Why I Tossed Out 90% of My Stuff and Started Over at 32.

A perfect fit for this lifestyle change story that focuses on mindset, decluttering, and living intentionally.

At 32, I stood in the middle of my apartment surrounded by piles of my stuff—drawers empty, closets falling apart, shelves bare—and I felt strangely free.

Two weeks ago, I wasn’t sure I could make the most of it. I’d always been someone who kept everything. Old college notebooks, mismatched Tupperware, clothes that hadn’t fit in five years, dozens of mugs for no reason. Each item felt like a small piece of recognition. Of memory. “Just in case.”

But I also felt a constant sense of unease in my space. Stressed. Stifled. I never found what I needed, and when I did, I didn’t want it. My life was full of things, but somehow it still felt empty.

Then, something broke.

It started with a breakup. The kind that makes you stop pretending everything was okay. We were together for five years. When she left, I looked around the apartment we’d filled together, and suddenly, it all seemed so foreign. The couch we’d picked up. The art on the wall. The glasses we’d bought on a random Tuesday. It all felt heavy — filled with what was and no room for what could have been.

And so, one afternoon, I grabbed three trash bags and started throwing them away.

At first, it was just things that reminded me of her. Then it was something that reminded me of the old days — the ones that bought things to fill an emotional void. Soon, it turned into a question in which I asked everything I owned:

“Does it serve me now — or am I protecting it out of fear?”

Fear of letting go.

Fear of needing it later.

Fear of losing the past.

And what I realized was that I was clinging to a life that no longer fit me. Literally and emotionally.

By the end of the week, I had given away 90% of my belongings.

✔ I kept one plate, one bowl, one mug.

✔ I reduced my wardrobe to 20 essential pieces that I actually wore.

✔ I digitized sentimental photos and threw away boxes of dusty frames.

✔ I sold my secondhand furniture and slept on the floor for a while.

✔ I deleted hundreds of digital files and apps that I hadn’t opened in years.

And for the first time in a decade, I could breathe in my home.

But here’s the truth: Minimalism isn’t about owning less.

It’s about needing less.

It forced me to face some uncomfortable truths:

• That I was using possessions to compensate for purpose.
• That I was hiding behind clutter instead of facing decisions.
• That I had confused “stuff” with “security.”

The more I let go, the more I came back to myself.

Suddenly, I had the time and space I didn’t know I craved. I started cooking again—not because I had a fancy kitchen, but because it felt nurturing. I spent more time outdoors, more time journaling, more time doing things that didn’t involve swiping or scrolling or spending.

Minimalism wasn’t just about cleaning—it was about cleaning.

I learned that…

🟢 Clutter isn’t just physical.

It’s mental, emotional, digital. My mind was overwhelmed before I even opened my eyes each day. Letting go of the superfluous allowed me to think more clearly, move more freely, and feel stronger.

🟢 Things multiply when you’re not looking.

We accumulate out of boredom, marketing, guilt, fear. But very little of it adds real value. Most of it distracts us from what’s really important.

🟢 Letting go is a skill.

At first it hurt. It felt wrong. But with practice, it became freeing. It gave me the confidence to say, “I don’t need this to be okay.” And that bled into other parts of my life — the people, the habits, the stories I told myself.

At 32, I didn’t just declutter my house, I decluttered my identity.

I stopped trying to be someone I was with a perfectly finished bookcase or kitchen gadgets I never used. I stopped holding on to clothes that “used to fit” as if holding on to them would turn back time.

Instead, I asked:

Who am I now? What do I need to live a good life today?

And the answer was always easier than I expected.

These days, my life fits in a car.

Not because I want to own “nothing,” but because everything I do supports the life I want to live.

I have more time, more clarity, more room for creativity and connection. I travel more. I worry less. I eat less and appreciate more.

People ask me if I ever regret throwing it all away?

I tell them, “No. I regret waiting so long to do so.”

Because when you pare down life to the essentials, you discover that what’s left isn’t lack—it’s freedom.