When I first moved to California, I had a really tiny bedroom (like 90 square feet). It came partially furnished with a full size bed and bookshelf, which basically took up 60% of the room.
One day, my roommate wheeled a garment rack over and asked me if I wanted it. It was well made, simple, and sleek. And since I only had a teeny closet, I could see its benefit.
So I accepted the rack, which took up another 20% of my room. I placed it at the end of my bed since nowhere else made sense. With 20% left to walk around, this seemed fine.
In the early days, things were cool. I had a place to display my stylish shirts, pants, coats, and shoes.
But then I started waking up with my feet entangled in cotton, linen, and polyester.
Purses and belts joined the party, blocking my view of the only window on one end, and bumping into me as I walked past on the other.
And things just kept piling on.
Until one fateful day when I returned home, opened my bedroom door, and saw not a garment rack, but a monstrosity.
I was horrified.
It needed to go before my room became a permanent walk-in closet.
But I didn’t want to seem ungrateful to my roommate. I’d only had this thing for a few months.
I could handle it. It was too soon to tell her I’d changed my mind.
And it was “too soon” for TWO YEARS.
I didn’t want to say anything for TWO YEARS.
I just dealt with this thing for TWO YEARS.
And after TWO YEARS my reasoning had grown into its own monstrosity. I feared it was too late to say anything. I would have to resign to living with this thing.
… But what if I started reorganizing the rest of my room? Maybe that would send a signal to my roommate that I was switching things up, so she would understand that the rack no longer fit my new aesthetic?
I swapped the full size bed for a smaller one with storage underneath. I gave away the bookcase and installed floating shelves. I got a slim writing desk and brightly-decorated dresser to neatly pack clothes into.
Now all my newly-designed space needed was for me to get rid of the thing.
I spent days hyping myself up to tell my roommate the big news.
I went over the conversation in my head, bulletproofing myself against any counterarguments. Because that was definitely going to happen.
I poked my head out of my room as she passed by, pulling the garment rack behind me.
“Hey… I don’t need this anymore.”
I’d done it. I’d dropped a bomb and she would reel from the blow of a rejected gift. I braced myself for—
“… Oh! Okay. Hm, neither do I. You can just leave it in the back alley for someone to take, I guess.”
She smiled and continued on her way while I stood dumbstruck in the doorway.
That was it.
That was it??
I’d kept this thing in my room for TWO YEARS because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and in two seconds I realized she didn’t even care about it!
In that moment, I realized I was that garment rack, carrying so much needless weight in the form of worry for years, when I/the garment rack could easily have been free/wheeled to the back alley.
Sometimes, being too considerate of others ends up being inconsiderate of ourselves.
Divest yourself of that weight once you notice it.
You’ll have more room for yourself.