Decluttering and minimalism are often presented as practical, even cheerful tasks — as if letting go is simply a matter of discipline and determination. But for many of us, our belongings carry memory, identity, grief, creativity, and love.

This two-part reflection is not about ruthless throwing out or achieving a minimalist ideal. Instead, it is about understanding why letting go can feel so difficult, and how, when approached with compassion and patience, the process can eventually lead to clarity, meaning, and joy.

When Letting Go Feels Hard

These are words one often hears when someone is talking about reducing chaos in their home: decluttering, throwing out, purging, disposing, discarding, rejecting, dumping, and clearing out.

The word decluttering sounds doable, but many of the others feel harsh and negative. And yet, for a number of years now, there has been a strong focus on minimalism. When I hear the word, my mind often conjures images of ruthless throwing out — and somehow, finding joy in the process.

Minimalism appeals to many people. But I am writing this post for those who quietly ask, “Where’s the joy in throwing things out?” I’m also writing to friends and family members who want to understand the struggle a little better. Unless one digs deeper and personalises the process, decluttering can feel frightening and overwhelming.

There are people who are left feeling guilty or ashamed because they struggle to throw things out. They may feel anxious whenever they try, and end up believing that others judge them as failures — or assume they are lazy or hoarders. For some, there is an intense need not to be disturbed at all. These feelings are far removed from joy.

I once felt this way too: a sense of not fitting the “normal” expectations, of not being able to follow the advice, of feeling alienated. It was only when I learned to observe myself and my possessions with compassion that things began to shift. We are not failures when we struggle — we simply haven’t found the key yet. And finding that key often requires gentle inner work.

I was once asked how I overcame these feelings and how I managed my stuff. These are some of the ideas that helped me.

Instead of starting with what I wanted to throw out, I began by looking at what I loved. This felt far less threatening and much more positive. I asked myself what I wanted to surround myself with — what reflected my values.

One important rule for me was not to rush into sorting until I felt ready. There is always time.

For some people, writing helps. For others, talking to a compassionate friend is better. You might explore:

• How an object makes you feel
• What memories arise
• What you like about it
• Who gave it to you
• What it says about you

I found it helpful to group like with like: children’s progress reports together, artwork together, tools together. Everything belonged to a category and shared space with similar items.

I also explored why I didn’t want to let go. Perhaps I valued the object because of its cost or its sentimental meaning. Maybe I didn’t want to be wasteful, or I worried about landfill. These thoughts matter.

From there, options slowly emerged:

• Upcycling
• Repurposing
• Donating to charity
• Finding a new home
• Discovering new outlets

When I did decide it was time for an item to move on, I sometimes thanked it for the pleasure or usefulness it had given me, and wished it well with its next owner. This might sound strange, but for some people it turns letting go into an act of sharing rather than loss.

Some people find that taking photos helps preserve memories. It didn’t work for me, but I know it helps others.

And if you can’t let go yet — then don’t. There should be no rush or pressure. Readiness matters.

Sometimes our belongings are showing us something. They may point to past loss or fear of future loss. Listening to your heart and allowing space for reflection can be deeply revealing.

Going through one’s possessions is sacred work. They are an expression and extension of who we are. Not everyone will relate to this — especially those who let go easily. But there are creative people who see value and potential in almost everything. I am one of them.

I had to create a rule for myself: I could keep an item for a reasonable period of time, and if I hadn’t done anything with it by then, it was time to let it go. Some objects — leaves, feathers, shells, sticks — were placed in my garden. I arranged them in small, aesthetic piles as a way of honouring the joy I had felt while gathering them. I still returned to collect shells for other projects, and it felt like rediscovering the joy of searching all over again.

There are belongings I regret throwing out because I wasn’t ready. That experience is why I recommend only letting go when you feel truly convinced.

Unprocessed loss and suppressed grief can sit beneath our attachment to things. Sometimes we’re simply not ready to say goodbye. Writing can help. Grieving is valid. You might write about what you loved, what memories matter most, or even compose an unsent letter or poem.

My road to less — and I am not a minimalist — was long. I am grateful no one rushed me. I took my time. It was cathartic and sacred. I now have what I need, and it reflects who I am.

In Part Two, I explore how clarity around values can gently make room for joy — without force or regret.

If this reflection resonates with you, you’re welcome to share — what you’re learning about yourself through the process. What feels hard to let go of right now, and what might it be asking you to notice?

Happy Reflecting