Have you ever gotten rid of something and felt horrible about it? I’m talking intense, deep-down, panicky regret here.
The kind where your stomach gets that sick feeling and your heart ties up in knots.
It’s one of the reasons people hold onto stuff. There’s a fear that letting go of something could be the biggest mistake of your life. An end of the world kind of mistake.
It seems safer and infinitely saner to hold onto things just to avoid that potential outcome. Doesn’t matter if your life is full of too much stuff. Doesn’t matter if you’re tripping over it every morning while you try to make breakfast. Doesn’t matter if you don’t want to go home at the end of the day and face all that stuff. It could be a tragic, dastardly mistake to get rid of it!
Hold onto it, hold onto it, hold onto it and you’ll never face that lead-belly feeling of regret. You’ll be safe and your stuff will be safe, close to home, close to you.
In my journey from clutter-queen to minimalist I faced this scenario. It came in the form of a ratty 30 year old pink bathrobe. You’re probably chuckling right now. A bathrobe? Really? Yep. Out of everything I released in my quest to be clutter-free there was only one item that tore my heart out after I donated it, and it was an old, beat up bathrobe that wasn’t even mine to begin with.
Let me tell you a little story about the legend of the pink bathrobe. It was my momma’s and it was pink and fluffy and went all the way down to the floor. She used to wear it every evening. As a child I must have seen that bathrobe thousands of times, felt it’s texture while I sat on her lap during story-time, rested my cheek on it’s fluffy fabric while I drifted off to sleep.
It wasn’t just those warm, fuzzy memories that made me decide to rescue it from my mom’s charity donation bag some 25 years later. It was the legend that surrounded it. See, I’d heard the story of the pink bathrobe. My parents had been recently married and she spotted it in the window of a big city department store. It was gorgeous. It was everything she ever wanted. The perfect bathrobe for lounging in. The kind of bathrobe you’d keep for 25 years!
It was also expensive. Very expensive for those days. My pappa, being the charming romantic that he was, saw her looking at it as they passed by the department store window. Even though it was pricey, and they really couldn’t (shouldn’t) spend so much on a luxury item, he swooped inside the department store and had the cashier ring up the purchase before my mom could say a word.
That story was part of my legend growing up. It fit in neatly with the legend of them meeting by chance on a train winding through Europe, falling in love and getting married. For me, that bathrobe was the legend of romance. That there really is a happily ever after. That princes do find their princess. For me that bathrobe summed up the bond of love that my parents share in it’s worn-down, pilled, fuzzy material.
That legend spoke to me again after all those years when I was grown up and out of the house with a life of my own. I spotted that fuzzy pink bathrobe looking derelict and tatty and ready to depart in my mom’s goodwill bag. Oh no. Goodwill was going to miss out. I’d give that treasure a home!
The problem was, that fuzzy pink bathrobe didn’t live up to it’s legend. I had it for several years and I wore it every now and then as a nod to it’s special status, but it really was pretty beat up. It was also big. All that fluff and fuzz and full-length glamor took up a lot of space in my tiny closet. About a year into my decluttering kick I decided it was time for the legendary bathrobe to move on. I asked my mom if she wanted it back (to keep it in the family of course), but she turned me down.
I was stuck with it. It was up to me to either give up the legend to a charity or hold onto it in my tiny closet. With a heavy heart I gave it up. The pink bathrobe landed in a garbage bag with an odd assortment of other misfit clothes that no longer served my life. The garbage bag took a road trip to Goodwill. And everything in that garbage started a brand new life without me.
Except that fuzzy pink bathrobe. Yeah, it made the trip to Goodwill. Yeah, I left it there… but that’s not the end of the story.
I laid in bed two nights later in an absolute panic, my heart clenched tight, tears threatening to spill, my stomach churning with anxiety. What had I done! I’d given up the legendary pink bathrobe! Horror of horrors! The pain! The agony! My life couldn’t be complete without it!
The next morning I was a woman on a mission. I drove an hour to that thrift store (I lived deep in the country at that time), I attacked the racks frantically searching for it and then… there it was… the fuzzy pink bathrobe. I clutched it tight to my chest, grateful that no one had noticed it’s majesty in the two days it had hung on that rack in that dusty, old thrift shop. I marched up to the counter and I paid $2.99 to get that bathrobe back. Victory! My life was complete again. I had reclaimed the bathrobe!
I brought it home and lovingly stored it back in the closet, in the same place it had hung before. It was home. Safe at home with me.
Then a funny thing happened. Watch out, cuz here’s the clincher. Time passed. That bathrobe continued to hog up precious real estate in the closet. It got in my way when I picked out clothes every day. I didn’t wear it often, because well, it despite it’s legendary status, it still was a ratty old bathrobe and I, ahem, had another bathrobe that I liked to wear more. My other bathrobe was still a fresh young starlet. The fuzzy pink one was a movie star past it’s prime.
As time passed I found myself getting annoyed with it. It was a space hog, just sitting there, taking up valuable inches in my over-stuffed closet. All the reasons I’d originally decided to get rid of it were still there. It’s legendary status maybe wasn’t so legendary after all. I mean, my parents still loved each other, even though my mom didn’t have the bathrobe anymore (hadn’t had it for several years by that time).
Further into my decluttering kick I came to the realization that maybe, just maybe, I actually could live without that bathrobe in my life. I ran experiments. I wasn’t going to give it up to the clutches of Goodwill so easily. I packed it away. Stored it in a box with out of season clothes. I didn’t miss it. Next year when I opened that box I was surprised to see it there in it’s ratty pink glory saying, “Remember me? I’m the space hog. Want to let me out of this box?”
