The Clean Freak’s Closet of Secrets

I’m a clean freak and an avid declutterer (if that’s even a word). I throw away things I really don’t need. Like that time I tossed out the tray from my daughter’s lunchbox because it was “just taking up space.” I’d just read that if you haven’t used an item for over a year, it’s time to let it go. So I did, only to realize two years later that I actually did need it. It was perfect for keeping her burger in place and holding a packet (or two) of ketchup. I’m that kind of declutterer. (And yes, that’s definitely a word now.)

When I was younger, I’d see my grandparents and in-laws keep things they didn’t need-collecting dust, debris, and a generous layer of oil and grime that turned everything into a shade of brown with a hint of black. I’d promised myself I’d never let my house turn into that. I prided myself on being a minimalist-keeping only what I used. Sure, I kept small cardboard boxes to wrap gifts or reused pretty gift bags (I’m an environmentalist at heart), but otherwise, I threw things out without remorse.

Then I turned 40 (now 41), had two kids, and realized something: hoarding isn’t deliberate; it just happens. It quietly creeps into your life when you’re not paying attention.

This morning, I opened my work desk drawer and discovered I’ve been hoarding too-expired coupons, ancient earplugs, random chargers, a tiny teddy bear (probably my daughter’s), an old chequebook, and… a stone. A pretty one, but still-a stone?

I turned around and started looking deeper. My dresser drawers? Full of cloth tote bags from every shop and office event imaginable. Another drawer had five empty cardboard boxes-an old toy box, three Willow Tree figurine boxes from last year, a Christmas jewelry box, and a few Ziplocks I apparently thought I’d reuse someday. Then there were my little one’s swaddles, burp cloths, and hospital towels. I guess I didn’t have the heart to part with those.

My closet drawers are a museum of memories-pretty saree bags, wristwatches from twenty years ago, and clothes from an era when I could fit into them. I tell myself my daughter will wear them one day (which is both sentimental and wildly optimistic).

Under the bathroom vanity? A graveyard of unused serums, moisturizers, and expensive gifts I was “saving for a special trip” that never came. There’s also a five-year-old bag of Epsom salt, henna and indigo I never liked, and forgotten bottles of rosemary and eucalyptus oil.

And then, tucked away elsewhere, return gifts from a decade ago, unused picture frames, and random trinkets that probably once felt “too nice to toss.”

Maybe it’s not about being a minimalist or a hoarder - maybe it’s about being human. We hold on to things the way we hold on to memories: not because we need them, but because they remind us of a version of ourselves that once did. So yes, I’ll probably continue throwing things out and then regretting it two years later or just keep hoarding things that I really didn’t take a look at for 20 years. I guess everyone has their own secret stash of forgotten things. Maybe it’s fine; as long as the clutter doesn’t take over our living space. A little dust and a few tucked-away memories aren’t so bad. Some things carry sentiment; others just make you laugh and ask yourself, “Why on earth did I even keep this?”