I was excited, at first, when I was gifted a house all to
myself and my dogs. I’d have all the privacy I would ever need, I could do
whatever I wanted, and there was just this little semblance of freedom in
having my own home. Did or do I own it? Ha! No no no, my generous father has
allowed me to live here while I completed college and started my path into the
working world.
While I have truly enjoyed my house with my dogs, I was
wholly unprepared for the care and upkeep a house requires. I’d always dusted
and vacuumed (among other things) as chores when I was younger. But I never
considered maintaining a lawn, changing furnace filters, cleaning all those
little nooks and crannies that you never think about but suddenly are covered
in a layer of dust you can’t quite get off. Add three dogs into the mix and you
start to lose control very quickly of how much dirt and dust is in your house.
Working full-time also complicates keeping up with a house
as well. Coming home tired and grumpy does not typically lead to a cleaning
frenzy or even keeping up with daily chores. On top of the stress of the daily
activities, you also struggle with depression and anxiety. When the depression
gets bad, you’re lucky to get out of bed, let alone clean something. It’s simple: You just don’t feel like it.
Then when you do have the time and energy to get it all
cleaned and sorted out, it’s too much to tackle all at once. Too much dusting,
vacuuming, mopping, wiping, spraying, etc. It’s just. Too. Much. So you settle
for the little you do get accomplished and leave the rest. This then leads to
another day where you have the time and energy, but again, get overwhelmed, do
a medium level task, and then give up again. The cycle goes on and on and you
never catch up and you watch as your once beautiful house decays before your
eyes.
And it’s all your fault.
My house used to look like it was a model for a housekeeping
magazine (minus my room, obviously). My mother didn’t work so she threw herself
into keeping our home looking pristine. Never a dish in the sink, never a
random pile of books or mail stacked on tables, never an area that wasn’t ready
for company. I used to wonder what my mom did all day while I was school. Now I
know… she was taking care of the house. She took pride in her beautiful
flowerbeds and little gardens throughout the front and backyards. I never asked
her, but I’ve always wondered if keeping our home clean and tending to all of
her flowers was a form of therapy for her – a sense of control within the
chaotic world she lived. Even as I type this, I already know the peace it gave
her.
Imagine the shame in knowing that all of the work your
mother put into her home, into her precious plants and flowers, was ruined by
your lack of energy, your grief and sadness. I know my mother held our house to
impossible standards compared to most people. But when you grow up only knowing
“this way” of living, it’s heartbreaking when you can’t live up to those
standards.
The dogs ruined her flowerbeds in the backyard, even tore up
the majority of the grass. The flowerbeds out front weren’t maintained and just
became a weed garden. The house began to show more wear and tear as we
neglected to freshen the paint after the years. When I was alone, that’s when
the house would get the worst. I would even keep my friends from coming over
because of how dirty it was. I was so ashamed of the failure (as I once saw it)
that I had let my house become.
I didn’t start to give myself a break until this year. I’m
not my mother (though I am a lot like her). I didn’t enjoy working with the
earth like she did. I didn’t have a husband and teenager to help with chores
around the house. The dogs were a problem I brought on to myself, though I have
never regretted bringing them into my family and home. I eased up on myself as
I realized the different battles my mother and I faced, the different types of
help we received. I’m quite in awe of my mother for how she kept this house
running smoothly and looking like Martha Stewart’s. But I’ve come to terms with
the fact that I was just not made the same way she was.
I’ve also been blessed with a partner who has a sense of
pride in our home. Who will mow the lawn, sweep all the rooms, and then mop as
well. Who makes sure the dishes are clean, the dogs are fed, and the house
looks nice. Chris has made all the difference in this house. Just by his
actions, he’s reminded me to take pride in our home once again. I’m still quite
a-ways away from having a house that looks like Martha’s, but then again, maybe
I don’t want it to look that way anymore (no offense, M-Stew). Maybe I want it
to display who I am, who we are…
maybe I want our home to look like us.
I don’t think that’s such a bad idea at all 😊
