Moving: A 3-Day Adventure That Actually Takes 3-6 Business Months
- Karmin Walker
- Jun 26
- 3 min read
So, you’ve moved. Congratulations! 🎉 You’ve successfully boxed up your life, cried at least once in the process, and maybe thrown out 7.5 trash bags of “Why did I even keep this?”
junk. The hard part’s over, right?
Wrong.
Welcome to the Unpacking Phase, aka the Endless Era, aka Where Boxes Go to Die.
Act I: The Ambitious Beginning
"We’ll have everything unpacked by the weekend!"
Oh, sweet summer child.
You start strong. You have a playlist, you’ve labeled the boxes like a pro (Kitchen, Bathroom, Things That Will Emotionally Destroy Me If Lost), and you even bought those fancy plastic bins because you swear you're going to be organized this time.
You open three boxes.
One of them is filled entirely with tangled cords, 17 pens, and a random sock you haven’t seen since 2019. You close that one. “Later,” you whisper.
You spend two hours perfectly arranging your spice rack.
You are now exhausted and somehow emotionally drained.
Act II: Denial, Avoidance, and Decorative Pillows
You’re technically “moved in” because you have Wi-Fi, a working toilet, and enough clean dishes to eat cereal.
The rest?
Your guest room is a Box Forest. You keep the door closed. It doesn’t exist.
You have a “miscellaneous” box that haunts you. It contains receipts, a Halloween wig, and probably your soul.
Your shower curtain is duct-taped to the wall because you swear you’ll install the real rod this weekend.
You’ve been living out of a suitcase in your own home for three weeks like a business traveler with trust issues.
Act III: Settling In (aka Giving Up and Calling It "Minimalist")
At this point, unpacking is not just a task—it’s a lifestyle.
Some boxes are furniture now. One of them holds up your lamp. Another is doubling as a “temporary” coffee table. Temporary = six months.
You’ve developed a full emotional arc with your unpacking process:
Denial: “It’s fine, we’re still getting settled.”
Anger: “WHY ARE THERE SO MANY CORDS.”
Bargaining: “If I unpack two boxes, I can order takeout and binge-watch something for seven hours.”
Depression: sits on unopened box labeled "Office" and stares into the void
Acceptance: “This is just how I live now.”
You’re not even unpacking anymore. You’re just discovering things. One day you find your vegetable peeler in a box marked “Books & Bath Mats.” You cry a little. From joy? From fatigue? Unclear.
Tips for Surviving the Long Haul of the Unpackening
Prioritize Survival Zones: Kitchen, bathroom, bed. The rest? Optional. You can wear the same three outfits on rotation like a cartoon character until morale improves.
Create a Fake Deadline: Hosting people is the fastest way to unpack. Tell someone you're having a dinner party in two weeks. Panic is a powerful motivator.
Reward Yourself: One box = one cookie. Two boxes = a drink. Three boxes = you’re a hero and deserve a vacation.
Accept the Chaos: Some boxes won’t get opened for months. Some items you’ll never find again and will just assume were sacrificed to the Moving Gods. That’s okay.
Keep a Sense of Humor: When you find your toaster wrapped in a bath towel next to your blender and your wedding album, just laugh. You were tired when you packed. You did your best.
Final Thoughts: You’re Not Alone
If it’s been three months and you're still opening boxes like it’s a daily advent calendar, just know: you are completely normal. Some people unpack in a weekend. Those people are either lying or possessed.
For the rest of us? Take it slow. Laugh at the absurdity. Celebrate the little victories (like finally finding your matching socks). And above all, remember: your house doesn’t have to look perfect to feel like home.
Especially if it's held together with love, coffee, and maybe one or two unopened boxes labeled "Important??"
P.S. That box labeled "Bathroom Stuff" that’s been in the hallway for six weeks? It’s your curling iron and your peace of mind. Go forth and unpack it… or just throw a blanket over it and call it an end table.
You do you, homeowner.
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