Forty bags in one day.
Toddlers throw things away before we teach them to keep them. Psychologists say it’s how they test limits and watch how adults respond.
But maybe there’s something simpler underneath. What if it’s just our nature? What if we aren’t made to hold on so tightly? Maybe accumulation isn’t what we’re wired for?
I remember the moment clearly. I looked around my old place at everything I owned, and it hit me all at once. Too much. Not just cluttered, overwhelming. It made me anxious just standing there. Every object felt like it was pressing in on me.
That’s when it clicked. Not later, not gradually. Right there.
I didn’t ease into minimalism. I snapped into it. That same day, I gave away around forty bags of clothes, shoes and random things I’d been holding onto for years! No slow process, no back and forth. Just done.
The van came later, and while it didn’t start the shift, it definitely amplified it. When everything you own has to fit into a small space, there’s no room for hesitation. You see things clearly, fast.
After that, I started to understand what had been bothering me. Every object I owned was asking something from me. Care, attention, energy. Shoes, clothes, gadgets, books, even the way I ate and what I wore, all of it took a piece. I hadn’t seen it before, then suddenly I couldn’t unsee it anymore. Everything I kept added pressure, stress.
We grow up hearing that more is better. Keep, buy, own. Security becomes something you can hold. Status becomes something you can show. Identity gets tied to what you wear and what you display. It works, that’s the problem. You follow it without thinking, and slowly you drift. The weight isn’t just objects. It’s habits, routines, expectations, distractions. The more you carry, the harder it is to notice yourself.
Minimalism didn’t feel like loss. It felt like breathing again. The less I had, the more I could see what mattered. I started noticing how much energy I’d been giving to things that gave nothing back. How little space I’d left for thinking, for feeling, for just being. The clutter in my space started to mirror the clutter in my head, and I began clearing both.
And it’s not just physical. Life fills up with noise just as easily. Social media, notifications, obligations, habits that don’t fit. It all accumulates. The weight isn’t just what you own, it’s what you let in. What you absorb, what you feel responsible for. Minimalism became less about things and more about attention. Choosing what deserves a place in my life.
Sometimes I watch a toddler drop a toy and move on without a second thought, and it feels familiar. That ease. That lack of hesitation. They don’t think about cost or judgment. They just let go. There’s something honest in that.
I’ve felt it in my own life. Each time I let something go, space opens. My thoughts get quieter. Focus comes back. Energy returns. Underneath all the noise and habits, there’s something steady that was always there. I just couldn’t hear it before.
Peace isn’t in having more. It’s in needing less. In not being weighed down by things, habits, or the constant pull for more. We’re meant to move lighter, to drop what we don’t need and keep what matters. Toddlers know it, and we forgot.
Minimalism isn’t about aesthetics or rules. It’s a return to attention to self.
Less, so you can carry yourself fully. Less, so you can notice life as it is. Less, so you can remember who you are without all the extra weight.
Thanks for reading.
Teekay
Teekay Rezeau-Merah 