A story on expectation, consumption, and the power we hold when we spend

This is my jewellery box. I can fit it in the palm of my hand. Inside are the items I wear most days - no more, no less. However there was a time when I needed entire drawers to fit every necklace, ring, earring, bangle, brooch and bracelet (et al) to fit all which I had accumulated over the years. I started young. I got my first job in retail in my teens, working weekends, then school holidays, then whenever I could get shifts whilst attending university, right up until the age of 23. The women's clothing and accessories store I worked in had an employee policy to buy - and wear - their latest collection. We were living mannequins at discounted prices. The stuff accumulated quickly.

At first it was fun. The bright colours, the bling, the thrill of newness - all synonymous with youth and exploration, and the experiential growth of trying to display our 'true self' to the outside world (whilst figuring out what our true self even meants.). Even as a teenager, it wasn't long before I started to get sick of it. I would save up my employee’s uniform allowance to make investments in key pieces, unable to bear the thought of bringing another ring home that would turn my finger an unsightly shade of green. I'd seek items I guessed would be recontinued in the next season, and so, unintentionally, I started my first capsule wardrobe. I upheld the expectation that this was the game, not once questioning the status quo - keep consuming, or fall.

"I want to return this cardigan, or swap it for another one if you have it," a customer once told me, standing at the sales counter with a look of annoyance across her brow.

"Of course," I replied. “Was there something not right for you?" She stretched out a finger and pointed to an empty buttonhole.

"It came off," she said. "I'd like another one, please." I smiled, offered to check our stock room, and lifted the cardigan from the counter. For two minutes I sat in the store room and sewed the tiny button back on. The customer inspected the 'new' cardigan, deemed it agreeable, and left satisfied.

Stressed, annoyed, time poor, or perhaps she had just never been taught how to sew - I do not know why that customer couldn't have sewn the button on herself, and I make no judgment of it. But I do know that when we part with our cash we have expectations: We expect the goods we buy to be fit for use, possibly be durable for a particular period, and hopefully be worth the time it took for us to earn the money to buy it in the first place. The 'worth' is personal - it always will be. The durability, however, is now up for grabs. With next day delivery, cheap imports and the bombardment from all channels of SALE SALE SALE, an item’s lifespan is being worn away like glass in the waves before we even bring it home. Our stuff is becoming disposable, and we are making ourselves - and the planet - sick because of it. For me, this was quite literal.

In 2018 I became pregnant with my son and was hit by the full force of hyperemesis gravidarum (severe nausea and vomiting in pregnancy), and I slipped into gut-wrenching survival mode. I don’t mean to sound dramatic, but there were days where I thought I might die. Seeing the discarded chaos of broken beads and tangled chains from my eldest’s exuberant dressing up sessions, ones I was too unwell to partake in, made me realise one thing: When I am well again, I do not want to spend my time taking care of stuff. The question was how on earth do I get there?

Who hasn’t ever had the thought cycle: ‘When I have THIS, things will be better!’ ‘When I have more time / a better wardrobe / a nicer car etc, life will be happier / easier / more fulfilled.’ I sure did. I thought consuming more would bring me the peace I craved. It is human nature afterall - just our hunter/gather genes teaching us that consumption equals survival. I was at a point where I would try anything to improve my lot and so, despite a phobia of needles, I gave acupuncture a go; my last-ditch attempt to improve my hyperemesis symptoms. If I just have THIS, things will be better. It didn’t. I passed out, then vomitted whilst unconscious all over the acupuncturist. I had tried seeking an answer in more and failed spectacularly. What if I tried letting go instead?

I started small: my jewellery hoard was easy, having little to no sentimental value. I chose a few pieces for the children’s dressing up box, sold the valuables, and donated the rest. I moved onto the stationery drawer, the kitchen cupboards, and eventually the loft. My husband tried it and found he liked the freedom we were gaining too. Our baby was born - a healthy 10lbs boy - and the hoard of children’s clothes and baby toys boxed in our loft were sold or donated. Then I quit my job and we made it through the pandemic and furlough. We spent less. We lived more.

Living with less has shaped how our lives every single day, although of course we do still consume. (The children still need shoes at an alarming rate, it seems!) Minimalism opened our eyes to the power we hold when we make buying decisions from a place of intention and consideration. I have seen the benefits in only keeping things that spark joy - I have seen the waste and its harmfulness when we don’t. My daughter is now six, my son three, and through our example they are discovering a joy in life which comes from the pursuit of creativity, imagination and the support of living things. We go shopping with a list, and we talk openly about how the choices we make today will have an impact on our tomorrow, and the tomorrow of others. We share the Why behind how we shop, guided by our values to leave the world in a better place than when we joined it. But more importantly than all this, they are learning the peace and contentment that comes when finding that place of ‘enough’.

I know I will have succeeded in life when I am gone and my children are able to remember me for the stuff I did, not the stuff I owned - when they say: My Mum? She was happy. She had enough.

5 tips for a minimalist mindset

1. CHALLENGE the way you think

Minimalism is the conscious decision to consume less each day. It is an act of liberation from the constant hard sell. With each purchase, ask yourself: do I need this, or do I want this? Each time you question, you begin to break down habits. (You begin to open your mind to possibility.)

2. KNOW your values

Value-driven behaviours stick. They’re not overnight fads, nor something we can dream up in a day. Our values are shaped by our experiences and come from our inner core. Write them down. Keep them to hand if you need to. Let them guide you with your choices of what to keep and what to discard.

3. START by repairing

Immediately pick out anything irreparable in your home and ask, is it truly beyond repair? If so, how can I dispose of it responsibly? If I want to avoid landfill, where would I need to take this so it can have a new life? How difficult is that for me to achieve? Nine times out of ten, this questioning about the end of something’s life will help you be intentional about your next purchase.

4. TAKE ownership

There is only one person who can make owning less a reality in your life - you. Have faith that you can do this, one step at a time.

5. FIND abundance in generosity

Generosity is a gift - to yourself, as well as to others. You improve your quality of life when you give, as well as to the recipient of your generosity. Give time, give money, give physical possessions - whatever is in your capacity right now - give something today.

-ABOUT-

Laura Tweedale is a freelance writer and author of The Joy of Reusable Nappies: A book to help parent’s thrive on their cloth nappy journey (Bow Bird Press, 2020). Laura is a Zero Waste Week Ambassador and writes to inspire, galvanise and help others to simplify life through the themes of green, sustainable living, intentional parenting and the joy of living with less. Laura lives in Cheshire with her husband, daughter and son, schnoodle Lola and small brood of hens. Find her at lauratweedale.com or on Instagram @lauratweedale