Walking through my home, I look around and survey the displayed items. Penguin salt and pepper shakers that I display each winter becuase my husband is fond of penguins. Photos of my children and grandchildren. A beaded ornament that my mother made me one Christmas more than 25 years ago. A bowl that holds whole nuts for snacking on. The candle I light during my quiet time each morning. The bill on the counter that I need to pay.

There’s a story attached to each item on display or left out.

TL;DR: Our belongings often evoke memories. However, the stories tied to those memories and our attachment to these items can become an issue when they prevent us from creating new experiences or living in line with our current values and priorities. Fortunately, we can revise those narratives to help us let go of what matters less.

Those salt and pepper shakers honor my husband and make him smile. The photos capture sweet moments from the past spent with loved ones, some still living near and far, and those no longer with us. The beaded ornament speaks of my mother’s attempts to communicate her love to me. The bowl of nuts speaks of being a welcome place to stop and snack, engaging in witty banter after work and school before preparing dinner. That bill is one of the few things that didn’t allow autopay, and I know I will forget to pay if it’s not left out. (Not true, but that’s a post for another time!)

These are my stories about my things. They may be different from the stories you tell about your things. Still, there are stories attached to our things. This is why archaeologists spend hours digging up shards of broken pottery and ancient coins. Those things they unearth, like the things surrounding us in our homes, tell a story.

Sometimes, though, our stories become problematic, making it difficult to part with items. Many of those I work with tell me that they are holding onto this item because they are afraid that if they let go of the item, they will also lose the memories.

Indeed, many of us have things in our homes that hold little financial value. We keep them because of their value in eliciting positive memories of a happy moment that has passed.

One of the photos displayed in my living room is from a trip to Europe that my youngest daughters and I took. My daughter had one of the photos we took printed and framed for Christmas a few years ago. Tucked inside the frame, behind the photo, is a handwritten note from her that shares a special memory from our trip. The frame and printed photo were inexpensive. We took many “us-ies” during our trip that are saved digitally. Yet this is one of the items I would have struggled to release if pushed to do so.

Yet when I go to my office or to visit family in other states, I still have the memory of that moment, that trip with my daughters. The photo triggers the memory, yet the memory is reliant on seeing the picture. I can pull it up in my mind any time I choose.

This past week, I had a conversation with a client who mentioned that an item (not mentioned to protect the client’s confidentiality and privacy) they are currently sorting through was going to be challenging to part with because it brings back so many happy memories. The item wasn’t something they would display or bring out to share with others, yet it represents happy memories for them.

“What if I lose the memories, Ceci?” they asked.

That’s a tough one! It would be impossible to poll 100 people and find someone who could honestly say they haven’t kept a possession simply because it elicits a positive memory. Keeping things that elicit a memory becomes problematic when most items are saved, filling a home, not because the items are essential but simply because they trigger an emotion.

(Fun side read: Music brings back memories too!)

Here’s the thing: my client has a story associated with keeping that item: if they release the item, the associated memories will be gone.

Is that true? Possibly.

Knowing this client and the work they’ve already done, I reminded them of several prized possessions that strike strong positive memories that they’ve already been able to release.

“Can you still remember that item, the memories attached to it, and how it made you feel?” I asked.

The client asserted that they could. They shared the complex memories associated with the item they’d previously parted with. (They also have come to recognize that they still miss the item and feel distressed about letting it go, yet they are learning to embrace that this is not a signal that they should have kept the item.)

I allowed them to sit with that memory, recall parts of it, and share it with me again. This is part of solidifying the memory attached to the previously released item. It’s called rehearsal. Each time we retell a story, we increase the strength of that memory in our long-term memory banks. I love holding space for clients as they rehearse memories to release possessions and create safe, open spaces for what matters most to them.

“How long do you think a memory should last?” I asked my client.

There was a long pause.

“I’ve never thought about that. I don’t know exactly. I know I can’t remember everything I’ve ever experienced.”

My client is still struggling with this question. That’s okay. By discussing their ability to remember strong positive emotions associated with a possession already released and asking them to consider how long they want their memories to last, we have collaboratively begun to challenge the idea that if an item elicits a positive emotion, the item must be kept.

Working with the stories our brains tell us, rewriting them to be more helpful, and prioritizing our values today are ways to increase the ability to part with a lifetime of possessions, treasures, and other items. One at a time.

BTW: I don’t know how long a memory should last. I know that there are many joyous moments in my past that I can only recall clearly a brief moment. Is there a possibility that someday, that brief moment will also be gone? It’s likely. I’ve come to treasure those memories while they last and trust that when one fades, another will soon replace it. We can all have only one favorite moment at a time.