packing light, living large: the emotional journey of downsizing
Jared was a yard sale virgin. He’d never hosted one before, but with our “get rid of” piles stacking up, he was game to try. We spent a full day pricing everything and organizing it into categories. We set out signs on either end of the street and crossed our fingers that dedicating a weekend would be worth the effort.
The morning of the sale, we woke up early, and lugged bin after bin downstairs to the front yard, coffee in hand. As we set up, early-morning walkers and seasoned yard sale hunters began to wander by. We met neighbors we’d never spoken to (but wished we had while we still lived there) and chatted with collectors that clearly had stories of their own. Jared quickly found his groove like a seasoned pro. By the end of the day, we were exhausted, and down to one carload of leftovers for donation. It felt like the final exhale of our old life.
But the real work wasn’t just in the getting rid – it was in the letting go.
I had moments where I held something in my hands, knowing full well it wasn’t coming with us, and still felt the tug of sentimentality. The artwork I’d collected over the years. Boots that held memories from seasons past. Even my old yoga mat, which had traveled with me through different counties – and different states of mind.
I’d seen my mother’s house slowly turn into a storage unit for the rest of the family. Things left behind “just for now” had been untouched for years, taking up space she could have used for herself. I didn’t want to be that burden. I also wasn’t willing to pay for a storage unit. We lived in a place we had no real ties to, and aside from a handful of dear friends, we had no reason to return. So some things got packed away and stashed with family – a few “non-essentials” that still felt essential to the heart. But most of it? Gone. And with each item we let go of, we felt lighter.
I’m a journal-keeper and a doodler. As I went through old notebooks filled with memories, scribbles, and the silliest little drawings, I laughed, I cried, and I grieved past versions of myself. It felt like a quiet, personal ceremony – one that honored where I’d been and who I’d become. And then, into the recycling they went! Every single one. It was time to shed that layer.
Here’s what we kept in mind as we made those decisions:
Will we actually wear it where we’re going? Think: humidity, salt air, limited storage. Fashion? Forget about it. Function was the name of the game.
Is the gear relevant to the life we’re building? We’re not giving up hobbies, but we’re being real about what’s feasible. (The snowboards? Still a sensitive subject – let’s just say it’s a temporary goodbye. RIP, for now.)
Does it fit in the space available? Not just physically, but ergonomically. Boat storage is basically Tetris with your life.
Can it pull double-duty? If it couldn’t serve more than one purpose, we questioned whether it was worth the space.
Have we used it in the past year? Dust was a dead giveaway. If we hadn’t missed it yet, chances were we never would.
Downsizing wasn’t just a physical shift – it was a mental and emotional one, too. It forced us to reflect on what we value, what we want to carry forward, and what we’re ready to release. It wasn’t always easy, but it was necessary.
And now? Now we’re left with a small collection of things that feel like us. Things that support the life we’re choosing to live, rather than weighing us down. It’s not about minimalism for the aesthetic – it’s about mobility, intention, and freedom. And that feels like a trade worth making.
Thinking About Downsizing? Here’s What Helped Us:
Start earlier than you think you need to. I’m usually a last-minute packer when it comes to moving, and even had to admit: this process takes longer than you think. Sure, living in the chaos for a month+ wasn’t fun, but it was necessary.
Make peace with the fact that you won’t do it perfectly. I can’t tell you how many times Jared has looked at me and said, “I wish you hadn’t told me to get rid of (fill in the blank).” You’ll keep some things you won’t use and let go of some things you might miss. That’s okay.
Be honest about your lifestyle – not your fantasy life. Keep what serves the life you’re actually living (or transitioning into), not the one you might live someday.
Set a few non-negotiables. Maybe it’s a comfort item, a sentimental piece, or just something that sparks joy. Let yourself keep a few “unreasonable” things. You don’t need to justify them.
Let yourself feel the feelings. It’s not just stuff – it’s identity, memory, and change. Grieve a little, laugh a lot, and celebrate the freedom that follows.