I didn’t. In fact, I kind of thought maybe I could let it go. I’d done a lot of work on my clutter patterns in the year since I’d seen it last. I’d worked through a lot of the reasons I held onto stuff. I decided to run the ultimate test. I packed it up in another garbage bag. Nestled it close with others of it’s kind, items that no longer served a purpose in my life, and hauled that bag to Goodwill.
The second time was the charm. I gave it up and guess what! I don’t miss it. I can look back on the whole experience and giggle about it now. My parent’s love wasn’t contained in that old chunk of cloth. It lived in their hearts until the day my father passed away. It still lives in their hearts now, even though they’re separated between life and death. I don’t need a ratty pink bathrobe to remind myself that they have had a wonderful love story.
Moral of the Clutter Story
Yeah I’m bringing this back around to you. It’s a common sensation for people with to much stuff to imbue objects with emotion. It can feel as though you might lose a part of yourself if you lose that object. I’m proof that you really don’t need those “skinny jeans” anymore. You don’t need that second hammer for “just in case”. You don’t need an object as proof of feelings. The people the feelings are associated with are way better than any physical object out there.
If any of this sounds familiar, run a test with yourself. If you want to get rid of something but you’re not sure you can live without it do the well-known pack it up method. Box it up and store it away. Set a time frame for how long to store it. At the end of that time frame, pull it out again and see if you still have such a strong attachment to it. I’m guessing the legend will have faded…
Really nice post,thank you
Glad you enjoyed it Ron.
Read the whole lovely story, related to it, gonna go home and tackle some more clutter!
Awww! That was sweet! You went back to get it! I had some of Mom’s old clothes that were hogging up space in my closet.. I didn’t want to get rid of them cause they were hers, you know?
I couldn’t wear them, I didn’t even like them, but they were Mom’s, and I miss my Mom….
But.. after a time I let them go. I couldn’t do goodwill tho. I had a bonfire and sent them back to her.
Yeah, I’m big on bonfires–but for some things it is the only way I can let them go.
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your parents have sweet stories! i read something on another blog this morning, a woman getting rid of her wedding shoes said the thing to keep from that day was her husband, not the paraphernalia! same goes for families i guess! thanks for the story it made me giggle!
I can relate to this post. I donated a combination glass cake stand/cover that also converted into a punch bowl. After about 2 years I hadn’t used it and although I liked it, decided to donate it. I was taught from childhood to keep the original box so when you wanted to store something you had the right packaging for it (we moved a lot). So when I donated this awesome kitchen item I put everything back in the box and it looked like it had just come from the store.
I was confident in my choice to let it go, I was ok with it. That is, until the guy at St. Vincent upon looking at the item asked “Is what’s in the box really this?” referring to the packaging. I replied “yes” and that all the pieces were there. He then said “Wow, it looks brand new.” That was it, I had second guesses from that moment on. He was absolutely right, it was brand new, like off the shelf brand new and I just gave it away! OMG! What did I just do?!
While I didn’t go back for it, it was one of the three items I always have a tug about letting go of (even though several truck loads of donations have gone over the years). To this day, I mentally know I did the right thing (in the decade since, I have had the opportunity to use it about 2 times). In that amount of time, I probably wouldn’t have been able to find it when needed. But the emotional side just feels the loss. It is so illogical!
I recently found a very similar item at Bed Bath and Beyond that I had a knee jerk response to buy, but didn’t because I couldn’t justify the purchase since I don’t have a “home” for it. It’s going to be a few more years of work before those kinds of emotions subside.
Hi Sandra,
Thank you so much for sharing your story of the punchbowl. I just saw a punchbowl recently in a thrift store (we’d gone in to look for a backpack) and I had a knee-jerk reaction to it as well.
It had such a beautiful carved shape and it caught the light beautifully. And I said to myself (I really did) I said to myself, “You could have your minimalist space, and hardly anything in it, and there would be this amazing punch bowl.” The thought was followed immediately about how preposterous the idea felt to me that a punch bowl would ever hold position as a central figure in my life.
And yet it almost did. For just a moment. I weaken at the sight of tea carts and 50′s corningware as well.
Isn’t it lovely to be punch bowl free? I’m enjoying it. :)
Sandra, your story made me smile. About 10 years ago I was given a glass cake stand/cover, just like the one in your story. I thought it was the most useless thing. I never made fancy cakes or punch, I really hate punch! Then one year on my Husband’s Birthday, I asked what kind of cake he would like. He requested a 2-layer German chocolate cake. I had never baked one and to say the least, it looked horrible. Lopsided, uneven frosting, M. Stewart would have been horrified! I was embarrassed at my attempt and then remembered the cake stand stashed away. I placed the ugly duckling cake proudly on the cake stand and presented it to my Husband. He loved it, all of it, from the “special occasion” cake stand to the first timers attempt at a 2-layer cake! I still think it’s a silly piece of glassware, but my husband frequently asks for the same cake, proudly sitting on the stand and covered with it’s regal glass dome. I don’t know how many times I almost gave it away. I use the cake stand at least 12 times a year and I’m always touched to see his face light up at the ugly cake on it’s “throne” under the crystal clear dome.
sometimes repurposing things can make it easier to let go of emotional clothing. I made a photo album cover and throw pillows out of a bridesmaids dress that I loved but that had a stain and gave them to the bride and groom for their anniversary. my childrens favourite cuddly blankets I turned into pillowcases and their receiving blankets are still being used for mopping up spills but I get to remember when I do laundry and they are useful items rather than in a box and I gradually let go as they wear out.