How Do You Pack a Lifetime Into Two Suitcases? The Emotional Weight of Letting Go

I’ve always loved the idea of a fresh start—decluttering, organizing, and simplifying life. But nothing quite prepares you for the moment you realize you may have to fit your entire life into two suitcases. That’s where I find myself right now, teetering between excitement and sheer panic at the thought of possibly leaving the country with only the essentials.

At first, decluttering felt empowering. I was finally getting rid of all the unnecessary clutter—the things I swore I would use someday but never did, the clothes that no longer fit (physically or style-wise), and the sentimental trinkets I kept just because. But the more I packed away, the heavier the process became—not just physically but emotionally.

How do you decide what stays and what goes when you don’t even know what your next home will look like? What if I regret letting go of something? What if I get there and miss the comfort of the familiar? These questions loop in my head as I sift through drawers and closets, trying to separate necessity from nostalgia.

And then, there are the things I’ve kept for my kids—the tiny onesie that once swallowed them whole, the first pair of shoes, old report cards with handwritten teacher comments, finger-painted masterpieces from kindergarten, the first Mother’s Day card. Do I really need to keep these? Did I save them for them, or for me? Would they even want them when they’re older, or have I been holding onto these things as a way to hold onto time? Letting go of these pieces feels like letting go of moments I’ll never get back.

Then there’s the furniture—the couches, bookshelves, dining table, all the things that have made up our home for years. I find myself staring at them, mentally placing them in their next home before they’ve even left mine. Who would want the red couch? My grandmother’s pink, velvet chair? Should I sell the dining table, or would it be better to donate it? How do you let go of the physical space that’s held so many family meals, movie nights, and lazy Sunday mornings? The logistics of getting rid of everything feel overwhelming, but more than that, it’s the emotional weight of knowing that once they’re gone, there’s no getting them back.

There’s something deeply personal about the objects we own. They hold memories, comfort, and a sense of stability. The idea of reducing them to the bare minimum forces me to confront what really matters to me. Is it the stuff, or the memories attached to them? Will I still feel like myself when my surroundings change so drastically?

This journey has made me realize that while possessions can bring comfort, they don’t define my home—people, experiences, and the ability to adapt do. That doesn’t make it easier to say goodbye to my favorite coffee mug or the bookshelf full of stories I’ve carried from place to place, but it does give me a new perspective.

So, here I am, facing the unknown with two suitcases, a heart full of mixed emotions, and a whole lot of hope. If nothing else, this process is teaching me to let go—not just of things, but of fears, expectations, and the need for control. Maybe that’s the real fresh start I needed all along.