Thirteen and a half years ago we moved into our little terraced house. Our very own home. Back then it was just the two of us. We had very few possessions.
Or at least that’s how it seemed.
The day we moved in our bed was delivered, along with a few bits of flat pack furniture. Our sofas arrived 6 weeks later and from there on in we grew, and grew.
We grew from a couple, to man and wife, to a family of three, completed by four. Somewhere in between we managed to fill every available nook and cranny with stuff. Our stuff. Our little bits of history, memories, things that made us tick.
Tons and tons and tons of stuff. Enough stuff to fill a grand mansion, somehow shoe-horned into our teeny, tiny home.
It seemed, that without realising it we had become hoarders. Clothes, shoes, DVDs, CDs and books, hundreds of them. Literally. None of it intentional, it just grew with us, and then beyond us.
So now, thirteen and a half years down the line we find ourselves needing to down scale. The space taken up with our possession, needs to be freed up, if only to fill it with the children’s things. And therein the problem lies.
The logical side of me knows that I can get cash for old clothes, instead of them sitting, unworn, gathering dust in my wardrobe. The sentimental side of me sees the memories in every item. The outfit I wore to a wedding, the CD we listened to the day we found out I was pregnant, the rows of books standing proud on my shelves.
I’m not even sure where to begin!
The one thing I know is it has to be done. We can’t afford to out-grow our home, so now is the time to purge. I just need to find the right balance between logic and sentimentality…