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How Minimalism Changed My Life………..I used to think minimalism was just one of those Instagram things—like latte art or girls in beige linen dresses smiling at plants. But then, somewhere between tripping over my own laundry pile and realizing I had three unopened Amazon boxes sitting in my kitchen (I didn’t even remember what was inside), I hit a wall. Like… an actual mental wall. And that’s when I stumbled into this whole minimalism thing.

And let me tell you—minimalism changed my life in ways I didn’t see coming. Not just the “my apartment looks clean enough for a Pinterest board” kind of way. I mean my brain calmed down. My stress levels dropped. My sanity (which I thought had left the building) came back with a sheepish little wave like, “Sorry, traffic was bad.”

The Breaking Point (aka: The Great Closet Meltdown of 2019)

You ever open your closet and feel like it’s personally mocking you? That was me. Every morning. I had so many clothes, but somehow nothing to wear. I’d pull out a shirt, stare at it, toss it on the floor, and repeat. By the end of the week, my room looked like Forever 21 exploded.

One morning—coffee in one hand, hangover headache in the other—I just sat down on my bedroom floor and thought, Why do I even own six pairs of almost-the-same-black-jeans? Like, who was I trying to be? The backup guitarist for The Strokes?

That’s when I Googled: “how to stop drowning in stuff” (actual search). Which led me to a blog about minimalism. Which led me down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos. Which led me to throwing out three trash bags of clothes in one afternoon while my neighbor side-eyed me like I was hiding a body.

Okay, But Minimalism Isn’t Just Throwing Stuff Out

Here’s what I learned (and also screwed up while learning):

Minimalism isn’t about owning one fork and a futon. It’s not about living in an empty white room with a single succulent. It’s about making space. In your house, yeah—but also in your head.

I realized that every random thing I owned was like a little notification ping in my brain. The pile of mail I didn’t open yet? Ping. The box of cords that “might be useful one day”? Ping. The three planners I bought and never used? Ping ping ping.

So when I started tossing stuff, my brain got quieter. Like someone finally turned off that annoying car alarm in the middle of the night.

My First “Aha” Minimalism Moment

So here’s a weird thing that happened: after I donated half my kitchen stuff (including a quesadilla maker I had used exactly one time), cooking actually got fun again.

Why? Because I wasn’t digging through a drawer of mismatched spatulas just to find the one I liked. I had… one spatula. And it was the spatula. My ride-or-die. My spatula soulmate.

It sounds stupid, but I swear cooking spaghetti with just the essentials felt like… freedom. Like, “Oh, this is what my brain has been begging for.”

How Minimalism Saved My Sanity

Alright, let’s get real. Before minimalism, my life felt like 57 tabs open in Chrome—half of them autoplaying ads. After minimalism? It was like… three tabs, one of them Spotify.

Here’s what shifted for me:

  • Less decision fatigue. (Yes, that’s a fancy phrase I stole from a podcast, but it’s real.) I didn’t have to think so hard about what to wear, where to put stuff, or whether I should keep a shirt I secretly hated.
  • Less guilt. Every time I looked at something I bought and didn’t use, I’d feel this little stab of shame. Once it was gone? Poof. Shame deleted.
  • More actual peace. Like, sitting on my couch and not scanning the room making mental to-do lists. Just… sitting. Drinking coffee. Being.

But Don’t Get Me Wrong—It Was Messy

I didn’t just snap my fingers and become some minimalist monk. No way.

  • I once threw out my extra set of sheets and immediately regretted it when my dog threw up on my bed at 2 a.m.
  • I donated three pairs of shoes and then bought basically the same three pairs again a month later.
  • My mom still keeps trying to gift me “cute” knick-knacks that I now smuggle out of her house like contraband.

Minimalism for me has been more like dating—awkward at first, a lot of mistakes, some ghosting, but then suddenly you’re like, “Oh, I think this is working.”

Little Things That Made the Biggest Difference

Here’s some random stuff I did that actually helped in How Minimalism Changed My Life?

  1. The Box Trick. Put stuff in a box. Hide it. If you don’t miss it in 30 days, donate it.
  2. The One-In-One-Out Rule. New hoodie? Old hoodie goes. Simple math.
  3. Digitizing Junk. I scanned all my old birthday cards instead of keeping the physical stack (sorry, Grandma, but your “Happy 23rd” card lives in the cloud now).
  4. Canceling Subscriptions. Not just Netflix-type stuff, but also canceling the mental subscription to “maybe I’ll use this someday.”

Minimalism Made Room for… Me

This part feels cheesy, but it’s true: once I cleared out the junk, I had more energy for actual life. I started writing again and cooked at home more. I even went outside and touched grass (shocking, I know).

I’m not saying minimalism turned me into some Zen monk floating above the chaos of modern life. I still scroll TikTok too much. I still panic-buy dumb things sometimes (looking at you, neon green yoga mat). But the difference is—I notice it now. And I bounce back faster.

If You’re Thinking About How Minimalism Changed My Life?

Do it messy. Seriously. Don’t wait until you have the perfect plan. Grab a trash bag. Pick one drawer. Or just start by deleting old apps on your phone (yes, you do not need Candy Crush levels 1–700 saved forever).

Minimalism isn’t a contest, it’s not about showing off how little you own. It’s about making space so you can breathe again.

And if you’re anything like me, breathing feels a lot better than tripping over three nearly-identical pairs of black jeans.

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