I am worthy of love, happiness and joy.

A boxed dinner service, a wedding present, has been in a loft for fifteen years. It has been used twice, both times for people who were not family.

Worth gets policed at that scale. The perfume kept for occasions that never quite qualify. The room that stays shut except when somebody visits. None of it feels like a verdict on yourself at the time — it feels like sensible economy, and it accumulates into a life lived in the spare version.

There is a small argument available here and it can be won on a Wednesday. Eat off the good plates for no reason. See what is actually lost.