Kerri Fivecoat-Campbell is candid about the pros and cons of tiny homes and a minimalist ethos. Her book, “Living Large in Our Little House,” details life with her husband and their six dogs in a 480-square-foot cabin in the Ozark Mountains in Arkansas. “When we first moved here full time, I tried to write in our 10-by-10 bedroom, but it was like working from an airplane seat,” she said. Then it hit her: People go to offices. Her husband worked outside their home. Why couldn’t she build a free-standing structure on their property for her books and desk? “I realized it’s not cheating on tiny houses or minimalism if I build a little 320-foot detached writing studio,” she said. “You have to make this lifestyle work for you.”

Like Ms. Bertelsen, she found that her need to preserve childhood memories proved more powerful than she could have predicted. “The only time I’ve ever really wanted more space and felt sadness over it,” she said, “is when I couldn’t fit my mom’s wedding china in our house after she died.” The china cabinet was far too large, and there was no way to store its contents in their home. The desire to hold on to certain objects as a tangible connection to a lost loved one is another reason she’s thankful for her separate office space; there, she displays many of her mother’s books.

Over time, minimalists may also find that they lack the time and energy needed to constantly prune their homes and exist as sparingly as possible. After Hattie Garlick lost her job in late 2012, she and her husband, Tom, declared a spending freeze on all “kiddie consumerism” for the year 2013, vowing to buy nothing — no toys, clothing, activities or child-targeted foods — for their toddler and, later, for the baby girl they learned they were expecting. Ms. Garlick started a blog to chronicle her minimalist journey, showing how she found used baby gear and swapped items with friends. The internet named her the Minimalist Mom and the experience inspired her second book, “Born to Be Wild,” which offers instructions for free outdoor activities that engage a child’s imagination. Now, four years after her Minimalist Mom sojourn, she works three days a week as a freelance writer, with no pressing need to pinch pennies. But most important, she said, she feels “less addicted to spending,” so she’s less panicked about a leaner month or the prospect of any future instability.

These days, she warned, their two-story London house is far from minimalist. “Lego bricks strewn across the floor, poster paints cluttering the breakfast table, children’s drawings covering the fridge,” she said. In hindsight, she said, some of the trade-offs she made as the Minimalist Mom, like spending days looking for free toilet-training underpants for her toddler, “may not have been the best investment of my time.”

Ms. Garlick cautions those flirting with such a lifestyle change, “Chasing any ideal, whether it’s minimalism or anything else, isn’t the way forward.”

“Family life,” she added, “and actually any life probably, is at its best when it’s a bit scruffy and messy.” Being the Minimalist Mom entailed some daily mental gymnastics, she said, and required her to say no to her son about buying certain things, purely “in pursuit of a principle.” Today, she said, she feels more relaxed and happier, without the added worry of so much minimalism.