I'm a professional organizer. Helping my 89-year-old mom downsize was emotionally brutal.

• Regina Lark owns an organizing business that often works with older adults.
• Last year, she helped her mom downsize from a home to a small apartment.
• She said downsizing has freed up mental space for her mom, who is 89.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Regina Lark, founder of A Clear Path. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When it comes to clutter, my parents were a case of opposites attract. My dad had a shorthand saying: "ABC." It meant "always be clearing." My mother, on the other hand, loved beautiful things and collected them without much rhyme, reason, or organization.

I always followed my dad's footsteps more closely. Although I hold a doctorate and have a career in academia, I started a professional organizing company 17 years ago. Today, A Clear Path has 17 employees, helping people declutter, organize, downsize, pack, and move.

We often work with older adults, but I was still surprised by the emotional negotiations that went into helping my mom downsize.

I took decisive action on items I knew my mom wouldn't need

Last year, my mother's partner died. She had few financial assets, and he had owned the house, which meant she needed to leave quickly. That would be complicated for anyone, but especially for a woman who has acquired many items through her nine decades on earth, from furniture and artifacts to art and books.

Suddenly, she had to decide what to take from her 1,600-square-foot home to a one-bedroom apartment. Choosing what to get rid of in a rush was anxiety-producing.

If I were working with a client, I would have discussed every decision thoroughly. But as a daughter, I wanted to move quickly and save my mother some angst. I spent about five hours getting rid of items I knew she wouldn't need again, like gardening equipment.

My mom was grieving, but also had more mental space

My mom moved next door to me, which meant we were closer than we'd been since I was 18. I noticed that she was mourning not only her partner, but also the feeling she had of being surrounded by all her beautiful things.

At the same time, I see how light she is because she no longer has to worry about all her stuff. For years, she would ask me almost every weekend to help her organize. Now, she didn't need to worry about that, which gave her more mental space. She's started taking improv comedy classes, something she's always wanted to do but never made time for.

There's conflict there, at the intersection of grief and freedom. I realized that my mom was negotiating between her past and her future, even at 89.

Items become entwined with people's identity

People used to complement my mom's decor, and she took pride in that. Her belongings became an integral part of her identity. I see this a lot — one client even said to me, "Without all my concert T-shirts, how will people know I used to be cool?"

Oftentimes, older people need the confidence to know who they are without their items. That man was cool, even without his shirts. For my mom, improv class confirmed that she was quick and funny — things she'd always thought about herself, but never had validated.

People also assign value to items when the value is wrapped up in relationships. If you loved your aunt, you might love the pillow she embroidered; or you might keep every card because you respect the people who sent them. Shifting perspective can help you let go of the pillow, while still carrying the love you have for your aunt—and it can help you throw away those cards!

I refused to take any of my mom's items out of guilt

One challenge we didn't need to deal with was my mom giving her items to me (or my sisters). She learned to stop asking years ago. Nothing gets through the door of my house unless I know exactly where it's going to live.

Too often, I see the younger generation accept items out of a sense of guilt. Others, like me, think some family heirlooms should have been gotten rid of generations ago.

I have items that I truly treasure, such as prayer flags. Each time I see them, I think about a specific camping trip and the feelings I had. Yet, that's individual to me. I don't care what happens to them when I'm gone.