Some people have haunted houses. I have a haunted closet.
It creaks when I open it. It groans when I close it. And if you stand quietly long enough, you can hear the faint screams of sweatshirts I bought in 2016 whispering, “We still fit… kinda.”
If anyone ever peeked inside, they’d call a priest, a therapist, and possibly HGTV.
🧥The First Signs of Paranormal Activity
It all started when I went looking for my favorite fall cardigan and came face to face with a ghost from the past — a pair of Justin Roper boots from a life I no longer live.
The energy shifted. A chill ran down my spine. There were jeans that haven’t zipped since the Bush administration. A sequin top from my “I go out now” phase. A purse that once held dreams, receipts, and a granola bar from 2019.
I realized I wasn’t just cleaning out a closet. I was confronting versions of myself that refuse to move on.
🧤The Exorcism Begins
Armed with determination, coffee, and a box of trash bags, I began the purge.
Each item had to pass “The Test”:
- Do I love it?
- Does it fit my current life?
- Can I pull them up past my thighs?
The first bag was easy. The second… emotional. I found a pair of “someday” jeans that still whisper lies and a blazer that swears I’m the CEO of Nothing.
Halfway through, I had to sit on the floor and reevaluate my life choices — while Samuel made biscuits on a pile of scarves I didn’t even know I owned.
🕯 Last Part
Every haunted house has a room you shouldn’t open. Mine is the top shelf — the one stuffed with purses, mystery boxes, and at least three half-burned candles from “self-care phases” past. I climbed up like the only girl left in a horror movie. I found:
- A Halloween costume from 2011.
- A bag labeled “summer stuff” (contents: one bikini, one regret).
- A single high heel that will haunt me forever.
By the end, I was sweating, victorious, and deeply certain that if ghosts exist, they live somewhere between my old handbags and a box labeled “maybe clothes.”
💀 Lightbulb Moment
Maybe the haunting wasn’t the closet at all — it was the emotional clutter I’ve been holding onto. The sizes I used to wear. The styles I used to love. The life seasons I thought I’d still be in.
Sometimes decluttering isn’t just about space. It’s about letting go of who you were to make room for who you’re becoming. And maybe — just maybe — that’s the most magical kind of exorcism there is.
The closet is finally clean, but if you hear faint cries of “I was on sale!” in the night… just ignore them. 👻👜
Happy Haunting,
Natalie👻 (still the owner of Justin Roper boots)
Honey without Flowers 