The (Failed) Art Of Letting Go

I am a prone to keeping stuff that I don’t need–you know, real stuff like paper, knick knacks, books, office supplies, that kind of stuff. Being a teacher makes it worse; I am forever justifying keeping papers, books, and supplies that my logical mind KNOWS I will never use again. Even my digital life is cluttered with incomplete documents and pictures of people I don’t even remember.

Since having 2 kids my compulsion has gotten worse. I have not reached Hoarders: Buried Alive status, but I most def have more boxes of things that I am going to “use later” or that might be “useful one day”. Clothes suddenly have sentimental meaning; random drawings the kids gave me carry an almost spiritual quality. I have to fight internal wars, repeating logical statements to calm my anxiety as I sort items for keeping, charity, and the garbage.

My mom makes it worse. She actually has some of their BABY clothes in frames. On a wall. My kids are 9 and 7. She compels me to box up keepsakes–they could be used as quilts! The kids will appreciate it one day! Someone else can use it! Pass it down to Ashleigh (who is currently 4 full sizes behind Haleigh)! I cringe, worried at the coming judgment when she will find out how much stuff I have given to others, to Goodwill.

The one thing that saves me? I love order more than I want to keep stuff. Oh wait–2 things save me: my compulsive need to be clean and my husband’s draconian policy of throwing away the unnecessary and old. He would throw away the shoes I have on right now if he ever saw them (I hide them under the bed).

I just started the process of switching from winter to summer wardrobe. I made my kids try on clothes that I KNEW were to small just by looking at them. I wanted to be certain. I tried to make some outfits work. And repented. I could not have my kids out here looking bad. But still…

Anyways, I now have an overflowing box of clothes that will go to charity unless someone claims them first. Real nice stuff, too. No one ever buys my kids junk. Even the clothes handed down from other little girls are in near pristine condition because that is just how folks treat my kids: like royalty. I am sure that someone would love to have these designer, unique clothes and that I will be less stressed without having to carry all this stuff (that we NEVER use and NEVER will) around.

I am letting go, y’all! Ooo, watch me! Watch me! **insert whip here**

Even with all that, though, I know I will be that old lady with storage tubs stacked up to the wall, labeled and categorized by size, content, and alphabetical order.


You just never know.


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