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Not long ago I stood at my bathroom counter, staring at seven bottles of lotion. Seven. Each one had maybe a quarter left, just enough that the pump couldn’t quite reach the bottom. They sat there like a tiny monument to my inability to commit, finish things, or believe there’d be more when I needed it.
Spoiler alert: I don’t even like lotion. The way it sits on my skin makes me feel suffocated. Yet there they were, preserved “just in case,” because apparently, my subconscious is convinced that Bath & Body Works might go out of business tomorrow.
Welcome to my quarter-life crisis, where expired mouthwash and digital hoarding collide with the uncomfortable realization that I’ve been living with a scarcity mindset I didn’t even know I had.
When Your Computer Storage Reveals More Than Your Therapist
For the past week, my laptop has been screaming at me. “NOT ENOUGH STORAGE,” it announces dramatically, like I’m personally offending it by asking it to do a simple system update.
So I did what any anxious millennial would do: I spiraled.
I’ve spent hours scrolling through files- ebooks I’ll never read, screenshots from 2019 that made sense at the time, seventeen versions of the same document because what if I need the draft from three edits ago? Each time I hover over “delete,” my chest tightens. What if I need this later?
It’s exhausting. It’s irrational. And it’s not really about the files at all.
The digital clutter is just a symptom. The real issue? I’ve been operating under the belief that there will never be enough—enough money, enough time, enough resources, enough me—so I better hold onto everything, just in case.
The Scarcity Mindset Nobody Warned Me About
Here’s the thing about scarcity mindset: it’s sneaky. It doesn’t announce itself. You don’t wake up one day thinking, “I’m going to hoard expired condiments and half-empty beauty products because I’m secretly terrified of running out.”
It creeps in through past experiences that seemed totally reasonable at the time.
Like that one time my roommate and I decided to Marie Kondo our lives before a move. We threw out all the kitchenware.. every spatula, every mismatched bowl, every “good enough” coffee mug. We felt so free, so minimalist, so enlightened.
Until we got to our new place and realized we’d need a small fortune to replace it all.
That single experience tattooed itself onto my brain: Don’t get rid of anything. You can’t afford to replace it. You’ll regret it.
Never mind that I’ve had a steady income since. Never mind that Target exists. The story was written, and my subconscious has been living by it ever since.
According to research on scarcity mindset, the mere feeling of not having enough—whether it’s money, time, or resources—fundamentally changes how our brains process decisions. It’s not about actual poverty; it’s about the psychological state of perceived scarcity that makes us focus intensely on what we lack, often at the expense of long-term thinking.
What Seven Bottles of Lotion Taught Me About Self-Worth
I had a client recently—successful, established, the kind of person who has their life together—who casually mentioned that when he moves, he tosses everything and buys new.
My jaw dropped. My palms got sweaty. I may have dissociated a little.
Who does that? I thought. Who has that kind of confidence that there will always be more?
And then it hit me: people who don’t operate from scarcity, that’s who.
There’s a story I keep seeing pop up about a therapist who says she can gauge someone’s mental state by their living space. She had one client who couldn’t let go of chipped mugs and worn-out items that “still served their purpose,” and that client couldn’t seem to break through the glass ceiling in her career.
Another client went through a divorce and decided to invest in herself. Nothing extravagant, just a beautiful mug for her morning coffee, soft sheets, small luxuries that whispered, You’re worth more than the clearance rack.
That second client? She started showing up differently. In her business. In her relationships. In the mirror.
I’m not saying buying fancy things solves all your problems (trust me, I’ve tried that too), but there’s something about the daily objects we surround ourselves with that quietly reinforces what we believe we deserve. Studies on physical environment and mental health consistently show that our living spaces can significantly impact our psychological well-being, self-perception, and even our ability to thrive.
And when you’re using a chipped mug while seven bottles of lotion you don’t even like gather dust, you’re telling yourself a very specific story.
The Clutter-Anxiety Connection Nobody Talks About
Here’s what nobody tells you about clutter: it’s not just annoying. It’s actively messing with your mental health.
Anxiety is your brain obsessing over the future. Depression is your mind stuck in the past. And holding onto things “just in case”? That’s you trying to control both timelines at once, ping-ponging your nervous system into a constant state of low-grade panic.
The physical clutter around you mirrors the mental clutter inside you. When I look at my overflowing digital files and my bathroom counter of backup products I’m “saving for later,” I’m looking at a 3D model of my brain. Overthinking, over-preparing, and somehow still feeling unprepared.
