The journey into decluttering my attic was such a momentous event in my life. It was one of those singular episodes that added as much to my growth as any previous experience I’ve had. Looking back, it seems inevitable that such a major part of myself would have to be exposed—first to me and then (with all the stuff I found) to the dumpster—for the world to see. Still, in the thick of it, there wasn’t anything wholesome or uplifting about this process for me. ‘What a pain!’ was something I thought more often than not during this horn of plenty episode unfolding up in my attic.
For many years, my attic served as a dumping ground for numerous items – old furniture, childhood toys, seasonal decorations, and sundry things I hadn’t used in what felt like an eternity. Yet every time I thought about taking all those items down to the basement or a dumpster and dealing with the situation head-on, I’d put it off.
The thought of organizingthe mess was just too overwhelming to contemplate. So instead, as is common for lots of people who don’t know how to get started and lose heart early on in the process, I simply shut the door and attempted to not think about it while still knowing that eventually (as inevitably) my cleaning issues’ ascension would hit the upkeep stage.
The moment of clarity arrived when I saw my settings being affected by the disarray in the attic. Now, it was not only about seeing and walking around in a tidy space (although that is crucial), but also about how much unkemptness upper story above me was taking from my overall well-being. For some silly reason, knowing there was so much work to be done up there created a constant itch of stress deep within my spirit. It was always working in the background of my mind—a nagging piece you don’t think about but resolves into awareness whenever you’re doing something relaxing and then are beset by thoughts like ‘You know what would make this better? If this space were tidy.’
Before starting the task, I took time to gather my thoughts and mentally prepare myself for the work that lay ahead. It was far from easy; indeed, it threatened to become quite emotional, given that many of the items in the attic had close ties to certain moments (and some downright idiotic decisions) in my life. I opted first not so much for a linear path through the space but instead sought diversely toward different corners of the attic. Once inside these varied mini-worlds, I spent no more than 15 minutes with any one item; some deserved praise and rememberings while others needed merely recognizing before discarding them back into their cardboard boxes.
The real challenge was the depth of stuff in the attic. When I started to organize, I felt a mix of emotions and some equipoise. Some items clearly needed to go and didn’t have a reasonable claim to any sort of emotional attachment. Such was the case with many pieces of clothing that my kids had outgrown (why do we hold on?), lots of old paperwork (digitize it!), and an alarming number of unopened greeting cards sent by friends as well as family members during various holidays—all stacked up in a recycling bin waiting to become something useful (or not).
As I looked deeper into the attic, I found things that had been forgotten a long time ago. Every box I opened was like an old gossip magazine, taking me back to different eras of my life when certain events had occurred. It was both touching and uncomfortable to have this kind of nostalgia stirred up within me.
The attic was a fascinating place to declutter. While organizing the space, I stumbled upon many old and forgotten items that reignited vivid memories from my past. The most profound find was my high school yearbook, filled from front to back with notes from friends and classmates who had thought it important enough to put in writing what they felt about particular pages of the book. Indeed, those notebooks were more than just a record of whom I had spent time with during those adolescent years; they also reflected the private world that each of us inhabited then and how we related to one another.
Parting with possessions in the attic can be some of the hardest decisions a person will make. And for many individuals, it’s emotional belongings that create the most angst and lead to hesitancy. I remember deciding which items to keep and which to relinquish by asking myself what each held sentimental value for me. A makeshift shrine like my grandparents’, where space wasn’t limited, offered a convenient excuse not to discard anything except under extreme circumstances—when an item was so obviously beyond repair or no longer served any purpose—allowed me plenty of wiggle room.
Every item I threw into the pile to be donated or discarded brought me a step closer to my newfound clarity. It’s almost impossible to feel peaceful in a home consumed by stuff, and our attic has surely been such a space that can quickly become a haven of mental befogment. As I worked on untangling the space, organizing what needed to stay, and parting with what didn’t, I found my mind clearing right along with the area around me.
The real work of decluttering my attic was not so much with the physical stuff, but with the emotions attached to each item. Every piece I decided to part with took a small chunk of my memories and nostalgia with it. But in doing so, I think I’ve freed up some space inside me—space for new experiences, new memories, and just plain old living that isn’t weighed down by all the knickknacks and jawbones clinging to storage space in my brain (and my absorbent cloud).
When I started sorting through the contents of my attic, I had no idea how much more than just a few dusty trunks and old boxes I was getting ready to part with. The clearout ended up being a kind of mini-retreat from the past—me tidying up not only visually but also mentally and emotionally. Looking back now, I see that putting all those unwanted attic items on the ‘don’t want’ pile truly did free up for me spaces both in my home and within myself.
The clear benefit of clutter-free attics is the peacefulness and clarity they bring to one’s life. There is something almost ethereal about open space, and that is what an attic becomes when it is decluttered. It actually creates a kind of pull toward it, almost as if you might want to step in and stay awhile. Maybe it’s the smell (the good kind) that makes you feel hazy with comfort; maybe seeing straight through to the other side makes you feel free; or maybe just not having all those eyes poking into your every move while you search for whatever it was that you came up here for enables you to relax enough to focus on more important things in your life.
When I cleared out my attic, my perspective changed along with it. I started thinking about the space I was giving to each item in my home. If something didn’t bring me joy or serve a purpose, why did I have it? Who knew all that stuff would be so liberating? In clearing out one space, I became more mindful of the spaces within myself.
One more benefit of decluttering is it makes us more conscious of our sustainable practices. As I went through the things in my attic, I saw just how much stuff I’d accumulated over the years and how little any of those items seemed to have added to my life when you factored in the amounts of resources used to acquire them. That made me consider what kinds of impacts my unconscious consumption was having on the environment.
I enjoyed sharing my decluttering journey with my friends and family, and it seemed to motivate them to start their own decluttering projects. Watching the positive changes in my life surely inspired them to tackle the clanger of approach in their own homes. It was such a great sense of community and shared purpose that further enterprise seemed satisfactorily rewarding.
For me, decluttering my attic was a life-changing project that carried profound emotional and psychological payloads. The work involved not only the removal of physical clutter but also the reorganization of memories, emotions, and thought forms associated with all those accumulated objects. When I had finished decluttering and organizing my attic’s contents — a process enriched by many moments of nostalgia, discovery, and even moments of absurdity — I felt what might be described as an actual shift or movement in my life.
