Minimalism and Grief: How Decluttering Can Help You Heal

Have you ever noticed how, in times of grief, everything feels heavy? Not just emotionally, but physically. The objects around you—the stack of unopened mail, the clothes in the closet, the boxes collecting dust in the garage—suddenly seem like anchors holding you down. It’s like the weight of the loss you’re feeling somehow latches onto the stuff around you.

For me, this connection between grief and clutter didn’t really click until I found myself in the thick of both. A close friend had passed away unexpectedly, and in the weeks that followed, my apartment felt suffocating. Not because I had an obscene amount of stuff, but because everything I owned suddenly felt too much. Every item I touched seemed to bring up a memory, an expectation, or even an unresolved feeling. The clutter wasn’t just in my home—it was in my heart.

And that’s when I realized: maybe minimalism could help.

The Emotional Weight of Objects

Grief has a way of attaching itself to the things we own. Whether it’s a gift from someone we’ve lost or just everyday items we can no longer look at the same way, our possessions start to carry a lot of emotional baggage.

• Triggers everywhere: You might open a drawer and find a card from someone who’s no longer with you. Or pick up a sweater and remember the last time you wore it was to an event they attended. Suddenly, the mundane things are charged with emotion.
• The urge to hold on: In grief, there’s often this intense desire to cling to anything that reminds you of the person or time you’ve lost. It’s like by holding onto the objects, you’re holding onto the memory, too.
• The guilt of letting go: There’s also this subtle feeling that if you let go of certain things, you’re somehow disrespecting the memory of that person, or forgetting them. But what I’ve noticed is that holding onto everything doesn’t necessarily keep the memory alive—it just keeps you stuck.

This emotional connection to our stuff is why, when we’re grieving, decluttering can feel impossible. But it’s also why it can be so transformative.

Decluttering as an Act of Healing

Now, I’m not saying you should immediately start tossing things out when you’re in the midst of grieving. That’s not what this is about. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Decluttering, when approached gently, can become a way to honor your grief and slowly process the loss.

Think of it as clearing space—not just physically, but emotionally.

• Start small, and be intentional: I’ve found that when I try to tackle everything at once, I end up overwhelmed. So, starting with one small area—a drawer, a shelf, a box—can make the task feel less daunting. Maybe you pick one thing to let go of, or maybe you just sit with the items and feel what comes up. There’s no rush.
• Create space for emotions: Sometimes, as you go through things, you might feel a surge of emotion. That’s okay. Let it happen. Decluttering isn’t just about the physical act of removing items; it’s about creating space for your feelings to breathe.
• Ask yourself what serves you now: In grief, it’s easy to hold onto everything. But ask yourself: Does this item help me heal, or is it weighing me down? It’s not about throwing out memories, but about making room for the ones that truly matter.

When I went through my own decluttering process after my friend passed, I came across a scarf she’d given me. I hadn’t worn it in years, and every time I saw it, it reminded me of her in a bittersweet way. I kept it at first, thinking it was a way of keeping her close. But over time, I realized the scarf was just making me feel sad every time I saw it, and that wasn’t how I wanted to remember her. So I let it go, and with it, a little bit of the weight I’d been carrying.

Letting Go Without Forgetting

One of the biggest fears people have when decluttering after a loss is that by letting go of an item, they’re somehow erasing the person or the memory attached to it. But that’s not how memories work. The memory isn’t in the object—it’s in you.

I’ve noticed that once I let go of some of the more physical reminders of my friend, the memories didn’t disappear. In fact, they became a bit clearer, less tangled up in the “stuff.” It was as though by making space in my home, I was making space in my heart to truly grieve and remember her in a way that felt more peaceful.

Of course, this isn’t a quick fix. Grief is messy, and decluttering won’t solve it. But it can help create an environment where healing feels a little bit easier.

Holding Onto What Truly Matters

Minimalism isn’t about stripping everything away until your life feels sterile. That’s a common misconception. It’s really about holding onto what matters most—and sometimes, that’s a memory, a feeling, or even a tangible object that brings you comfort during difficult times. The key is discerning what genuinely serves you and what’s simply adding to the emotional clutter.

• Cherishing intentional keepsakes: Not everything needs to go. Maybe there’s a letter, a piece of jewelry, or a photo that truly brings you peace. These are the things worth keeping—the items that carry meaning without weighing you down. I’ve kept a few things from loved ones I’ve lost, but I made sure they were items that sparked warmth rather than sadness.
• Letting go of ‘should’: Sometimes, we keep things because we feel like we should—whether it’s because someone gave it to us, or because society tells us we need to hold onto mementos. But I’ve found that when we release the pressure of ‘should,’ we can hold onto what feels right. It’s not about following some strict rule of minimalism; it’s about finding what feels peaceful in your heart.

I remember holding onto an old birthday card from my grandfather, long after he had passed. At first, it felt comforting—like a piece of him was still with me. But over time, that card started to feel more like an obligation, as though I had to keep it to prove something about our relationship. I realized that the love he gave me wasn’t tied to that card. Letting it go didn’t erase my connection to him—it actually gave me the freedom to remember him in a lighter, more authentic way.

Grieving in Your Own Time

One of the most important things to remember is that grief, much like decluttering, is deeply personal. There’s no timeline, no right or wrong way to go about it. Some days, you might feel ready to start sorting through things, while other days, just looking at them might be too much. Both are okay.

• It’s okay to take breaks: Processing loss and decluttering don’t have to be all-consuming. Some days, you might find the strength to let go of a few items, while other days, it’s okay to just sit with the mess, both literal and emotional. There’s no rush. In fact, I’ve noticed that grief tends to come in waves—some days you’re ready to dive in, and others you’re barely treading water. Honor that rhythm.
• Allowing space for change: As time passes, your relationship with certain objects may change. Something you couldn’t bear to part with in the early stages of grief may feel easier to release months or even years later. It’s not about forcing yourself to let go prematurely but giving yourself the grace to evolve.

This was something I had to remind myself over and over. There was a set of mugs my mother had given me, ones we used to drink coffee from together every Sunday morning. For a long time after she passed, I couldn’t bring myself to even move them, let alone use them. But one day, I felt ready—I didn’t need to hold onto every object to feel her presence in my life. Letting go wasn’t about erasing her memory but finding new ways to honor it.

The Freedom in Letting Go

Here’s the thing—when we declutter while grieving, we aren’t just making space in our homes; we’re making space in ourselves. There’s a sort of freedom in it, a lightness that starts to return as we gradually release the things we no longer need to carry. This freedom doesn’t erase the loss, but it makes room for the healing.

• Making space for new memories: By letting go of certain items, we’re not discarding our past. Instead, we’re creating room for the future. New experiences, new connections, and yes, even new grief, because life is always in motion. Minimalism doesn’t mean we stop feeling—it means we give ourselves space to feel fully.
• Rediscovering joy in simplicity: There’s a quiet kind of joy in simplicity. In having fewer things, I’ve found I’m able to focus more on what truly brings me happiness—whether it’s spending time with loved ones, taking a walk outside, or even just enjoying the stillness of a decluttered space. It’s about finding peace amidst the chaos of life, and in grief, that peace is even more vital.

In my experience, grief has a way of making you reevaluate everything—your priorities, your relationships, and yes, even your belongings. Minimalism, at its core, is about making those evaluations with intention. What do I need to hold onto? What am I ready to release? And how can I create space, both in my surroundings and within myself, to heal?