Research backs this up in a big way. A UCLA study found that women living in cluttered homes had significantly higher levels of cortisol—the stress hormone—throughout the day, while those with organized spaces showed healthier cortisol patterns. It’s not just in your head; your body is literally responding to the chaos around you.
I found soup cans in my pantry that expired during the early days of COVID. I brought a photo of year-and-a-half-old expired mouthwash to the dentist this morning because I couldn’t bear to throw it away without knowing the exact name to reorder.
If that’s not a red flag that I need a new operating system, I don’t know what is.
Breaking the Cycle: Small Steps to Rewire Scarcity Thinking
Look, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’ve cracked the code. I’ve been aware of this pattern for a couple of years now, and I’m still fighting it daily. Awareness doesn’t automatically equal change, but it’s the necessary first step.
Here’s what’s actually helping me create a new normal:
1. Set Recurring “Clutter Check-Ins”
I’ve started scheduling quarterly reminders in my phone: “Clutter Check.” Every three months, I do a sweep. Digital files, bathroom products, pantry items, clothes I haven’t worn. It’s like going to the dentist: slightly uncomfortable, but way better than letting things build up until you need a root canal.
2. The “Future Me” Test
Before I save something “just in case,” I ask: “Will Future Me actually use this, or am I just avoiding the discomfort of letting go?” Nine times out of ten, Future Me would prefer the extra storage space and mental clarity.
3. Finish What You Start
I’ve made a rule: I can’t buy a new bottle of anything until I finish what I have. Four of those seven lotions are finally gone. Do I miss them? Not even a little. Did the world end because I used up a product? Shockingly, no.
4. Small Luxury, Big Message
I’m experimenting with the “divorced client with the fancy mug” approach. Not going broke on luxury goods, but choosing one small upgrade that makes me feel worthy every day. For me, it’s been using the “good” coffee even on random Tuesdays, not just saving it for special occasions that never come.
5. Track Your “Scarcity Stories”
When I catch myself thinking “I can’t afford to replace this” or “I need to save this,” I write it down. Seeing the pattern on paper makes it easier to challenge. Can I actually not afford it? Or is that just the story playing on repeat?
The Ketchup on the Wall Principle
When I was a server, I learned a valuable lesson: ketchup on the wall is easy to wipe down when it’s fresh. Let it sit for a week, and you’ll need a chisel and determination you don’t have at the end of a double shift.
The same applies to clutter; physical, digital, and emotional. The longer you let something fester, the more effort it takes to deal with it later.
I’ve been letting things fester. The documents pile up. The products accumulate. The limiting belief that “there’s never enough” calcifies into fact.
But here’s the thing: I’m tired of living in the tight grip of scarcity. I’m tired of expired mouthwash and files I can’t name and lotions I’ll never use. I’m tired of the mental gymnastics it takes to justify keeping things I don’t need, don’t want, and don’t even like.
Creating a New Normal (Even When It’s Uncomfortable)
Writing this is my accountability moment. It’s me, publicly committing to doing the thing I’ve been thinking about doing for years: managing things as they arise instead of waiting for the crash.
Because that’s the difference between knowing better and doing better.. commitment. Not letting yourself slide back into the comfortable familiarity of chaos just because it’s what you know.
Will I be perfect at it? Absolutely not. I’m a millennial with anxiety and an internet connection, perfection was never on the table.
But I can be better. I can set those quarterly reminders. I can finish the lotion. I can delete the file. I can buy myself the nice thing without needing a special occasion to justify it.
I can learn that “enough” isn’t something to anxiously guard and hoard. It’s something I already have.
Your Turn: A Gentle Reminder
If you’ve made it this far, chances are something in this resonated. Maybe you’ve got your own collection of half-empty bottles, or files you can’t name, or expired things you can’t quite throw away.
You’re not alone. And you’re not broken.
You’re just operating from a story that doesn’t serve you anymore, and the beautiful thing about stories is that we get to rewrite them.
So here’s your gentle reminder: take one small step today. Delete five files. Finish that product. Buy yourself one nice thing that makes you feel worthy. Set a reminder for three months from now to check in again.
Your future self is counting on you to clear out the clutter; physical, digital, and mental. And trust me, they’ll thank you for the extra storage space.
You’re worth more than the clearance rack, more than the expired products, more than the constant fear of “not enough.”
You’re worth the good stuff. The full bottle. The clean slate. The new normal.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some files to delete.
Reborn MeatSuit 
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