A home is more than walls and windows; it’s the space that holds us steady through life’s changing tides. When we keep it cared for—clean, uncluttered, and tended—it becomes a true refuge, a place where calm can take root even when the world feels uncertain.

Most people do their big cleaning in the spring, opening windows and starting fresh after winter. For me, it’s different. I’ve always been drawn to winter cleaning—that quiet time after the last leaves have fallen and the first snow is near.

There’s something comforting about preparing my space for the stillness ahead. I open the windows to let in the cold, clean air. I sweep and vacuum, clear the countertops, and sort through drawers and closets that seem to fill themselves over time.

It feels good to make room—to breathe again.

But as I’ve done this lately, I’ve stumbled across old files, letters, and photos I’d forgotten about.

Each one brings a wave of feeling—memories of people, moments, and changes that have shaped me.

There’s a kind of ache in it, a quiet awareness of how much has passed. Still, I’ve been letting those feelings flow instead of pushing them away.

They’ve become part of this winter ritual—my way of releasing, remembering, and beginning again.

Physical clutter seems to tangle my energy.

So, along with cleaning countertops and closets, I go deeper. I empty and organize the freezer and refrigerator, donate books, coats, clothes, kitchenware, and shoes—anything that no longer carries meaning or use.

Over the past few months, I’ve let go of twelve boxes of things, each one a small act of release.

These days, I don’t even carry a purse; just a small cell phone wallet that holds what I need.

My windows were washed recently, and the way the light now sparkles through them feels symbolic—a reflection of how this whole process has lightened my spirit.

With every bit of space I clear, my energy feels freer, brighter, and more at peace. Letting go, I’ve discovered, is not a race. It’s a tender, ongoing practice of releasing what no longer belongs. With every piece I set aside, I feel new energy stirring—making space for what’s meant to come next.