The Year of Less: How I Stopped Shopping, Gave Away My Belongings, and Discovered Life Is Worth More Than Anything You Can Buy in a Store

by Cait Flanders

While my friends were moving on to the next stages of their lives, I was still working on myself.

All I knew was that I seemingly had everything I wanted in my home, in my career, and in my life, and it never felt like enough. I was never satisfied. I always wanted more. But since more of anything wasn’t filling me up, maybe it was time to challenge myself to go after less.

The rules for the shopping ban seemed simple enough: For the next year, I wouldn’t be allowed to buy new clothes, shoes, accessories, books, magazines, electronics, or anything for around the house.

I wanted to get to a place where I only bought things I needed when I needed them. I wanted to finally see where my money was going and budget in a way that aligned with my goals and my values. And I really wanted to start spending less and saving more. But it would never happen if I continued to make mindless spending decisions.

One thing debt and clutter have in common is that as soon as you start letting it pile up, it can be harder and harder to see your way around it.

have always loved books and loved to read. But I have also always had a bad habit of buying more books than I’ll ever read in a month or even in a year.

Wasted money, wasted dreams, wasted opportunities. It was almost enough to stop me from giving it away. But staring at the wasted money, dreams, and opportunities day in and day out hurt more. All items had to go.

didn’t know how many habits I had that centered on drinking take-out coffee until I wasn’t allowed to buy it. Each time I craved it, I had to stand in the moment, pay attention to what had triggered the craving, and change my reaction.

I didn’t think about shopping every day. I didn’t even think about shopping every week. But suddenly I’d find myself craving something I hadn’t wanted seconds before.

The toughest part of not being allowed to buy anything new wasn’t that I couldn’t buy anything new—it was having to physically confront my triggers and change my reaction to them. It always felt like the minute I forgot about the shopping ban was the same minute I felt like shopping again. It was like an ex I just couldn’t get away from.

More often, though, it was simply because that was what I had always done. In the past, whenever I wanted something, I bought it—no questions asked, budget and savings goals be damned. To combat these impulses now, the only thing I could ever think to do was remember how much stuff I had gotten rid of and how much I still had at home. It was enough. I had enough.

It wasn’t until I found myself in these situations that I realized the shopping ban was going to be more difficult than I’d thought. This was going to be about more than just not spending money—I’d be changing the habits and routines I’d spent years perfecting.

It’s easy to look at a picture of a stereotype, point your finger at it, and say, “I don’t look like that, so I’m not that way.” By announcing this, we somehow feel better about ourselves, even though we’ve just shamed every other person who does fit under that umbrella. I may not have identified as a shopaholic, but there was no doubt I was a compulsive shopper.

I learned I had a tendency to shut down during conflict. I also gave up my interests and opinions too easily. I accepted whatever love was given to me, thinking that was as good as it was going to get.

In three months I had pieced together my new life. I had an apartment filled with matching furniture, a closet full of new clothes, and a brand-new car. From the outside, it looked perfect—and it had only taken three months to create. I was finally free. Except I wasn’t free, because my new life had cost close to $20,000. It was all paid for with credit, the debt was mine, and I would carry the weight of it for many years. There was nothing free about that.

Eventually, a few people stopped inviting me to anything that involved spending money at all. They seemed confused by the whole experiment, and assumed that because I couldn’t shop, I also couldn’t go out for dinner. Those assumptions hurt, because they made me feel like I was being ostracized for trying to better myself.

One lesson I’ve learned countless times over the years is that whenever you let go of something negative in your life, you make room for something positive.

Even doing something as simple as choosing not to finish a book I didn’t like gave me more time to read books I loved. And putting less energy into the friendships with people who didn’t understand me gave me more energy to put into the friendships with people who did.

I have always said that personal finance is personal, and what works for one person won’t always work for another, and that’s true of most everything.

Are you really going to admit to the world that you failed? That you’re weak? But there was nothing weak about it. The fact that I was able to see what I had done, know the action didn’t align with what I wanted, and change my reaction showed how much progress I had made. It was a challenge, and a learning experience on how to practice living intentionally with a goal in mind.

There were always going to be outside influences at play. But I could change my reactions to them—and that change had to start within.

