I cleaned my house today. From corner to corner, ceiling to floor, I evicted the comfortable dust bunnies, erie cobwebs, and distant memories.
I cried today. I mourned each day I lost spiraling downward as the bunnies moved in. I cried every tear I had already felt and added four thousand more. I sat, once again, on the bathroom floor and wept irrationally like so many nights before. With knees hugged tightly to my chest, I just let myself weep.
I picked myself up today, up off that floor which displayed so clearly the neglect I’ve shown in my life. The rugs so caked with dirt and mire were finally hung out in the sun to gain new life.
Each messy cupboard, each closet begging for some attention, each misconstrued pile of mail I never opened was attended to. Trash bags were filled. Piles of laundry were sorted. The 6 month old eggs were tossed. Pictures were stored away.
I cleaned my house today. I say this with extreme victory in my voice. You see, I never thought I’d find myself struggling to stay afloat, too exhausted to sort the mail, too broken to plug in the vacuum. But that is where I am. Each day is a silent (or not so silent) battle to reclaim all that I allowed myself to lose. Each day is a reminder I am stronger than I thought I was, more determined, more vulnerable, more authentic. Each day, although a battle, is an obnoxious gift begging to be claimed and embraced.
Today I say this with all the joy, authenticity, vulnerability, honesty I have within me:
I cleaned my house today, tears in my eyes, sun shining in, birds singing new songs, and finally knowing there is hope on the horizon. It’s funny to think the first light I’d glimpse at the end of this tunnel would be me in worn out jeans, shaking out rugs on the patio, and releasing my excuses just like I released the adorable dust bunnies back into the wild.