Was cleaning out my photos this morning (great wakeup ritual!) and found this one from late August last year, right before I moved. Most of this stuff I struggled with tossing, so I ended up packing/moving it… and the clutter has haunted me for months.
But six consignment trips, a clothing swap, and a meetup with my yoga mom friend later, everything in this photo has now been sold, repaired, gifted, or tossed.
How does it feel? Like a million bucks. Like ten trillion bucks. To have a closet full of only what you love, is a gift. One that you gave yourself, and that you have full control over maintaining.
I think that’s part of what holds us back from decluttering, actually: the fear of accountability.
We want Instagram-famous homes and Pinterest-worthy wardrobes, but we are scared to admit that the only reason we don’t have them yet, the only person standing between us and our dreams… is ourselves.
The only way I was able to get to where I am today, where instead of 20 Rubbermaid bins I have 6, was to acknowledge that I was the source of the problem—and accept that without judging/guilting myself—and vow to move forward with a new perspective. One that frames my relationship to “things” as one of complete freedom and the power to change, instead of one of responsibility and burden.
The only way to break the shackles, is to realize you’re the one who put them on, and that you’re actually…completely free.
