Finding Myself by Letting Go: My Messy Journey to Declutter My Life

Finding Myself by Letting Go: My Messy Journey to Declutter My Life

You ever have one of those moments where you look around and think, How did my life get this messy? That was me, not too long ago, sitting cross-legged on my apartment floor, surrounded by a sea of stuff I didn't even remember owning. I'm talking clothes I hadn't worn since my awkward college phase, stacks of notebooks filled with half-baked ideas, and a drawer full of random chargers for phones I don't have anymore. I was 24, working a job that stressed me out, trying to keep up with friends, and feeling like I was failing at, well, everything. My apartment was a mess, sure, but the real chaos? That was in my head and heart. I didn't know it then, but decluttering my life—my space, my thoughts, my feelings—was about to change everything.

It hit me on a gloomy Sunday afternoon. The kind where the sky's all gray, and you're supposed to feel cozy but instead you just feel… stuck. I was sipping tea, staring at my kitchen counter, which looked like a thrift store exploded on it—old receipts, a broken mug, some random keychain I got from a work event. I don't know why, but I just snapped. I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed a trash bag and started tossing stuff out. Not carefully, not methodically, just… throwing things away. A half-dead plant? Gone. A pile of junk mail? Out. It felt reckless, but also kind of amazing. Like I was taking control for the first time in forever.

Once I started, I couldn't stop. I moved to my closet, which, let's be honest, was a disaster. I had this one dress I'd bought for a party I never went to, and every time I saw it, I felt this weird pang of guilt. Why was I holding onto it? I started pulling things out, asking myself, Do I love this? Do I even wear it? If the answer was no, it went into a pile. I ended up with bags of clothes and shoes to donate, a box of stuff to recycle, and a tiny pile of things I actually wanted to keep. I hauled the donate bags to a local shelter that same day, and driving back, I felt this rush—like I'd just dropped off a piece of my past and left it behind. 

Breathing easier in my clutter-free corner.

The weirdest part? As I cleared out my apartment, I started noticing how it was affecting me inside. It's hard to explain, but letting go of stuff felt like letting go of memories I didn't need to carry anymore. That dress? It wasn't just a dress—it was a reminder of a time when I felt like I had to be someone I wasn't. Those old notebooks? They were full of plans I'd abandoned, and keeping them around made me feel like a failure. Getting rid of them was like saying, It's okay, I'm moving on. I heard somewhere that our spaces can hold onto the energy of what's happened in them. I'm not sure I believe in that stuff, but I swear my apartment felt brighter, like it was breathing again. And maybe I was too.

That got me thinking about the other kinds of clutter in my life. It wasn't just the physical stuff. My brain was a mess—full of worries, half-finished tasks, and this constant hum of I should be doing more. My heart was cluttered too, with feelings I hadn't dealt with. Like this one time a friend let me down, and I'd been carrying that hurt around like a rock in my pocket. I realized if I could declutter my apartment, maybe I could declutter my mind and soul too. It sounded a little woo-woo, but I was desperate for some peace.

So, I started with my mental mess. I grabbed a fresh notebook—because, yes, I'm that girl who buys cute stationery and never uses it—and just started writing. Everything I'd been avoiding: that email I hadn't replied to, the dentist appointment I kept putting off, a work project that felt like climbing a mountain. It was a long list, and seeing it all laid out made me want to crawl back into bed. But instead, I took a deep breath and picked one thing. Just one. I sent the email. It took five minutes, and when I hit send, I felt like I'd won a marathon. I started tackling the small stuff first, and the big stuff? I broke it into pieces so it didn't feel so scary. Some things, like a hobby I wasn't into anymore, I just let go. And that was okay.

Worrying was a harder habit to break. I'm the kind of person who can turn a tiny problem into a full-blown disaster in my head. Like, What if I mess up at work? What if I'm not good enough? It's exhausting. I read somewhere that worrying is like praying for what you don't want, and that stuck with me. So, I tried something new. Every time I caught myself spiraling, I'd stop and think, Okay, what's one thing I can do about this? If there was nothing, I'd let it go. Or at least try to. Sometimes I'd distract myself by blasting my favorite song and dancing like nobody was watching. It's silly, but it helped me stay in the moment instead of living in my head.

The emotional stuff was the toughest. There was this one moment—a betrayal from someone I trusted—that I couldn't shake. I wasn't mad anymore, but I hadn't forgiven them either. It was like I was punishing myself by holding onto it. One night, I sat down with a cup of tea and wrote it all out. Everything I felt, every hurt, every why. I didn't send it anywhere; I just needed to get it out. Then I ripped it up and threw it away. It wasn't about them—it was about me finally being free. And you know what? It worked. I felt lighter, like I could breathe deeper.

I also started saying no to things that didn't feel right. There was this group I used to hang out with, but every time I left, I felt drained, like I'd given away pieces of myself. So, I stopped going. Instead, I spent time with people who made me feel alive—friends who'd laugh with me over nothing, or that one coworker who always had the best stories. I started filling my days with things I loved, like early morning walks with my coffee, or curling up with a book that made me forget the world. It wasn't about being selfish; it was about protecting my energy.

The biggest lesson I learned is that decluttering isn't a one-time thing. It's like keeping your room tidy—you can't just clean it once and expect it to stay that way. I got into the habit of doing quick clear-outs every week. Ten minutes to sort a drawer, five minutes to clear my desk. It keeps the mess from piling up again. For my brain, I do a "mind dump" every Sunday, scribbling down anything stressing me out and figuring out what's worth my energy. And my heart? I check in with myself, making sure I'm not holding onto grudges or saying yes when I mean no.

I stumbled across this statistic once—something like 80% of women feel less stressed after organizing their homes. I totally get why. But it's not just about the stuff. Decluttering my life—my space, my thoughts, my feelings—gave me room to be me. My apartment's not perfect, but it feels like a home now, not a storage unit. My mind's quieter, my heart's softer, and I'm figuring out who I am, one cleared-out corner at a time.

If you're feeling overwhelmed, here's my advice: start small. Pick one thing—a drawer, a task, a feeling you've been carrying too long. Ask yourself, Is this helping me? Do I need it? If it's not, let it go. You don't have to do it all at once. Just take one messy, imperfect step. You'll be surprised how far it takes you. So, tell me—what's one thing you're ready to declutter? Share it in the comments, I'm all ears!