The Day I Got Grumpy and Decluttered a Cupboard With My Bare Hands
I didn’t wake up one morning with a clean, folded intention to “embrace minimalism.” I was slightly feral. Heartbroken. And mildly irritated at the way my cupboard door squeaked at me like it had opinions.
That day, I didn’t so much decide to declutter as I emotionally lashed out on some poor, unsuspecting furniture. Goodbye, off-square storage unit. Goodbye, weird hallway cupboard. Goodbye, whatever that thing was that collected dust and regret.
Fueled by a messy cocktail of post-breakup sadness, audiobook inspiration, and a slightly obsessive binge of Tiny House Nation, I entered what I now call The Big Cut™ — the first real turning point in my minimalist journey.
Why Minimalism Didn’t Make Me Feel Deprived — It Made Me Feel Rich
I used to think “wealth” was about finally affording that perfect throw pillow collection, or having a kitchen full of appliances I never used but definitely needed to display. My ex subscribed to this deeply — stuff as safety, stuff as identity, stuff as proof we’d made it.
But the truth? I always felt better in a hotel room — white sheets, clean lines, minimal distractions. I didn’t want the noise of stuff. I wanted space to think. To breathe. To walk across the living room without stubbed toes or silent resentment.
Minimalism, for me, wasn’t about losing anything. It was about gaining breathing room.
The Big Cut: 15 Bin Bags, One Soul Cleanse
Decluttering wasn’t a one-time thing. It built up slowly — audiobooks whispered at me about joy-sparking and intentional living. Instagram tried to sell me baskets to “organise” the clutter I should’ve just thrown out. And finally… that cupboard took one tone too many with me.
In the Big Cut, I got rid of around 15 full bin bags. I wish I were exaggerating. That’s 15 bags of socks I never wore, mugs with slogans like “Espresso Yourself,” random wires I was sure belonged to something important, and clothes that whispered “one day” but never today.
There were emotional moments. Mostly about things that could be useful. Spoiler: they never are. Metal brackets I kept for years — I think I was planning a bunker? — weighed about 20kg total. Why.
I did not declutter like a serene goddess. I decluttered like someone trying to win a speed round of Storage Wars. Area by area, based on what irritated me the most that day. Very intuitive. Very chaotic. Very me.
What I Gained When I Let Go
Here’s the good part:
Once the bags were out and my spine recovered from hauling them, something shifted.
I felt richer — not in bank balance (though we’ll get to that), but in space. Clarity. Air. Less visual noise. Less stuff to clean.
I didn’t need to buy a candle to feel okay. I didn’t need a backup colander. I needed room. And that room gave me back hours. Mornings feel easier. Spending time with my new partner feels softer. There’s nothing between us but the air we chose to keep.
The effects also last and amplify depending on your partner (new and improved)- who is even more of a minimalist. Which is great when you have to tidy up after a toddler who destroys things, only essential things.
Minimalism and Money: TK Maxx, You Can’t Tempt Me Now
Something shifted in my spending too. Once I stopped filling every corner, I stopped needing to. I now spend money on things that give me time and memories with my family — not the “perfect” Halloween pumpkin candle I’ll find smashed in a drawer next March.
Less stuff = fewer decisions = less regret.
Turns out, you can’t impulse-buy serenity. You have to clear space for it.
The Demon Drawer and the Tech Graveyard
Okay, let’s be honest: I’m not a minimalist monk.
There are four pieces of furniture in my bedroom (bed, chair, and two skinny chests of drawers), but I do still own:
- A vintage LG Chocolate phone
- Three generations of PlayStations
- Several wires that go to Nothing™, but feel emotionally essential
- A junk drawer that I am 94% sure is possessed
I tried to de-clutter it once. It growled. I left it for the next tenant.
The Ending (With Four Pieces of Furniture and Zero Regret)
I don’t miss the stuff. Not the novelty mugs, not the shoes I didn’t wear, not the brackets that threatened to become a home gym.
What I gained instead is real wealth — not flashy, not loud, but breathable, liveable, joyful.
I still have cluttered moments. I still battle that junk drawer. But now, I get to choose what fills my life. And most days, that’s a toddler, a partner, a bit of space to dance in the kitchen — and nothing I need to dust.
Minimalism didn’t empty my life.
It cleared a path back to it.
Questions for the Road:
- What clutter is quietly annoying you right now?
- What would your “Big Cut” look like?
- What’s one thing you could get rid of that would make your space feel instantly lighter?
- And what’s one ridiculous object you’re totally keeping — no judgment?