I’m more than willing to admit that I’m not very good at keeping the house clean. “Domestically impaired,” I like to describe myself. It’s not anything new, either. When I was little, words like “messy”, “disaster zone” and “slob” were used regularly.
My father did everything he could think of to get me to clean my room. He invited over a friend who I knew worked at the 911 dispatcher’s office, and convinced her to tell me that, if I didn’t clean up my room, the ‘Bedroom Police’ would come and take away all my toys.
By the time I reached college, the though of cleaning was enough to make me break into hives. I would let messes build up and then spend days obsessively cleaning, rather than studying. This whole housekeeping business had managed to become a huge ball of stress that was somehow more important than school and work.
Somehow, I’m much better than I was. My apartment isn’t perfect, but it could be ready for a visit in under an hour.
The catalyst for learning to deal with my own messes? I spent my last semester in school abroad. It doesn’t sound like much, but it was the start. I had less than a week to pack up everything I owned. A suitcase and a backpack went with me. Everything else had to be stored.
I’d pared down my belongings before, but the absolute minimalism of a single suitcase, combined with living in a tiny apartment with four other people was enough to make me start looking for solutions.
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[...] I posted about learning to deal with everyday chores — something that was the biggest stress in my life for years. However, I didn’t tell [...]