This year, one of my primary goals has been to truly declutter my home. I’m not just talking about organizing toys, shredding old documents, or donating clothes that have sat untouched in the closet. This mission goes deeper – it’s about embracing a lighter, happier, and more fulfilling life by choosing to keep what genuinely matters and summoning the courage to let go of what doesn’t. After all, the memories attached to items like a T-shirt from a charity run or a concert ticket stub don’t require the physical objects to remain alive; I still ran the race and enjoyed the music, regardless of the mementos.
As I move through each room, evaluating the multitude of items that populate my living space, I continually ask myself whether to toss or keep. I’ve come to realize that the motivations behind our attachments often stem from guilt (like my kids’ stuffed animals), hope (those size four jeans I aspire to fit into again), nostalgia (my wedding shoes), and even sorrow (my late dog’s adorable Halloween costume). Ironically, these same emotions can empower us to eventually part with those items.
About eight years ago, during a family vacation in the serene mountains of Colorado, I created a bowl in a pottery class. With limited activities available at the resort near Telluride, and being five months pregnant, my options were quite restricted. Horseback riding, biking, rock climbing, and even enjoying a drink in the hotel lobby were off-limits. Just walking to the spa for a prenatal massage left me breathless due to the altitude.
The bowl I made was both hideous and beautiful. Its flaws made it ugly, yet it was beautiful because I crafted it with my own hands. The resort kindly shipped it to me when we left, and to my astonishment, it arrived home in one piece. It survived several moves before finding its spot on the small white shelf above the toilet in my bathroom (because really, where else would it go?).
I should have discarded it upon arrival due to its unsightly appearance, but I held onto it because it served as a reminder of that precious summer – the blissful second trimester filled with daydreams about strollers, diaper bags, and baby names. The morning sickness and exhaustion of the first trimester had faded, and I felt a sense of magic in the air.
What most people didn’t know was that this wasn’t technically my first pregnancy. A year and a half earlier, during another family vacation – this time a Caribbean cruise – I received the news that I was expecting. I rushed to my doctor, who advised me to enjoy the trip but warned against drinking the local water.
What I remember most from that cruise, aside from the heartbreaking night I miscarried, was the abundance of Christmas cookies everywhere I went on that ship. After returning home, I faced complications and found myself in the hospital, grappling with a molar pregnancy diagnosis, which was far from the joyous adventure I had anticipated.
That first pregnancy, while it felt magical at the time, turned out to be an illusion. I wanted a baby but instead encountered a series of health challenges, including chemotherapy and ongoing monitoring for potential cancer.
Though I never liked the lopsided bowl from Colorado, I kept it because I believed it held the memories of my journey. Yet I eventually realized it was just a bowl, devoid of the true essence of that experience. So, I let it go, understanding that the memories I cherished would forever remain within me, independent of any physical object.
If you’re interested in exploring more about the emotional journey of motherhood or navigating the world of home insemination, check out this insightful piece on navigating emotional connections with memories. And if you’re considering at-home insemination, Make a Mom offers reliable syringe kits to assist you on your journey. For further reading on pregnancy and home insemination, Progyny is an excellent resource.
In summary, this journey of decluttering extends beyond the physical space we inhabit; it’s a deeper exploration of what we truly value in our lives. The memories we create and cherish don’t need to be tied to physical items – they remain vibrant within us, shaping who we are.
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