Confession! I’m a bit of a hoarder. I struggle to let go of my possessions. I think it’s because to me they become more than things, they become these tangible memories. If I let go of them I’ll be losing a part of my past, of myself, forever.
I still have a garbage bag from year 6 because we were going on youth trek and it looked like it was going to rain, so the teacher got the boy I had a crush on to hand out garbage bags to keep us dry.
Tldr: I’ve kept a garbage bag for 14 years because a boy I liked touched it!
Last weekend I moved back in with my parents and was hit with a devastating blow (more devastating than extreme-drama-moving-with-ultra-hysterics, which I seem to be an expert in now). I’ve gone from having two wardrobes to one!
So the boot of my car is now full of memories, which I’ll be handing over to the Salvos for their second life. Actually, I buy everything from the Salvos in the first place, so it’s probably their third or fourth lives.
Point is: I own too much. I think I’m scared of not having, “it’s better to have and not need than need and not have.” But it’s ridiculous when your drawers are so full you don’t even know what you have anymore. It gets messy and un-manageable, a reflection of my inner state: I seem to hoard my emotions, then come to points in my life where I have so many pent up feelings that I don’t know where put them, and they explode. Everywhere. Then I end up breaking real things, like plates and friendships.
So I’m feeling good. It’s kind of cathartic to be letting go of something voluntarily. This is a new phase and I’m excited about opening myself up to new things, rather than clinging madly to the old.
I’ll miss weeping for the memories though.
