Decluttering

Making Space to Return to Myself

Last year felt heavy.

Not because of one particular incident. Not because something dramatic happened. But because the energy of the year itself felt strange — emotionally draining, hazy, and oddly disorienting. A quiet confusion settled into the mind and refused to leave.

I didn’t feel like doing much.
And that is unusual for me.

I am ambitious — lazy, yes — but ambitious. I like working, creating, moving, having fun. I like doing. Yet the year felt awkward, almost as if it was slowly pulling energy out of you, leaving you unsure of what you were even tired from.

Thankfully, I had a friend by my side who felt something similar. And soon I realised — it wasn’t just us. Many people seemed to be moving through the year with the same exhaustion, the same emotional fog. Like the Mind Flayer from Stranger Things had taken over Hawkins — only this time, it was quietly occupying our minds.

Good things happened too.

I completed a major English documentary project. I lived alone for long stretches — taking responsibility for myself, cooking my own meals, trying new dishes, working out, resting well. I went through a physical transformation, lost nearly eleven kilos, ate clean most of the time. My body felt lighter.

But my mind still felt cluttered.

So I decided to clear it.
To declutter.

Decluttering sounds simple. It isn’t.

We often hoard things we think we need — but don’t. I had done that too. Perhaps out of loneliness. Perhaps to fill days that felt empty. Perhaps because boredom quietly convinces us that buying something will make time pass faster.

Those things sit in cupboards, in bags, in front of us — waiting to be used, demanding attention, creating noise. And yet, they serve no real purpose.

And then I realised — clutter isn’t only physical.

It’s also the hours spent watching television while eating.
Lying on the couch or bed, overthinking life.
Mindlessly scrolling through the phone, then wondering where time went.
Meeting people just to socialise, without joy.
Feeling bad about time wasted.
Blaming yourself.
Repeating the loop.

I was aware of all this. I had muted notifications, set app timers, tried to keep my phone away — and still, my screen time was four to five hours a day.

Four to five hours.
Watching someone else’s life.
Comparing my worst days to someone’s best — or carefully curated — moments.

No.

I didn’t want that anymore.

So I deleted it.

In November 2025, I deleted Instagram. I deleted Pinterest. I reduced YouTube. I deleted food delivery apps. All of it.

I decluttered my cupboard, my bags, my home — removing things that no longer made sense, things that created disturbance instead of ease.

And while I was decluttering, I lost my smartwatch.

I resisted the urge to buy a new one. For days.
And then I realised — I didn’t need it.

I started using Google Fit only while actually walking. Ten thousand steps became enough. I moved more naturally — staying active even when I wasn’t counting.

Something shifted.

As the external clutter reduced, the mind began to feel free. I started enjoying free time with a free mind. Deleting social media brought unexpected peace — I no longer felt the urge to share my life with everyone.

The private space felt serene.

No one needed to know what I was eating, where I was going, what I liked or didn’t. No quiet surveillance. No information overload. No endless ads trying to sell me things I didn’t need.

That was my clean digital diet.

Decluttering, I’ve realised, is not really about things.
It is about attention.

Every object we keep, every app we open, every habit we repeat asks for a piece of us. And when too many things ask at once, the soul begins to feel scattered — not because it is weak, but because it is overstimulated.

Emotionally, decluttering feels like relief. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. You don’t realise how tense you’ve been until the tension leaves.

Spiritually, decluttering feels like devotion — not to a deity, but to clarity. Choosing emptiness over excess. Silence over noise. Space over stimulation.

And there is something deeply satisfying about decluttering that we don’t talk about enough — completion.

So much of our mental fatigue comes from open loops. Unfinished decisions. Things we know aren’t aligned but haven’t yet had the courage to release. Decluttering closes those loops. You choose. You decide. You end something gently.

And endings, when done consciously, are incredibly grounding.

This is especially true with relationships.

We often carry people long after their season has passed. Relationships that once made sense but now feel heavy. Connections where energy only flows one way — where you give time, care, understanding, and receive very little in return.

Decluttering relationships is the hardest kind of decluttering.

But love that drains you is not love that sustains you.

Letting go of people who no longer support you, see you, or respect your growth is not cruelty. It is self-respect. Often, it’s quiet — fewer explanations, softer boundaries, choosing distance without bitterness.

And with that choice comes closure.

There is peace in no longer trying to be understood by those committed to misunderstanding you. There is dignity in stepping away from dynamics that only take.

Decluttering relationships completes chapters.
It tells the nervous system, you are safe now.
It tells the heart, you don’t have to try so hard anymore.

In the silence that followed all this decluttering — physical, digital, emotional — something beautiful happened.

I could finally be with myself.
Feel things.
Express them.

That freedom felt real.

That is when I created Juilee Journal.

My own space on the internet — slow, gentle, safe. A place where I write when I feel like it. Where people can come and find something that resonates. A quiet reservoir of stillness, calm, and serenity we all carry within us — but often forget to visit.

I wasn’t planning to return to social media. This one space felt enough. But I was reminded that visibility, when used consciously, can be a tool — not a trap.

So yes, I may return — deliberately.
Only to share my creativity.
Only my writing.
Everything else stays private.

Because if the reservoir dries out, where will I go to recharge?

And if the noise returns, I know now what to do.

I will declutter.
Again.

Written by Juilee Parag Parkhi