In addition to decluttering and organizing a client’s house from top to bottom, and putting in place systems to make both her personal and professional lives function more smoothly, over the past two-plus years I have also been working with her to produce a book. 

When I first met this client, she took out a tattered tan duffel bag, opened it, and showed me the bundles of rolled-up letters inside. These were her father’s daily accounts to her mother from the USS Hope, a WWII Navy hospital ship. Her dad had served as the Hope’s Chief Medical Officer from July 1944 through October 1945, treating wounded soldiers on the front lines of the Pacific Theatre.

In the course of co-editing Love and Kisses, Norman,* I helped her make difficult decisions about which personal stories to tell, which to redact, and which to omit altogether. I edited an introduction that depicted her own perspective on that time, and on her families’ trajectory from the immediate post-war era into the present. I learned details about my client’s family that some of her own children hadn’t known. And, last week, as I listened to her describe the joy of the production process and read poignant excerpts at a book event, I got to fully appreciate the immense fulfillment it brought her, her children, grandchildren, and her community of friends and family. 

As our ethics courses and professional training remind us, while organizers advise clients on very personal matters and maintain a strict code of confidentiality, we are not therapists. Technically correct, but also not the practical reality. As we help clients sort through boxes of family photos, memorabilia, and stories, the grateful feedback that we are “like,” or even “better than,” therapists feels good and rings true.

This is not to suggest that every organizer is also co-editor (or any of the many other roles we have taken on over time). But it does demonstrate three important realities: 1) we come into this profession, from a wide range of others; 2) we choose this profession because we find joy in helping people get their homes, offices, and other aspects of their lives, in good shape; and 3) we earn our clients’ trust, not just with respect to organizing and decluttering, but with the range of other skills and knowledge we bring to our work.

So when I get a call and hear “I have a request that I’m guessing is a first,” I step right into my new role as “personal shopper.” While helping this client find just the right dress for her granddaughter’s upcoming wedding might not be in my job description, it is the best way I can support her this week. (And I am totally adding it to my resumè.)

* Express permission to share details was granted for this post.