Marie Kondo Is Having a Cosmic Moment

On shedding skins, clutter, and the stuff we secretly know needs to go

Everyone loves the idea of big change.

Big moves. Big action. Big life. Cue dramatic music, wind machines, heroic slow motion hair flips.

And yet, if you look honestly at how change actually happens, it’s rarely that cinematic. More often, life moves like a snake. Not galloping forward, but shedding slowly and thoroughly. Sometimes uncomfortably.

And lately, I’ve been feeling that shedding phase everywhere. Not just mentally or emotionally, but almost physically. Like my whole system is quietly asking:

Why am I still carrying all this with me?

Old beliefs. Old identities. Old ways of doing life that once worked perfectly fine but now feel tight. Restrictive. Slightly ridiculous even. Like the jeans from 2014 still folded lovingly in the closet because, you know, maybe one day.

We all have those jeans. And the emotional equivalent.

The job title that once made sense but no longer fits. The relationship dynamics we keep repeating. The way we introduce ourselves at parties. The self-image we polish and maintain even though something inside us has clearly moved on.

And somehow, we keep dragging it all along, hoping it will magically become relevant again.

At some point, though, life stops being subtle.

Closets start overflowing. Calendars get too full. Your brain feels like a browser with fifty tabs open and one of them is playing music but you have no idea which one.

And suddenly, you find yourself on a random Tuesday afternoon pulling everything out of cupboards, asking: why do I even own this?

True story: even I, queen of avoiding overstuffed closets because they feel like emotional commitments, recently found myself emptying drawers and selling half my house online.

When I start voluntarily decluttering, you know something deeper is happening.

And that’s when Marie Kondo’s question sneaks back in, annoyingly effective as ever:

Does this spark joy?

Not polite joy. Not “this looks good on paper” joy. Not “my parents will approve” joy. But real joy. The kind that makes something in you light up.

And here’s the uncomfortable part: sometimes the honest answer is… silence. Or a hesitant “I have no idea.” But that’s not failure. That’s awareness.

Because this phase isn’t about fixing your life. It’s about taking inventory. Seeing what still belongs. What actually supports you. What feels alive. And what you’ve simply been carrying out of habit, loyalty to a past version of yourself, or fear of letting go.

The temptation, of course, is to skip this part and rush into action. New plans, new goals, big decisions. Charge ahead and hope clarity catches up later. But action without clarity is just chaos in activewear. It feels exciting for about five minutes, and then your nervous system taps out.

Sometimes the bravest move isn’t charging forward, but stopping long enough to ask: what am I still dragging into a future that clearly asks for a lighter version of me?

And shedding isn’t dramatic. Often it’s deeply ordinary.

It looks like cancelling things that drain you. Cleaning out closets. Ending conversations that go nowhere. Saying no more often. Admitting certain dreams have changed shape.

It’s telling yourself the truth about what still fits and what doesn’t. Clothes. Roles. Relationships. Expectations. Self-images.

And yes, that can feel uncomfortable. Because letting go of something familiar, even when it no longer serves you, still feels like loss. But underneath the clutter, something else waits.

Space.
Relief.
Room to breathe again.

And sometimes, unexpectedly, playfulness returns. Curiosity. Energy you didn’t realise you’d been missing. Not because you added something new, but because you finally stopped carrying what was already over.

So maybe this season, whatever season you’re personally in, isn’t asking you to run faster or achieve more. Maybe it’s simply inviting you to shed. To clean out what no longer fits. To tell yourself the truth.

And to notice, underneath it all, what still sparks real joy.

Because chances are, something alive in you has been waiting patiently for space.

Ready to find out?

You know where to find me.

Love, Annemarijn