Published via Ecency

I never intended to be a minimalist. It wasn’t some Pinterest-perfect ideal of white walls and one chair in the room. The truth is, it began because I was drowning in grief.

Years ago I lost someone very close to me. It wasn’t just their absence that hurt; it was how their things clung to me. I kept everything. Garments I couldn’t wear, books they cherished that I never read, even ancient receipts in their hand. Each item felt like some part of them that I could not lose.

The people around me were not getting it. You should pack these up. You make it more difficult on yourself. But they didn’t see it as I did. To me, it was betrayal to discard anything. I figured if I surrendered their stuff, I would be surrendering them.

But eventually it started to dawn on me that I was not paying respect to their memories I was punishing myself. I would sit in my room full of boxes and let each memory weigh on me. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t sleep well. Small choices seemed impossible to make, all getting mired down in the swamp created of the fresh wreckage in my mind.

The real breaking point was when one day, while trying to find something important, I could not. I remember shouting in frustration and then collapsing. That mess wasn’t comforting me. It was holding me hostage.

That was when i made the choices to try change and flip everything. I picked up it section of my life, sat down, and gave myselfpermission to sort. I let myself cry, laugh, remember. I also told myself it was okay to keep what truly mattered but I didn’t have to keep everything.

Little by little, the boxes got fewer. I chose the most meaningful things: a broken headset (i still have a pair of the ear in my box), wore out cloth that was given as a gift to me. Each time I did, I felt lighter. I wasn’t erasing the past. I was making room for the recent happening.

Fewer things meant fewer triggers. I didn’t constantly stumble on old wounds. My room felt more open, which made me feel less trapped. Cleaning was easier. Breathing was easier. Even thinking felt easier.

It wasn’t just stuff, either. The process also taught me how to let go in other ways. I let go of blaming myself for not grieving properly. I also learned to speak about my loss instead of hiding from it. I began saying no to even things that didn’t align with me rather than overcommitting by doing everything that I thought I should.

If there’s one thing I would tell anyone facing loss or trauma, it is this: be kind to yourself. Don’t force it. Take it slow. Minimalism doesn’t need to be pristine or pretty. For me, it has just been creating space to heal.

And I’m very grateful for that.

Note AI-Free Content Thank you for reading and commenting. Until next time 💐 Images used are mine.