I’ve been decluttering for the last while.
I’m really quite good at letting go of “junk”…
I HATE clutter. I really can’t stand things lying around that don’t “belong” there which admittedly has something I’ve had to adjust to being married to the king of leaving things lying around. I usually do a purge of my stuff and give things away or sell them but there are some things I’ve not been able to get rid of.
I feel like hanging on to the things that no longer make me happy is just another version of dragging around my old emotional baggage.
Like my clothing. I love my clothing
I love how pretty it looks hanging in my pretty custom-built closet. I love seeing it there and I love knowing it’s a collection I’ve put together over the last decade. So what’s the problem? Well, let me tell you!
Most of it doesn’t fit me anymore!
After having my son, I was put on the Depo injection as a means to control my Endometriosis and although my gynae warned me about the potential weight gain, I’ve ballooned in size.
I’ve tried eating healthier and I’ve tried gym but the truth is, my clothing has just started to make me depressed because NOTHING fits me anymore.
So I felt sorry for myself for a while and then I decided that actually, I’m going to embrace who I am and I’m going to stop torturing myself over what no longer serves me.
So I’m letting go.
Black cocktail dresses, fitted pants, winter coats, too tight shirt – all being sent to a new home.
It’s hard that’s for sure but I’m already feeling lighter.
I’ve got a good reason to shop for a new wardrobe now – collect new “staples” and hang them lovingly in my closet that now has plenty of room.
It makes me feel so much better!
The other form of clutter that I’m not good with dealing with is notebooks and memories.
I have always written in journals. Not the dear diary type of writing but I’ve written about my life in an abstract kind of way – without names, just mostly my emotions.
Growing up I found that retreating into my journals was a good way to cope with my depression and as I got older, that got more and more true.
Yesterday I went through the closet where I kept my old journals and I sat down and I went through them and the weirdest thing happened.
This overwhelming rush of panic and anxiety rushed through me.
Did I really feel so sad and hopeless about the world?
It just didn’t feel like me at all. It felt like, some other person from some other dimension. A person who has lived my life but who hurt so much.
I tolerated being treated badly.
I accepted lies and blamed myself for relationships not working out.
None of what I read in those journals felt anything like me.
I am a really positive person, always looking at the glass half full but that person who kept those journals, was nothing like me now. That person was sad and broken and didn’t know how to cope with death and love and heart ache.
I threw them away.
I don’t need a constant reminder of the misery that I felt in the past.
My life is happy and wonderful for the most part. Sure there are trials and tribulations that go hand in hand with being an adult and having responsibilities but I’m different now.
I no longer feel the need to hold onto the part of me that hated living.
So I’m letting go.
That person is long gone…