Life isn’t perfect. It’s messy. And so are homes, especially with two kids, two working adults and a large dog. I grew up in a household where my mom stayed at home, and spent more time cleaning the house than playing with us. Pre kids I resented this, wishing that she would come tobogganing, play in the yard or run through sprinklers with us. I have fond memories with my dad going cross-country skiing, hiking, and playing soccer. I wish my mom was in more of those memories. Don’t get me wrong, she would come camping, or to cottages, to beaches.... but was frequently on the sidelines watching us have fun. Now as a parent, I am starting to better understand why my mother was likely cleaning all the time. For most of my adult life I have suffered from anxiety. The anxiety causes me to procrastinate, and some weeks I feel like I can get nothing done. When I am stressed, the anxiety kicks in, and I start rage cleaning. In these times, I find myself scrubbing the toilets and washing the floors. It took many years to realize this pattern. In order to deal with my mental state, I needed to have a clean and tidy space around me. No clothes on the floor, no dirty dishes, no kids toys laying around, and no piles of random paperwork and tools. It was only when my home was tidy, that I could work on my mental health. But it would take so long to do, that I would be avoiding my husband, spending less time with my kids, and overall not enjoying the day. This would lead to feelings of shame and guilt, which would further push my mental health. This is why I have a designated clean room, my living room. The entire house can be a disaster, but this is my safe haven. If I feel stressed, I clean this room. All other spaces I work on when the kids are asleep, or when my husband and I can do them together. This room gets messy too, but it always takes 10 minutes tops to clean. The kind of room where someone can walk into my house and think that the whole place must look this way. It is my next project for redecorating, as it needs a rug, new couch, and a big art piece above the couch. Maybe in the future an electric fireplace. I try to keep the items in here minimal, and full of plants. There is a lot of work to be done, but in the mornings I can come sit here in peace with my coffee as the whole house sleeps. It’s my one room that I try to keep toys and food out of, with my excuse being “you can eat or play literally anywhere else in the house”. Couch crumbs will only create stress and anxiety. So, this is why I better understand my mom. I don’t think she ever understood it, but I feel like she was the same. Unlike me, she stopped working after her first child and never went back. She never had her license, so she spends all day every day in that house. Growing up I would watch her argue with my dad, then immediately start cleaning. His lack of help with cleaning the house would add to her stress and be the start of arguments. To this day my mom has a spotless house. Marble tables, white carpets , bathrooms so bright you could see a speck of dirt if there was any. Her house is so clean, because it’s a way for her to deal with her stress. She can’t control the world, my father, the constant tragic deaths of family members around her, but she can control how clean and tidy her house is. Her mental state is poor if her place is messy, and better when it is clean. Going back to my childhood, I know this is why she spent little time playing with us, and so much time cleaning. Kids make a mess, and if my father wasn’t travelling for work, they would frequently argue when he was around. Or, at least, this is what I remember. I don’t hold it against her today, but I see that it shaped her into who she is today. I wish she cared less about her house, but I get it, I really do. So. Behind every one of my photos, is another room which looks like a tornado hit. Because life isn’t perfect. It’s messy. And so are houses with kids.
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