The part of yourself you stopped performing may still deserve a private place.

Some things get dropped because the audience for them went away, not because you stopped caring. The singing, the language, the drawing, the version of you that was funny in a particular room: these often end when the context ends, and then get filed as things you used to do. What remains can live somewhere nobody visits.

Give one abandoned thing a small private slot with no plan to show anyone. Ten minutes, a notebook nobody reads, a room with the door shut. Judge it by whether the hour felt good, not by whether it produced anything. Some parts of a person only need a place to exist.