I’m Annoyed That My Husband Wants to Save Everything

“I liked it,” he says. “And it was only 10 bucks.”

I wouldn’t have taken it for free. I make him put it in his home office so I won’t see it. He’s never used it for even a single flower. And I’m the one who dusts it.

Do I dare get rid of some things while he’s sleeping, the way I deliberately left our toddler’s bottle at home during a summer vacation when we were trying to break her from the habit?

I once gave a hat of his away without his permission, after repeatedly telling him it was too worn out. The next winter, he couldn’t find it and assumed he’d left it somewhere.

I admit there are some things I want to keep, like his mother’s vintage mahjongg set. But we don’t have an attic or a basement to use as a rummage room.

I decided we need help. Not couples therapy — clutter therapy. I turn to Rita Wilkins, known as the “downsizing designer” and author of Downsize Your Life, Upgrade Your Lifestyle. She reassures me that many couples have similar conversations and calls them the “dueling downsizers or declutterers.”

“It’s perfectly normal to connect memories and attach feelings to sentimental objects,” Wilkins says. “They weigh us down and prevent us from moving forward if we’re trying to declutter.” That’s why it’s difficult to remain objective.

Wilkins devised a five-step guide to lose the clutter but not the memories. Her advice:

1. Understand why an item is so important to you. Does it make you feel closer to a loved one?

2. Ask yourself how you would feel if you let it go. Would you feel guilty about disrespecting the person who gave it to you?

3. Learn how to let it go. Write a story about it. Keep one or two items. Let the rest go.

4. Donate it to a family, charity or homeless shelter, knowing that someone else can use it.

5. Take a photo before parting with anything. I recently did this before throwing out my adult daughter’s preschool paintings, all in the style of wild paintbrush strokes. They’re now in my smartphone, and I’m comforted knowing they’re still there, alive in some way.

I begin treading lightly with my husband, focusing on one thing at a time. We’re making slow progress. Although that $10 vase is still there, at least it doesn’t take up much space.

One afternoon, my daughter visits and notices the box of stuff we’re collecting to donate to a thrift store whose proceeds go to charity.

“How can you give these away?” she says, retrieving a colorful water pitcher shaped like a rooster, with a matching sugar bowl.

“Do you want them?” I ask her.

“Yes, I love them.”

You never know. But I’m holding on to my mother’s wedding china. My daughter may want it in 10 years, when she’s ready. That is, if I’m ready to part with it. My husband’s Depression-era plates are another story. We’re getting closer to tackling them next.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.