Let’s just say it plainly, softly, and maybe with a nervous laugh: nobody wants your stuff. Not in the way you think they do, anyway. This isn’t a judgement. It’s a mercy. And once you really let it sink in, it’s oddly freeing.
Because one day — without warning, without a polite calendar invite — someone who loves you will be handed the quiet, emotional job of sorting through your life. They’ll open drawers you forgot existed. Boxes you sealed with the optimism of “I’ll deal with this later.” Old phones, old notes, old cords that once belonged to something important.
They’ll stand in your space and make decisions on your behalf.
What stays.
What goes.
What mattered.
What didn’t.
And most of the things you kept “just in case”? They won’t feel like treasures. They’ll feel like weight.
That’s the uncomfortable truth no one likes to say out loud: your stuff is deeply meaningful… to you. To everyone else, it’s mostly logistics.
This doesn’t mean your life wasn’t rich. It means your life was lived, not stored.
We tend to confuse possessions with legacy. As if the right objects might somehow explain us when we’re gone. But your legacy isn’t hiding in a box labelled “miscellaneous.” It’s not the stack of papers you were “definitely going to sort one day,” or the clothes that almost fit again, or the random cables whose purpose died years ago.
Your legacy is the way people felt around you.
The stories they tell.
The habits they picked up from you.
The laughs that still catch them off guard.
No one has ever said, “They really changed my life… and wow, what an incredible filing system.”
We keep things for a future version of ourselves — the organised one, the thinner one, the more creative one, the one with time. “Someday” is the most dangerous storage unit we own. It’s where objects go to wait for a life that may never arrive.
And so the piles grow. Not because the items are valuable, but because letting go feels confronting. Because holding on feels safer than admitting, “This chapter has closed.”
Decluttering, when you really get into it, isn’t about cupboards or shelves. It’s emotional work. It asks questions we’d rather avoid.
Who was I when I kept this?
Who did I think I’d become?
Why am I afraid to let it go?
Sometimes we’re not keeping objects — we’re keeping identities. Proof that we mattered, that we tried, that something once meant something. And that’s human. Painfully, beautifully human.
But here’s the gentle reframe: letting go doesn’t erase your life. It clears the noise so the important parts can breathe.
Memories don’t live in objects. They live in you. And in the people who carry you forward in ways no cardboard box ever could.
Saying “nobody wants my stuff” isn’t morbid. It’s honest. And honesty can be generous. It means you get to enjoy what you own now, without turning it into a burden later. You bought things because they brought you joy, comfort, curiosity, or fun — and that’s wonderful. Use them. Wear them. Love them. Then, when their job is done, let them go.
Because the greatest act of kindness isn’t leaving behind perfectly labelled tubs. It’s leaving behind fewer decisions, fewer apologies, fewer heavy silences in a room full of things.
So say it out loud, even if it feels weird: nobody wants my stuff.
Then smile. Because what they do want — what they’ll always want — is you. The version of you that laughed too loudly, cared deeply, showed up imperfectly, and lived a life that can’t be packed away.
And that’s a legacy no one has to declutter.
If this article has inspired you to think about your unique situation and, more importantly, what you and your family are going through right now, please get in touch with your advice professional.
This information does not consider any person’s objectives, financial situation, or needs. Before making a decision, you should consider whether it is appropriate in light of your particular objectives, financial situation, or needs.
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Disclaimer: The information contained in this article is general in nature and does not take into account your personal objectives, financial situation or needs. Please consider whether the information is appropriate to your circumstance before acting on it and, where appropriate, seek professional advice.