When Your Body Says “Not Today”
August 27, 2026
I dreaded closet day.
I knew it was coming. Of course it was coming. Ask anyone what part of their home needs decluttering and “closet” would be in the top three answers.
But I didn’t want to do it. None of it. And my body was sending obvious clues. That may sound weird, but it’s the truth.
Here’s what happened:
I enrolled in a decluttering course and knew there was a plan. I just didn't know where that would lead. After all, this was a decluttering class–everyone knows what to expect with that.
And as embarrassing as it is to share this photo—it shows how much I needed the course—I didn't want to be in it. I wanted the benefits like having a lighter home and moving without dragging all this with us. But wanting the result didn't mean I wanted the process.
It reminded me of my first pregnancy when the doctor said I needed to eat liver. I remembered that foul smell from childhood, and I wasn’t a fan.
My husband waited for me while I shopped.
He was cracking up when I got to the car.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Look at you!”
I looked down and saw what he saw.
I stood there, holding this gross purchase at arm’s length, pinching the grocery bag just enough to keep it from falling, holding my breath the whole time.
Mind you, the liver was inside a grocery bag, tightly wrapped in plastic. It wasn’t going to jump in my mouth. But my body language gave that impression.
Since the liver episode, I’ve gotten better at noticing what my body is communicating, and it happened again during closet week.
Looking back, I see that my body was reacting to fear.
There was something about that closet that I wanted to avoid. This sounds dramatic, but that’s what fear can do. It can exaggerate things and override our thinking. In this closet scenario, my struggle was internal, and it showed up outwardly with my weird behavior.
The first few days, I was gearing up mentally. I’d walk by my closet and glance that way, like I was eyeing an opponent.
Looking back, I see that my body was reacting to fear. Fear of being overwhelmed. Fear of not doing it right. Afraid of not finishing again. I didn’t want it to derail my whole plan by not doing the closet. I have so many closets. I couldn’t let the first one derail me.
Once I realized what I was doing, I started asking myself questions:
What is in the closet I want to avoid?
What am I afraid of?
What am I willing to do to help me finish the assignment?
The questions were good, but the tone mattered, too. It eased me into facing my fear. Then I could open the closet door.
I decided I could open the closet and work for 10 minutes on my shirts. I could choose items that I knew, deep down, I didn’t like or wear, and I gave myself permission to take those pieces to the bed.
And I have to tell you, even now, as I reflect on that day, I still feel a rush remembering what it felt like to have permission to let go of something I didn’t like.
Some of those shirts still had tags on them. Some had been untouched for so long, the dust matched the outline of the hanger. And there were some I enjoyed wearing to the office, but I hadn’t been there in 13 years.
Getting the shirts to the bed was step one. Step two was taking them off the hangers. That’s when the questions came: Why did I keep these for so long? Why didn’t I give it away sooner? What was I thinking when I bought this?
Through the years, I’ve come to recognize condemning words like these, but I put a stop to them this time. They would have crushed me before, but I remembered our goal to downsize and move out of state.
The next step was paying attention to what I heard.
Before decluttering, I assumed clutter was just “stuff” and my avoidance was me being silly or irrational. But clutter has a voice, and it’s different from fear.
The clutter voice doesn’t come from unwanted shirts or dusty boxes. It comes from stories and beliefs that are tethered to what we’ve stored.
“Pay attention to what you hear.”
— Mark 4:24 (ESV)
It’s wise for us to filter our thoughts. They need to be sorted just as much as physical things.
It took about 20 minutes between the closet and the bed—from opening the door to getting honest with myself—and afterward, I felt so much stronger.
Until closet week, I had no idea fear was directing me, taunting me behind the door, trying to scare me into thinking I couldn’t handle what’s inside.
When you declutter, don’t be surprised if you find more than a lost shirt. And when you hear fear or your clutter speak, sift through those words like other old stuff. Toss out what doesn’t fit like pre-pregnancy pants.
This closet exercise taught me:
My body knew I was afraid before I did. It wasn’t saying, “You don’t care about this.” It was giving me signs that I didn’t have capacity for one more thing.
Asking kind questions calmed me more than criticism ever did. It allowed me to lower the bar so that my body could find a way to move forward without feeling more pressure.
Giving myself permission changed everything.
Ten minutes was enough to get me moving.
My time in the closet only took 10 minutes, and questions at the bed a few more, but they made a huge difference. My willpower didn’t get the job done. I simply found a way to start without overwhelming myself. And that was a breakthrough I could celebrate.
Clearing the Way This Week:
What part of your house have you been avoiding? What could help you lower the bar so your next step’s easier?
I'm learning to be more intentional with both my thoughts and my things as we prepare for retirement and a major move. I'm sharing what I learn here on Clearing the Way—and I hope you'll find something helpful as you clear your own way forward. If you'd like to follow along, I'd love to have you join me.
Continued Reading