The Moment I Finally Saw What I Owned
I scanned my room and every object seemed to demand something from me.
The jumper over the chair: clean me.
The lamp: fix me.
The books: remember to read me.
The runners: use me.
I’d never seen my space like this before — not as a sanctuary, but as a stockroom. And I can tell you now: no one sleeps peacefully in a stockroom. No amount of red light or deep-sleep meditation would have helped.
I share an apartment, so everything I own lives in two rooms. There’s no attic, no spare closet, no hidden storage. What doesn’t fit has nowhere to go. It sits out. I see it daily.
Around that time, I’d been listening to episodes of The Minimalists about letting go. Somewhere between their words and my clutter staring back at me, it hit me:
I own too much. I think I knew it already, but this time I actually faced it.
I’d never seen my space like this before, not as a sanctuary, but as a stockroom.
The Deeper Realisation
It felt heavy because most of what I owned belonged to a version of me that no longer existed. Festival boots, when was my last festival? Short dresses, midriff tops – they’re not my style anymore. Clothes from lives that don’t fit. I’ve changed.
Luckily, some sentimental pieces are still stored back home in Ireland – childhood keepsakes my mother saved, with a folder for each of us siblings, from our first lock of hair to school reports, along with things from my twenties and thirties, waiting for another day of decisions. I don’t have to solve everything at once. I can start here, in my Barcelona apartment.
I began looking at my belongings differently. Now when I take something out of my wardrobe, I think about what it costs to keep. Not money – energy. Maintaining it. Washing it. Storing it. Even one item can carry a mental load.
Even one item can carry a mental load.
The Challenge Framework
To make decluttering manageable, I set a rule: one item out every day for 30 days.
I started with clothes because they’d make the fastest impact. Since the apartment was already furnished when I moved in, I didn’t need to think about desks, tables, or big items.
Each day I chose one thing and decided: sell it or donate it. After laundry, I asked myself a simple question – does this go back into the wardrobe, or does it go?
That was it. No complicated system. Just one decision a day, ticking off the calendar.
I’d already promised myself 2026 would be the year I got things in order – my wardrobe, my photos, my spending, even the time I lose scrolling. Because scrolling was never harmless. It inspired outfits, which sparked wanting, which led to buying… and ended with more things hanging there. Still with nothing to wear.
This challenge was the first real step.
No complicated system. Just one decision a day.
Early Wins + Momentum
The month passed faster than I expected. I was surprisingly successful selling things, and I got a real buzz from it. It’s amazing what you’re ready to throw away that someone else is happy to buy.
Then something unexpected happened. Items I’d chosen to keep at the beginning quickly lost their significance. Looking at them again, I felt detached and far more willing to let them go. It felt quite freeing in fact.
It’s amazing what you’re ready to throw away that someone else is happy to buy.
The Psychology of Holding On
Beyond the clothes, I started questioning something deeper: what was I doing with my time, and what could I be doing instead?
I used to love sketching. I’d take a sketchpad and fold-out chair, sit on a corner, and draw balconies or buildings I loved. When did I stop? Was it because I browsed shops more than I created? Or because my space felt too crowded to focus? Did I even know where that fold-out chair was?
It slowly dawned on me: clutter wasn’t just affecting my room it was affecting my life. If I hold onto everything, nothing feels valuable. The important things, like creating, get pushed aside, leaving me with a room full of stuff and still feeling empty.
So I began asking myself one question whenever I picked something up:
If this disappeared tomorrow, would I replace it?
If the answer was no, why was I holding onto it? Why did I buy it in the first place, for an occasion, to match something else? Then why was the tag still on it?
Around this time, my inner dialogue turned harsh. I caught myself thinking: I’m disorganised. I procrastinate. I have no self-control. I felt frustrated that I’d bought things I didn’t need and wondered if I’d been shopping to fill something emotional. I wasn’t expecting that guilt.
But instead of further judgement, I acted. I even praised myself for noticing. That decision created space, not just in my wardrobe, but in my mind.
The Consumerism Trap
I love living in the heart of Barcelona, surrounded by dreamlike architecture and beautiful streets. I’m lucky to live beside Passeig de Gràcia, inspiring, vibrant… and dangerously convenient.
Because as much as I adore wandering these streets, they come with temptation. Boutiques. Displays. New collections. Window after window inviting me in. It’s hard not to buy when everything is designed to make you want.
I’m not reckless with money, but I do catch myself buying unintentionally, sometimes out of boredom, sometimes for a quick mood lift. That made me wonder: was I shopping because I needed something, or because I was avoiding something? Two very different reasons.
At one point I decided I wanted to be “a plant person.” I bought plants. They died. I bought more. They died. The only time they thrived was when my mother visited and gave them proper care. Eventually I accepted it, I’m not that plant lady. Now I have a cactus. It suits me.
That’s when I realised how easy it is to spend money chasing a version of yourself that isn’t real, through plants, tech, clothes, or expensive runners you think you need to fit in.
Selling wasn’t effortless either. It meant constant logins, relisting items, staging photos, adjusting prices, watching offers. It quietly drained my time, so I set limits and sometimes accepted lower offers just to close the loop.
Then I noticed something else: as I let go of an old version of myself, I felt the urge to shop for a new one, different style, better quality. I wasn’t just clearing space. I was replacing what I sold.
The cycle hadn’t stopped. It had simply changed shape.
That awareness shifted how I shop now. I check fabrics. A high price tag paired with polyester doesn’t convince me. Yes, I made a few hundred from clothes I didn’t want, and that felt satisfying. But the real win wasn’t the money.
It was recognising the pattern.
Subscriptions, Influence & Discipline
Decluttering also revealed the silent drain of recurring payments, subscriptions renewing quietly, memberships I barely used. Cancelling them was like an extra top up on my monthly savings.
I also became more intentional about who I let influence me. I started following people who make me think before spending, not people who make me want to spend, like Sam’s Wallet, Bradley on a Budget, and The Minimalists.
I don’t love the word frugal. It sounds tight and joyless. That’s not what this is. This is respect – for what I own, what I bring into my life, and the effort it took to earn it.
Because life is unpredictable. Something unexpected can happen at any time. Peace of mind doesn’t come from what you bought, it comes from knowing you have savings if life turns. From knowing you can rely on yourself.
Where It’s Led Me
Even after the challenge ended, I kept going. I sold books that were taking up space and started considering a Kindle. I kept my art materials but only because I committed to using them. I even found my fold-out chair again and plan to return to the streets to draw.
Decluttering spilled into other areas too: deleting duplicate photos, spending less time on my phone, turning off notifications, reading more before bed and sleeping better in a calmer space.
Getting ready is easier now. I can find what I need. My environment feels lighter.
With the money I made back, I’m thinking about saving for a big trip at the end of the year. Imagine, money sitting in my wardrobe all this time. Investing in experiences will always beat owning more things.
This is ongoing. There will always be temptation. But now I notice it. Sometimes I walk away from shops. Online, I unfollow anything that feeds the urge to buy.
I still find things I don’t need. The difference is, now I let them go.
I’m not chasing minimalism.
I’m choosing space.
