*Amanda clambers out from beneath the rock she’s been living under for 2.5 weeks*
It has been almost two years since I started my decluttering journey and aspired to live a simpler life with less stuff.
Ironically, I’ve probably thought more about my belongings in the past two years than I ever had before—once you become aware of the clutter, it’s impossible to ignore. But the way I was thinking about my stuff had shifted; instead of wanting more, I was taking a hard look at whether the things I owned were helping me lead the life I wanted to live.
Anyone who’s ever stared down an overstuffed closet or disorganized storage room knows decluttering fatigue is a real thing.
Just like a distance runner is more exhausted at mile twenty-five than he is at mile two, we can only go through so many of our childrens’ broken Barbie dolls or old books before we’re ready to collapse in the middle of the floor and never get up again.
Earlier this week, I received two inquiries from two different friends within about 20 minutes of each other asking the same thing: how do you get rid of books?
My sister and I spent last weekend decluttering her entire bedroom. And when I say “decluttering,” I don’t mean a non-committal, put-a-few-shirts-and-koozies-into-a-box-and-call-it-good decluttering—I mean a massive purge that spanned two days and resulted in nearly 20 grocery bags marked for donation.