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IT IS THE new year, and if we are not forcing ourselves into the gym or eating clean as per accountability posts on Instagram, you can be sure some of us are decluttering like Marie Kondo was visiting for the forthcoming Brigid’s Bank Holiday.
I fall very firmly into the latter category. But without Marie Kondo or even a bank holiday for motivation. Each January, I embark on The Big Declutter of (Insert Year Here). It is both hugely cathartic and a little nostalgic.
The house is cleared of broken items, books that will not be reread and superfluous clothing. That includes school uniforms and apparel, holding unrealistic expectations that they will ever fit this body again. All of it carefully sorted for donation. I take immense pleasure in chucking everything else into the wheelie bin.
Back in the 2000s, feng shui was very much in vogue, with decluttering regarded as a holistic approach to maintaining balance and harmony in our living spaces.
Trends never truly disappear. It is business as usual, just with a different name.
I like to think I am a practical person, so you best believe, if an item has languished behind a press door, unused for more than six months, its time is up. Same goes for whatsits banished to the attic. Anything still in its box is also a goner. Unless it happens to be a Funko Pop vinyl bobblehead figurine representing a character from a popular movie franchise, TV show or video game. Not those.
The kids have several in their forgotten collections, and now they have been separated from dust bunnies under various beds, taken down from the tops of wardrobes and stored, very safely elsewhere. Because I live in eternal hope that something I have heavily invested in over the years will become a collector’s item down the line.
Which brings me nicely to the nostalgia bit. This year’s Big Declutter was not the first time I unearthed a very tired and faded-looking Buzz Lightyear, his helmet so scratched and cloudy, it felt like a coat of plaster applied to an external wall. This particular Buzz is 18 years old, and he lost the ability to instruct anyone to go to Infinity and Beyond years ago. Batteries cannot fix his broken. He survived the bin for another year. I am still unable to part with him.
However, the Toy Story astronaut is small fry compared to an item of furniture that has been living rent-free with us (and in my head) for over a decade now. In the end room of our house, the place where miscellaneous items are retired, lives a very large mahogany sideboard, approximating 150 years of age. A hulking thing of great beauty, it once belonged to a great aunt. An oil cloth keeps the top of its surface somewhat protected from ten years’ worth of paraphernalia piled on top of it.
An original piece of antique carpentry, it matches absolutely nothing else in our home and is simply too large to be moved elsewhere. Recently, I tentatively suggested seeking an expert opinion to assess its worth, the aim primarily being to send it on its way. In response to charges made against my perceived lack of sentiment, I identified several objects that have been in my possession for many years and that I hold dear.
The difference being these effects are regularly used for their intended purpose, and I very much enjoy them as a result. I have been a subscriber to the lighting of the expensive candles and wearing the good clothes mindset for decades now. Why go to the bother of owning exquisite things and not use them? To me, it seems an awful shame to be custodians of a beautiful piece of furniture yet confine it to a lifetime of misuse through lack of use.
So, is it possible to have a sentimental declutter? How does a person part with an object that no longer serves a purpose but is steeped in sentimentality? And how do you do it with sustainability in mind?
The good news is that in Marie Kondo’s time, the ‘circular economy’ wasn’t quite as developed as it is now. We didn’t have hubs for the sale of pre-loved clothes like Vinted and Depop, and consumers weren’t as mindful about the buildup of textile and other household waste in landfills.
The trick now is to work out what, in your pile of clear out stuff, will be saleable online and what has reached the point of no return. How do you decide between donating clothing that will never fit again and dumping a threadbare stuffed toy more than a decade old because it was your firstborn’s favourite? Can it be done? I think so. You might have to be a bit brutal, though, whilst simultaneously setting a reminder that you are not letting go of the memory, just the physical item.
Maybe the easiest way to start is by asking should it stay or should it go? Parting with baby clothes, for example, can feel like your heart is being ripped out. However, such precious belongings that are absolutely for keeps could be repurposed to create a bedspread. If you’re lucky enough to have the time for that particular project. Concert ticket stubs, milestone birthday cards and wedding invitations can be photographed and collaged in a memory album stored on your phone instead of boxes where, let’s be honest, no one ever looks.
I discovered a small piece of advice online from a professional organiser saying if we no longer want or don’t have use for an item, we can appreciate the joy it once gave, then go full Elsa on it and just let it go without feeling guilty. Perhaps sometimes all we need is permission to release that which no longer serves us.
And if Buzz lived to go to infinity and beyond for another year, I’m OK with that. Just don’t look too closely at a certain set of cute jars filled with sand and seashells from our annual trip to the beach. And I respectfully ask that you turn a blind eye to the impossibly tiny dog coats and collars hanging under the stairs. Bear with me. There’s always the Big Declutter for 2027!
Gwen Loughman is the gatekeeper of four boys, one husband and a watcher over two dogs.
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