Moving my stash of wedding craft supplies and projects over to my mother's house today, I had a frightening, important realization: I have too much DIY shit for this wedding.

I wrenched my back lugging oversized storage bins into her spare room, a room destined to become my new wedding crafting space because my stash (hoard?) is starting to take over our tiny one-bedroom studio. Pounds of silk floral scavenged from cannibalized holiday wreaths. There are two dozen metal candle holders, thrift-scored for $2 a piece, slated to become my centerpieces. Frames and frames and more frames, all in various tones of gold. Empty wine bottles. Sauce jars. Dozens of mismatched heavy glass votive holders. Two huge ornate gold tassels that looked like something out of mescaline trip at Graceland: "these are ridiculous and hideous and so fun," I gushed, after finding the tassels for $1 each at a local church thrift shop.

I had to have them.
I had to have it all.

Today, however, I realized that I have too much. I am trying to do too much. In my excitement, I have thrifted too many treasures and planned too many DIY projects for this wedding.

Oh, and our wedding date? It's still 13 months away.
My partner proposed to me 3 months ago.
I have hoarded this much shit in just 3 months.

I don't know whether to be proud of myself or terrified.

"Less is more," my mother said, her eyes scanning my towering ziggurat of Sterilite bins.

"Less is more," my mother said, her eyes scanning my towering ziggurat of Sterilite bins. "You need to ask yourself, 'What is my focal point?,' and then worry only about that one thing. If it's the centerpieces, then only do the centerpieces. If it's the DIY photo booth, then make the perfect photo booth and forget the rest. Remember: when you focus on each tiny component of everything, it backfires, and nothing looks like anything."

My mother-cum-crafting-goddess was right, of course. She always is. She's the most talented crafter I know. A theater-trained seamstress, she even sewed her own wedding dress. When she gives me craft advice, I know enough to listen.

And it felt good to listen. I started sorting through the bins, eliminating the extraneous, the heavy, the breakable, the too-varied-to-be-eclectic, the crossing-over-into-bag-lady. The piles of plans and possibilities. I would hold things up, and my mother would laugh, or just stare at me in bewilderment: "Why are you saving Mardi Gras beads and used wrapping paper?"

There, with my mother, my senses sharpened. I could see all the trinkets and supplies that simply did not fit with my vision. I cast aside more than I kept, and it felt great.

What remains now is stronger, clearer.
I have the supplies to make my centerpieces: mismatched candle holders (all painted black), topped with DIY floral pomander balls in deep purples and rich reds. I also kept the dollhouse I want to turn into a receptacle for guests' cards, and the vintage gold frames that will hold photos of our grandparents on an Ancestors' Table, so that the family members we loved so much can be with us on our special day.

I have everything that I need, and nothing that I don't.

Most importantly: I have a partner who has been with me for over 11 years, knows that I am craft-supply-hoarding maniac, and loves me anyway. I have a mother whose talent I admire, whose judgement I trust, and whose skills as a tough-love editor of my DIY projects are already proving invaluable. I have the talent and creativity needed to create a unique offbeat wedding, without buying into the consumerist rhetoric of the Wedding Industrial Complex.

I have the OffbeatBride.com community to connect with, to be inspired by, and to learn from.

And I have 13 more months to craft one epic DIY wedding.

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