When I was left alone in our apartment in Orlando after the divorce, I thought the hardest part was behind me. The separation, the arguments, the silence, the nights full of tears – I had made it through. It was our old apartment – the one we had shared for years. I thought it could become a lifeline. A space to start over. My own corner. My own life. Freedom. But I was wrong. The hardest part wasn’t leaving the relationship. It was getting rid of everything it left behind.
He was the first to go. Quickly. He packed his clothes, took his laptop and coffee maker, and said, “The rest is yours. Do what you want.” At first, that felt convenient. Furniture, appliances, dishes, books – everything stayed. I told myself it was useful. In truth, I just couldn’t bring myself to touch any of it. I was living among shadows of the past, pretending everything was fine.
A month passed. Then two. Then six. His jackets still hung in the closet. Boxes with his handwriting sat untouched in the storage room. The table where we argued. The couch where I cried through the night wrapped in a blanket. Everything was still there. None of it mine. But it filled my apartment – and my head.
I tried to throw things away piece by piece. One day it was a mug. A week later – a book or two. But every item came with a reason to stay: “What if I need it later?” “It was expensive.” “It doesn’t really bother me.” Until one day I realized – I couldn’t live like this anymore. I didn’t know who to call or how it even worked. I wasn’t even sure I had the right to throw things out.
I typed in junk removal companies in Orlando, skimmed a few headlines, and… closed my laptop. Not because I changed my mind – but because I was scared to make the first move. Later, I opened it again. I read strangers’ stories. I saw pieces of myself in their words. Somewhere in the middle of one post, someone wrote: “Getting rid of someone else’s things isn’t betrayal. It’s an act of self-care.” I wasn’t sure I believed that. But at the bottom of that page was a local number – I saved it. Just in case.
A day later, I gathered my courage and called. The person who answered was calm – not overly cheerful, not indifferent. They asked when would be convenient. I said Saturday morning. They simply said: “We’ll be there.”
And they were. Quiet. Professional. I was afraid I’d have to explain myself. That I’d be asked why this was his and that was shared. But no one asked. They just worked. Respectfully. Carefully. One of the guys, carrying out a box, said gently, “A lot of people go through this. You’re not alone.”
Within hours, they had cleared the space I had been suffocating in for half a year. Only the things I truly felt connected to remained. The apartment felt oddly empty – and incredibly bright. Like the air had changed.
For the first time in a long time, I breathed. Not because it was clean, but because something inside me had shifted. Hiring a junk removal service in Orlando, FL isn’t just about taking out trash. It’s about reclaiming your space. Your silence. Your breath.
I won’t say everything was perfect after that. I’m still learning how to be alone. I still sometimes hear his voice when I open the window. But now, it’s my life. My apartment. My table. My quiet.
I never learned the names of the people who came that day. But I know that they didn’t just remove boxes. They helped me let go of something I couldn’t carry anymore. Later, scrolling through my recent calls, I saw the name – AAA Rousse. Just a name in my phone now, but so much more in my memory.
And maybe that’s the most important thing one person can do for another – help them get rid of what’s stopping them from living again.
