Sorting Through the Stuff
Thinning out my dad’s things is one of the most tender, overwhelming tasks I’ve faced in recent memory. It’s not just a matter of “stuff”—it’s a timeline, a museum, a story of a life. The Christmas décor in boxes that smell like dust and cinnamon. The four full sets of china, used countless times while hosting family and friends. The hundreds of ball caps from every gas station, ballpark, and tractor supply store from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic. Nails and screws sorted with care, fifty screwdrivers—some rusted, others brand new. Mugs from Mt. Rushmore, one shaped like a recycle bin, one that says “World’s Greatest Dad.” Souvenirs from every road trip: tea towels, candles, keychains and even a few stuffed animals. High school yearbooks and decades of sentiment packed into boxes, bags, and shelves.
It’s a sacred and exhausting ritual—deciding what is junk, what should be donated, and what is worth keeping. Each object must be touched. Considered. Felt. Does this bring me joy? Or only sentimentality? Is it honoring his memory, or weighing me down?
The process is more emotional than I expected. Because really, it’s not just about his things. It’s about change. Grief. Identity. It’s about honoring what was while making space for what is.
And the same is true for our belief systems.
Just like the boxes of memorabilia, we all carry around mental and emotional “stuff” that we inherited—beliefs shaped by family, culture, religion, systems, organizations. Many of those beliefs once served us, or helped us feel safe and accepted. But what happens when they no longer do?
What happens when we realize that some of the ideas we’ve clung to—about ourselves, others, the world—are outdated, harmful, or just not ours to carry?
Letting go of a belief can be just as hard as parting with a souvenir from a family vacation. You remember who gave it to you. Why you kept it. How it made you feel. But if it no longer serves a purpose, if it no longer fits who you are becoming, is it worth the space?
Here are some questions I’ve found helpful—whether I’m deciding what to do with a chipped coffee mug or an inherited belief:
Does this bring comfort, or clutter?
Am I keeping this out of guilt, or genuine love?
Does this reflect who I am, or who I used to be—or who someone else wanted me to be?
Is there a positive purpose it still serves?
Am I afraid of what it means to let this go?
Mental health and wellness are deeply tied to both our physical and emotional environments. Too much clutter—literal or metaphorical—can leave us feeling overwhelmed, stuck, or anxious. It’s okay to keep the things (and beliefs) that anchor you, that reflect your values, that spark joy or help you remember who you are. But it’s also okay to release the rest.
We live in a culture—especially as women—that often teaches us to shrink. To sacrifice. To hold on tightly to what we’re told matters, even if it hurts. But growth requires space. Wellness requires release. And becoming more fully yourself might mean honoring your past without being beholden to it.
So go gently. Take your time. Whether you’re sorting through boxes or beliefs, it’s okay to feel the weight of it all. Let change metabolize slowly. Let grief and gratitude coexist. Let yourself become lighter, not by losing what matters, but by making room for what does.
And if you find a mug shaped like a recycle bin—keep it. Or not. Only you know what’s worth holding on to.
