t have any extra space. Just one room for three small humans on the way. And somewhere in the midst of the joy, discomfort, and mental math of strollers, cribs, and diapers, I realized something: I was not going to do this with vibes.

So I did what every stressed-out, slightly afraid soon-to-be parent does: I started looking for solutions. Tips. Systems. Wisdom. Anything. When I searched for “how to be a mom of three,” I found that the topic is not easily packaged in blog posts or books. (Shocking, right?)

Even when I found anything beneficial, it just felt like ideas, not solutions. But I didn’t need additional ideas. I wanted a means to get through my own life without losing my mind. That’s when I came across minimalism—not as an aesthetic, a personality feature, or a “buy fewer things and feel superior” lifestyle. I saw it as something completely different—a sanity-keeper.

Because if your life is about to triple overnight, you don’t need a lovely house. You need a functional home. You need to make decisions that are easier. You need fewer items that compete for your time, money, attention, and energy. Your space must cease working against you.

And here’s the thing: My house isn’t beige, and it’s not calm.

It is not a minimalist museum with a single lovely wooden toy arranged delicately in a basket. My house is real. There is a mess. There are piles. There are days when it appears as if a small, loud tornado lives here, and it does. And with toddler triplets, “sharing” usually means having three identical toys, because otherwise... You don’t want to know...

I get when people simplify minimalism to “declutter your closet” or “own less,” but I also want to mix things up a bit. Because decluttering is only the starting point. Minimalism, at least for me, has evolved into a strategy for maintaining a stable lifestyle.

It gave me space to breathe. Not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally. The kind of breathing room that feels like returning to your body after being in panic mode. It helped me stop feeling judged by my situation.

Minimalism does not demand perfection.

I didn’t have to change who I was. It didn’t warn me I was doing it incorrectly because my living space didn’t look like a Scandinavian advertisement. It provided me with something far more useful: Adaptability.

And, over time, I began implementing minor rules that sound basic but feel like life support when your brain is saturated:

• One in, one out (otherwise the home will grow like mold).

• 48 hours before purchasing (since “I need this” is frequently “I’m overstimulated”)

• Toy rotation (not for Instagram stories, but for my survival).

• Moving slowly and imperfectly towards a capsule wardrobe (less washing drama, fewer decisions).

• Learning to distinguish between useful and just-in-case.

• Learning that “enough” is not a quantity, but a sensation of not drowning.

None of these made my life miraculously easier, but they made things manageable.

Minimalism has no finish line. It is a relationship that you return to, especially when life gets loud.