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Parenting
The Essentials We Hold Onto by Samantha Reed
Updated: Aug. 3, 2016
Originally Published: Jan. 30, 2012
This year, one of my main objectives has been to declutter my home—truly declutter it. This effort goes beyond just sifting through toys, shredding outdated paperwork, and discarding clothes that have seen better days. It’s about aspiring to live a lighter, more joyful, and fulfilling life with less. It’s about retaining only what I genuinely need and mustering the courage to part with items that no longer serve a purpose. Items that do not contribute to the authenticity of the memories they symbolize, such as a T-shirt from a charity run or a concert ticket stub. Regardless of those items, I still participated in the event and enjoyed the music.
As I navigate each room, assessing the countless belongings that inhabit my life, I find myself pondering whether to toss or keep. I’ve come to realize that the reasons we hold onto things—feelings of guilt (like the kids’ stuffed animals), hope (my size four jeans), nostalgia (the shoes I wore on my wedding day), and even sorrow (my late dog’s bumblebee Halloween costume)—are often the same reasons we eventually summon the bravery to let them go.
Years ago, during a family vacation in Colorado, I crafted a bowl in a pottery class. I chose to take the class as my options were limited; I was five months pregnant and unable to partake in activities like horseback riding or rock climbing. Even a simple walk uphill to the spa for a prenatal massage left me breathless due to the altitude.
The bowl I created was both ugly and beautiful. It was flawed—lopsided and resembling a tulip gone awry—but it was beautiful because it was made by my own hands. The resort kindly shipped it to me, and to my surprise, it arrived in one piece. It survived a few moves before finding its final resting place on a small white shelf above the toilet (because where else could I put it?).
I should have discarded it when it first arrived because, let’s face it, it was not attractive. Yet, I kept it because it reminded me of the precious summer I spent basking in the joy of my second trimester with my first child. The morning sickness and fatigue of the early weeks had faded; my belly was round but comfortable, and I had endless time to dream about strollers, diaper bags, and baby names. It was a magical time.
But there’s more to the story. Though that was my first pregnancy, it wasn’t my only one. A year and a half prior, I experienced a different journey during a family cruise to the Caribbean. After a home pregnancy test, I rushed to my doctor, who encouraged me to enjoy my trip but cautioned me not to drink the water in Mexico.
What stands out about that trip, aside from the night I miscarried, was the abundance of Christmas cookies everywhere I turned on the ship.
Shortly after returning home, I found myself hospitalized. Despite severe pain during the cruise, my blood tests indicated I was pregnant, but the ultrasound told a different story. Heartbroken and terrified, I counted backward from 100 as I lay in the operating room, unsure if I would wake up with one less fallopian tube or worse. Fortunately, I emerged intact, but the relief was fleeting as the fetal tissue revealed a molar pregnancy—an abnormal growth that would never form a baby.
To add to the cruelty, I soon found myself in the office of a gynecological oncologist. Molar pregnancies can lead to something called choriocarcinoma, a form of cancer in the uterus. I endured two months of weekly chemotherapy and the subsequent year monitoring my hormone levels. Though treatable, the cancer could have been deadly if it returned unnoticed.
My first pregnancy was indeed magical, but it was also a grand illusion. I longed for a baby, yet I faced the harsh reality of cancer, watching everything I believed to be true vanish before my eyes.
I never appreciated the lopsided, tulip-shaped bowl I had crafted during my Colorado vacation, but I held onto it, believing it encapsulated the memories of my challenging journey to recovery. The process of falling, rising again, healing, and eventually experiencing a genuine pregnancy—all of that seemed tied to that bowl. Yet, it was just a bowl, and an unattractive one at that. So, I decided to let it go, realizing that the memory of that magical time would always remain with me.
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Summary
This article reflects on the emotional journey of decluttering one’s life, emphasizing the significance of memories over material possessions. Through personal anecdotes, the author illustrates how memories can hold more value than physical items, leading to the decision to part with items that no longer serve a purpose.