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We got rid of most of our stuff before we moved into this tiny house here on the campus of the college my husband attends. We parted with most of the kids’ toys, barely used wedding gifts, unfinished craft projects and furniture we loved. It hurt. But it felt great at the same time. Shedding stuff feels good. Like removing a constricting band from around my chest- I breathe deeper.

But there are always more bands. Always more stuff. And we didn’t live here long before I felt buried. We crammed as much as we could into this house but it quickly became clear that we’d have to get rid of more than half of what we brought. We didn’t. It’s been making me crazy!

I carry my stuff. Each “thing” occupies a place in my mind as well as my home. It weighs on my soul.

A few months ago I finally lost it. I started gutting. I got rid of things I know I’ll need (“someday”). I got rid of things I love to look at because they remind me of the people who gifted them. I got rid of clothing that could be worn by a future child. Things I paid good money for. Things I scrimped and saved for.

I didn’t take the time to photograph the items and post online. I don’t have a place for them to go while they wait for new homes. I would have to continue to trip over them. To walk around them. To be cluttered by them physically and mentally. Nope. Off to Goodwill they went.

I was ruthless. And it felt good! Months later, I’ve been focusing on getting my husband through his 20 credit course load, feeding my family healthy, whole foods and caring for a high needs baby. Once again I feel buried. I’m in much better shape. Nothing’s hiding in the storage unit in the carport. There are no more linen closet avalanches. But there is surface clutter and it makes me itchy. This week I’m back at it. This stuff is gone! No more stacking, stuffing and piling. Gone!

Who’s with me? How much clutter can we clear this week?

 

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