rant – the art of letting go

“Oh, no… what have I done?” I think while sprawled on the floor. My bedroom looks like it has been raided by Marie Kondo’s evil twin. Storage boxes are stacked in the corner, their contents strewn across the floor in vaguely categorised piles: old files; Christmas bits; miscellaneous cables; an assortment of Allen wrenches and screws; craft supplies and birthday cards. Then there are the clothes. Oh, so many clothes. The entirety of my wardrobe screams “Why won’t you wear me?!” from the fibrous pile on my bed.

This is what happens every time I try to declutter and reorganise the contents of my humble one-bedroom apartment. And because I am one of those ‘cluttered home, cluttered mind’ types, I tend to suffer through this self-inflicted ritual at least every two months.

And yet, there’s still so much stuff. No matter how often I have a ‘decluttering weekend’ to try and cut the dead wood, I end up getting rid of… not much at all. It’s basically just an exercise in refolding and refiling everything I own. So why do I keep doing it?!

Like most bad things in this world, I’m going to blame it on capitalism, social media and men. Actually, scratch that last one – my lovely partner owns bugger-all stuff so his species can’t really be blamed here (damn).

First up, that awful C-word. Thanks to capitalism (and its unholy spawn consumerism, eldest child in the Carcashian family), we are constantly being told to buy more stuff, more often, while ignoring the fact that many of us are unable to buy the things we actually need. Can’t afford a house because Hughesy has hoarded them all? That’s OK, you can buy a flatpack table to sleep under instead! And a nice little vase to put on top of it. And a trinket dish! And trinkets to display on the trinket dish! Pretty little Band-Aids to make the gaping wound of the housing crisis feel a little less painful.

But wait, there’s a secret bonus C-word: childhood. Growing up, I was taught to value and respect my belongings. As kids, my siblings and I only really received gifts on birthdays and Christmas. If we really wanted something during the rest of the year, we had to save up our pocket money (and later, pay from high school jobs) and buy it for ourselves. We were also the kind of household that scraped every last skerrick of spread from the Promite jar (yes, Promite, please don’t send my mum death threats). Nothing was wasted.

Let me clarify that none of this is bad – my parents weren’t overly stingy or neglectful; they just, rightfully, taught us to take care of our stuff. Unfortunately, though, this means that now I will hold on to things that I don’t particularly like anymore because they’re still useable. Which goes against everything we consume on social media.

There you will find gazillions of posts about all the things you should buy to make your life better, and another gazillion posts about decluttering and reorganising your life. WHICH ONE IS IT, GEMMA? BUY OR DECLUTTER? Even better, some of these clever clogs will kill two birds with one stone by recommending products that will help you organise your home, like an innovative new storage system. 

I’m fairly immune to the ‘buy now’ propaganda, but the decluttering content successfully achieves its goal of making me feel like a filthy little rat who’s destined to be publicly shamed on an episode of Hoarders. It takes quite the mental effort to remind myself that, if I lived in a normal-sized home, my stuff would barely fill half of it. And I must acknowledge a deep truth about myself: I will never be one of those minimalists who appears to own approximately five things and boasts about their carefully curated capsule wardrobe, because I am deeply sentimental and many of the items I hold on to have memories attached to them.

However, I am on a mission to learn the disciplined art of letting go. The first step has involved repeatedly telling myself, “Shannon, you are an adult. You have a job. You don’t have to live like a broke uni student anymore; you can replace that 2015 Cotton On jumper with something that you actually want to wear.” My goal isn’t to chuck out everything I own and replace it with trendier, more expensive versions. I just want to be able to, like, enjoy my stuff?

During a recent decluttering weekend, I was finally successful in donating a sizeable chunk of items to the op shop. And guess what? I am not filled with regret or panic over parting with those items. Quite the opposite – my brain and home feel lighter than ever!

After that, I went to a shop I really like and splurged on a nice jacket. I have worn it heaps since then and feel great about it. I still have a way to go, but I feel like this train is finally departing Stagnant Station.

HELPFUL REMINDERS...

IF IT CAN’T BE USED AND IT’S NOT SENTIMENTAL, SAY GOODBYE Recently I tossed some expired skincare products that I’d been holding on to simply because they cost an arm and a leg. But I couldn’t use them, because my skin is sensitive as heck and the products made it worse. I finally chucked them out, sans a facial oil, which I have started using on my limbs instead. Now I don’t feel annoyance and regret every time I open the bathroom cabinet. And my arms are smooth as a dolphin.

IF IT DOESN’T FIT, MOVE ON I’ve kept so many clothes that are too small “just in case” they fit again one day. Newsflash: this is not good for your mental health. As the saying goes, “Dress for the body you have, not the body you want.” Donate the stuff that’s suitable for donation. Sell the stuff that is decent quality. You can replace these items with things that will actually make you feel good if you want to.

IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT ANYMORE AND CAN AFFORD TO UPGRADE, DO SO This step should be applied within reason – I’m not going to encourage you to buy things just for the sake of it. I recently replaced some mismatched secondhand bedside tables because frankly, they were the bane of my existence, despite doing a ‘good enough’ job. I purchased some matching ones and booked a hard rubbish collection to dispose of the old ones. My bedroom is one step closer to no longer being an eyesore. Rejoice!  

This rad story comes straight out of issue 134. Nab a copy for yourself from the frankie shop or visit one of our lovely stockists. For future issues, subscribe here.