But why would I bother growing my own vegetables when I could buy them from the cheap market down the street? Why would I spend hours sewing a T-shirt or tank top when I could buy one for $5? Why would I put blood, sweat, and tears into refinishing a piece of furniture when I could buy something new that looked good already? These were the rationalizations I’d made with myself for years. If I could pay for it, I would—and usually with a credit card.

What was worse to think about was the fact that I had spent money to save time and then wasted almost every minute of it.

I knew I wasn’t alone in doing this—“this” being spending hours in front of a television and making the “I’m too busy to do anything else” excuse. Surprisingly, I’ve learned it’s not only a characteristic of my generation, but something that has shifted for many people as electronic devices have become a more prominent part of our lives.

I didn’t want to be out in the open. I wanted to hide—from my life, from my family, from the truth. I didn’t want it to be real, so I went to bed, where I could curl up and pretend like everything was okay.

My life was enough of a mess. I did not need to make it worse by living in one too.

The stuff I wanted the ideal version of myself to use was everything I had once bought in hopes that it would somehow make my life or myself better.

wasn’t good enough, but this stuff would make me better. I wanted to read, wear, and do everything so I could become the person I thought I should be. Having these items in my home proved it was possible. I would do it all one day, and become a better person one day. This time, one day never came.

Who are you buying this for: the person you are, or the person you want to be?

There was a tectonic shift in the rock we all stood on and now we were on unstable ground. I had to let go everything I had once thought was true and accept our new reality. It wasn’t easy, and I knew this was only the beginning of the journey. So I stayed in bed a little longer, cried a lot harder, and repeated the mantra over and over to myself when I needed to.

I could barely get out of bed—and not because bed was my sanctuary. There was nothing beautiful or peaceful about living under the covers in pajamas that hadn’t been washed in weeks. There was simply no better place to spend half the day in the fetal position.

I was just tired of being in pain. Pain—both emotional and physical—was exhausting. I couldn’t get out of bed because dealing with the pain took all of my energy, and I had nothing left in me.

There is something to be said about being totally self-aware and still choosing to do what you know is bad for you.

I decided I could keep spending money on things that added value to my life, like travel, but I would cut back on everything else so I could learn how to live with less and save more.

I could live with the silence. What I couldn’t live with was losing hours, days, and weeks of my life to things that didn’t matter.

The truth, I was learning, was that we couldn’t actually discover what we needed until we lived without it.

What was done was done. There was no going back. There was no denying it, and no amount of begging would ever change it.

He had seemingly skipped over most of the stages of grief I had gone through and accepted the news for what it was: the truth. Our new reality. The only thing we could do now was move forward.

I had always been stuck in the cycle of wanting more, buying more, and then needing more money. The ban uncovered the truth, which was that when you decide to want less, you can buy less and, ultimately, need less money.

I realized I had spent the first 29 years of my life doing and buying whatever I could to be someone I thought I should be. I kept so many things, and consumed the wrong things, all because I never felt like I was good enough. I wasn’t smart enough or professional enough or talented enough or creative enough. I didn’t trust that who I was or what I brought to the table in any situation was already unique, so I bought things that could make me better.

It turned out I had never been someone who valued material objects. I valued the people in my life and the experiences we shared together. None of that could be found in the belongings in my home. It had always been in my heart.

If I had simply stopped shopping for a year, I might have learned a lot about myself as a consumer. And if I had simply decluttered my home, I might have learned a lot about my interests. But doing both challenges at the same time was important, because it forced me to stop living on autopilot and start questioning my decisions.

What could life have looked like if I hadn’t fallen into those traps? But then I remember I had to make those mistakes and learn those lessons in order to become the person I am today.

After everything else had been bagged up and donated, all that remained was the real me. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It was enough. I had enough. I was enough.

Remember that all you’re committing to is slowing down and asking yourself what you really want, rather than acting on impulse. That’s it. That’s what being a “mindful” consumer is all about.

One of the greatest lessons I learned during these years is that whenever you’re thinking of binging, it’s usually because some part of you or your life feels like it’s lacking—and nothing you drink, eat, or buy can fix it. I know, because I’ve tried it all and none of it worked. Instead, you have to simplify, strip things away, and figure out what’s really going on. Falling into the cycle of wanting more, consuming more, and needing even more won’t help. More was never the answer. The answer, it turned out, was always less.

decluttering first can open your eyes to how much stuff you’ve wasted money on in the past, which can serve as motivation to not waste more money during your shopping ban. It will also give you a visual reminder of how much stuff you’re keeping.