The Chronicles of Ambivalence: How Decluttering is Allowing Me to Redefine Who I Am

As I stare into my wardrobe, I wonder where all the time has gone.

I’m faced with Christmas Dance dresses, Duke of Edinburgh waterproofs, extinct editions of my work uniform, among an array of flowery tops and costumes and old hats. Almost every chapter of my life is chronicled in clothing, stored safely behind the protection of the heavy, wooden sliding doors.

And I realise, standing there surrounded by boxes and bags, that there is simply no space for who I am now.

I have willingly, and successfully, suppressed the need for a clear out for the last four or five years. I feel suffocated just by the thought of how much of my life is waiting in drawers and on hangers for its fate to be decided. But now, the anxiety is met with a quiet readiness simmering just beneath the surface. A welcomed, subtle, loosening of the grip.

At first it's like being reintroduced to old friends. Ones who we were close to for a time, but have long since drifted away. Out of no fault of their own, of course. Life simply guided us in different directions. And the dregs of that relationship are still there. It's in the comfortable familiarity of their presence, reminiscing about old times and the smell of the same perfume. There are no expectations here, simply an appreciation for what was and what is.

It's funny, I realise, how much of ourselves we convey through clothes. Just by the cuts of jeans we feel most comfortable in, or perhaps the colour palette we are subconsciously drawn to, every choice is a celebration of who we are. We know as soon as we slip into something which doesn't feel quite... right. When something is off. Usually, when we are trying to be something we are not.

I suppose that's the price of trying to keep up with fashion. As soon as the want for a certain style wilts and drops off from the consumerist tree, another trend springs up seemingly out of nowhere, waiting to fully blossom in its place. Yet I hoard and I reminisce and I worry by means of justifying clinging on, meaning that I am left behind with nothing but suitcases full of my different existences. Despite this, I feel such guilt whenever I buy myself new clothes (literally new, or just new to me) as I know there is so much already in my wardrobe. In being tethered to this guilt, I realise I have been denying myself the chance to fully embrace the metamorphosis.

This strange time-capsule is what has been pressing upon my neck- because to me, they are not just clothes, or old friends, but antiques with memories woven in every stitch.

My rational brain knocks politely on sentimentality’s door, politely asking to be let in. They rarely see eye to eye. But I have more time for rationality nowadays. Partly, as my wardrobe is bursting at the seams, but also because I feel the need to invest more time and money into the ‘me’ of today. The me who is a professional, a creative, a gym-goer and comfort seeker. I am an entire rainbow of labels, and I need a wardrobe which reflects that. A fresh start, a blank canvas. I need some space to spread my wings.

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A case of 'out with the old and in with the new', but more so than the clothes themselves going out of fashion, I’m discarding the previous versions of myself.

Maybe discarding is unkind. Rather, it’s time I treat my own progression with the same impermanence of fashion itself. The trends move on and so have I. It's only since moving back home and living in my teenage bedroom that has made me realise just how much has changed. It's forcing me to be ruthless and honest in a way that I rarely acknowledge is necessary. In discomfort lies growth, and this is just another one of life’s ways of nudging me closer to the person I am capable of being. One who does not need an abundance of ‘stuff’, only belongings which spark genuine pleasure.

I am learning that decluttering is not, in fact, about having to bin and let go, but about how I can live more joyfully. By creating space, I am inviting in freedom and love and a truer sense of self. It's merely a case of being mindful of my choices and feelings. How lucky I am to get to make room for more living.

With this in mind I am encouraged, empowered even, to step further into my time-capsule, and really see myself without the overpowering voice of anxiety. With strength, I am able to look at who I was, as I stand in the present version of myself, facing the reality of who I want to be.

I am Lucy staring into Narnia from behind a fur coat, safe in the knowledge that, “I can always get back if anything goes wrong.” Grateful, always, for the many different worlds I have had the chance to occupy, all held safely within those heavy, wooden doors.

Vicky x