This concept is very popular and unpopular at the same time. I was seeking out my own version of minimalism long before I had heard the label. For a number of years, before Mum passed away, I was trying to lighten my load by getting rid of a lot of the excess stuff we were carrying around with us.
When we made the move 1000km south, we brought with us two 20ft sea containers packed to the hilt with all our furniture, household goods, goods left behind by family members who had passed away and about Three tonnes of books (literally)
I had spent a large portion of my last pregnancy cleaning, sorting and packing all these items ready for our big move. Just picture that for a moment. 2 sea containers, full to the brim. CRAZY. We weren’t “hoarders” as such, not dirty or unorganized. We just had a lot of stuff. I don’t think this is an uncommon situation. How many things are we holding on to, just in case? Or because we feel that someone will be hurt or upset if we get rid of that old couch that they bestowed on us or the pretty gift, they gave that we have no use for? Or because we allocate more value to something than it really has, and we don’t want it to go until we can get what it’s worth in our minds?
Unpacking my history
Both my parents kept a lot of things. They had very different reasons behind this, some of which I understand, some not so much. Mum was against anything that seemed like a waste. There was never leftover food that went in the bin. Empty containers were always washed and kept. If she made some clothing, she would always try to make something with any scrap material. She also liked to keep sentimental items. When she died, there were still things from her childhood that spent most of their lives packed in boxes. She was fastidious about keeping things nice and caring for her belongings. It was a very frugal way to live, which was necessary due to a lack of money, and I admire that.
My father, on the other hand, liked to store multiples of things. If you ever needed a garbage bag, a dustpan and brush, hose fittings, tools or other items, he was your man. He was sure to have many duplicates of the same item, brand new, waiting for their just-in-case moment in the sun. It might sound like I am overselling this, but honestly, I don’t know anyone in everyday life who needs 7 brand-new dustpan sets or 15 large packets of unopened Chux wipes. You get the idea.
I longed to start
I had longed to start getting rid of things. To try minimalism on for size, but I felt heavy guilt parting with anything much. There seemed to be always someone on my shoulder saying, “What if you need that later” I mean, really, when will I need clothes that don’t fit, too many shoes, seven serving spoons, books, books, books? I didn’t even need comments from others, I was pushing the guilt trip onto myself as well.
The oppression of seeing stuff everywhere I looked was weighing me down more than I even realized. Anxiety was never far away, stress was always at the door, and I wasn’t coping with life. Together with Mum, I tried many times to cull, but each time I pulled something out of a box, she would be like, “Aww, have to keep that”, and then every time, it would all go back into the box and back in storage.
Eventually, Mum decided it was time to let some stuff go, but the responsibility was on me to use my wisdom in deciding and then not let her see what I was getting rid of. I couldn’t do it. Even with permission, I felt like a naughty child getting up to something for which I did not want to get caught. The stuff stayed.
Making a plan
There were some conversations before Mum died, during one of which she told me to wait at least a year after she died before I got rid of any of her belongings. She was worried for me that I would discard it all and then regret it. We had this conversation just months before her death with no idea that the time was so close. I respected this wish and just packed up her things. The year passed very quickly. I spent it sorting through all the things in the house that weren’t her personal items. This was a safe territory and a good way to practice letting go.
It was time to face things
When the time came to start removing Mum’s things, it was painful. Everything left behind, she had chosen to keep, so who was I to get rid of it? What if I lost memories that were attached to these items? What if I needed some of these things? I started the process of letting go, strengthening myself by doing the easier things first. Clothes, unimportant paperwork, and trinkets of no real value. It was hard going. It got worse, much worse. The dreams started. Dreams where mum came back and I had to break it to her that her things were gone.
This went on for about two years, but over time their frequency became less. In the dreams, we would talk it out. Each dream would take me closer to getting her permission to move on, to let go. We would talk about her things being gone and how we would have to buy her some new clothes, and also how we would fit her back into our lives. I didn’t want to carry all the things around forever, but the guilt was huge.
Those dreams were so real, awkward and painful, but over time I worked through the guilt associated with letting go of her things and also the guilt of enjoying life without her.
More than just the removal of objects
In this process, I started to understand the idea that minimalism was more than just the removal of objects. This was when the time of “shedding” truly began. I had shed a lot of physical items. Now it was time to start letting go of many other commitments. No became my catchphrase for things I felt I had to do on an everyday basis. I pulled away from a volunteer role that I had, eventually stopping completely. Attending church most of the time was also something I stopped. There was an overwhelming anxiety I noticed whenever I did something that was organized or occurred on a regular basis.
I love seeing my friends and having spontaneous get-togethers. I can do a lot to help people who have some need and be there for people as long as it doesn’t involve ongoing commitment. At the time, I didn’t understand what this was about, but now I have realized it has to do with the fatigue and massive commitment involved in being a carer long-term. I can honestly say I had no time for myself and didn’t take care of my own needs for many, many years. I was always supporting someone else, caring for children and caring for Mum. It is natural for me to want to care for others, but I created exhaustion so big in myself that I am not there yet, not even close.
I needed to care for myself
The progress I have made is I have learned I need to care for myself. I have learned that your memories are not in your things and that you don’t have to commit. Committing does not make you a better person, going to church every week doesn’t make you closer to God, having no boundaries doesn’t make you stronger and saying yes doesn’t get you more acceptance. It is a hard call to accept that I am enough, but now people are going to have to accept me for who I am because this is all I have the energy to offer.