therapy is like a yard sale

Most people don't want a yard sale.

They don't want to drag all their belongings outside, arrange them on folding tables and blankets, and watch as neighbors and strangers pick through the remnants of their life decisions.

They don't want to confront the unused exercise equipment, the ill-fitting clothes, the forgotten hobbies, or the gifts they never truly wanted. They don't want to answer the unspoken question: "Why did you keep all this for so long?"

But yard sales happen for a reason. They create space. They generate possibility. They force us to confront what we've been carrying and decide what's worth keeping.

The Therapist's Lawn

I have watched people brave enough to have their personal yard sales. To pile their stuff on the metaphorical lawn.

In therapy, just like in yard sales, three categories of belongings emerge:

The everyday visible: The behaviors, reactions, and patterns we're conscious of but haven't been able to change. The everyday annoyances we've normalized. The habits we've accepted despite their costs.

The closeted concerns: Values we've tucked away because they were inconvenient. Dreams we've shelved because they seemed impractical. Needs we've silenced because voicing them felt dangerous.

The stored trauma: The experiences from childhood buried deep in mental storage units. The moments that shaped us before we had words to describe them. The adaptations that once protected us but now limit us.

When therapy begins, everything gets pulled out into the light. And here's what almost everyone misunderstands: the mess is necessary.

The Professional Mess-Maker

Most professionals get paid to reduce complexity. To simplify. To clean up.

But therapists? We're professional mess-makers first. We help people unpack storage units they've been paying rent on for decades without ever looking inside.

And when people see everything laid out—their inconsistent beliefs, their contradictory behaviors, their unfulfilled wishes—they often want to shove it all back in boxes and pretend the exercise never happened.

"This is too much," they say.

"I don't know where to start," they worry.

"Maybe I was better off before," they wonder.

But that's like abandoning a yard sale at noon, leaving everything on the lawn, and going to the movies instead.

The Middle is Messy

Transformation requires this middle phase—the messy yard, the piles of unsorted belonging, the confrontation with what we've been carrying.

The mess is not a sign that something has gone wrong. The mess is a sign that something is finally going right.

In the beginning, treatment looks like a yard sale because that's exactly what needs to happen. Everything needs to come out before you can decide what stays.

Our culture celebrates before-and-after stories but skips the messy middle. We see the clean, organized home but miss the chaos that preceded it. We admire the person who transformed their health but don't witness the awkward, painful days of changing lifelong habits.

Therapy honors the messy middle. It says: "This disorder is part of the process. This confusion means you're growing."

The Courage to Declutter

Decluttering your internal world takes remarkable courage. It means confronting the justifications you've created for keeping what hurts you. It means questioning the stories you've told yourself about why change is impossible.

"I keep this because I might need it someday." "I hold onto this because it was expensive to develop." "I can't let this go because it's been part of me for so long."

These are the same whispers that keep physical clutter in our homes and emotional clutter in our hearts.

The Space Beyond the Sale

Here's what waits on the other side of the therapeutic yard sale:

Space to breathe. Room for new possibilities. Clarity about what matters. Energy previously spent maintaining and hiding now available for creating and connecting.

And paradoxically, authenticity. When you've honestly assessed what you've been carrying and made conscious choices about what deserves to stay, you discover who you really are beneath the accumulation.

You can finally invite people into a home that reflects your true self rather than your adaptations and accommodations.

Two Options, One Choice

So you have a choice.

You can keep the closets locked. Pretend everything is fine. Pay the monthly fees on the storage units of pain you're afraid to open. Live in increasingly cramped conditions as new experiences compete for space with unprocessed old ones.

Or you can get messy on purpose. You can acknowledge that growth requires disorder. You can spread everything out under the sky where you can see it clearly. You can ask for help sorting through what no longer serves you.

One path leads to a life that shrinks over time, with less room for movement, connection, and joy.

The other leads to expansion—a life with breathing room, with space for love to enter, with capacity for the new.

The yard sale isn't something to endure. It's something to embrace.

Because the most valuable thing you'll discover isn't what you decide to keep or what you choose to discard.

It's the freedom that comes from knowing the difference.

The mess is not the problem. The mess is the solution.