Have you ever opened a drawer you hadn’t touched in years and felt like you were looking at a stranger’s things?
Except they were yours. Every single one.
That happened to me on an ordinary Sunday. I was hunting for a spare set of batteries, and I ended up in the bottom drawer of the dresser in our spare room. The one I never open. (I’d forgotten what was even in there.)
Inside was a lanyard from a job I left over a decade ago. A pair of reading glasses I don’t wear anymore. A little planner I bought the year I swore I’d finally get organized. And a folded church bulletin from an Easter I couldn’t even place.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and held that lanyard for a minute.
None of it was worth anything. But I couldn’t put it back either.
Because that drawer wasn’t holding old things. It was holding old versions of me. The woman who wore that lanyard every day. The woman who was sure she’d use that planner. They were still in there, tucked away, taking up room I’d stopped thinking about years ago.
A lot of us do this without noticing. We fill our homes with the people we used to be, and we never stop to ask if we still need them there.
Letting go of sentimental items you’ve outgrown is harder than tossing junk. Because it feels like letting go of yourself.
But I’ve learned it isn’t. And that spare-room drawer was where it started.