Cleanliness — A Blessing or a Curse? Let It Go!
PR’ed today!! 🙌 Cut my Montebello climb by a full two minutes.
Came home after the climb and—instead of showering and collapsing on the sofa—I cleaned. 😅
Why? Because I’m a bit OCD about my hardwood floors.
My ex used to joke that despite being almost blind (‑10.5 contacts, now officially a medical necessity 😅), I can spot the tiniest grain of sand or the thinnest strand of hair. 🤣
Call it a blessing that my kids love staying with me because the house is clean—and they don’t feel uneasy going to bed like they sometimes do at their dad’s place, where you can hear mice running through the walls.
I’m fully aware of—and acknowledge—my OCD. I hope my kids don’t inherit it… although they have learned to crawl back into the house “commando style” to grab jackets after putting their shoes on. 😅
(Yes, I’ve trained them well.) This got me thinking.
If I could relax more, maybe my quality of life would improve. This used to be a sticking point with my ex. He’d say I “enjoyed” cleaning—especially how I couldn’t leave dirty dishes in the sink after hosting dinner. I hated that comment. It made me feel trapped and underappreciated, like I was the only one who cared—and the only one doing the work.
But now that I think about it… it was true. I clean because it brings sanity to my life. So maybe I either do it happily, owning that truth—or I let it go and don’t do it at all.
I still can’t honestly say I enjoy it—especially not cleaning up all the “gunk” after my ex’s family, right after my cleaning lady was just here. 😅
For contrast… here’s my happy bike ride 🚴♀️ Nothing can spoil my mood today.
Turns out my version of inner peace comes with a Swiffer mop 😅