As I sit on my kitchen stool, trying so hard to focus on the simple task before me (writing out a grocery list), I find that it is absolutely impossible. We have both had the longest week, clocking in more than normal hours at work, driving to see the folks for Easter on our only day off, and now hitting the ground running on Monday- completely unprepared for the week ahead. I’m sitting here, shocked that I even remember how to write in complete sentences. But now I am exposing my exhaustion- back to the point. I thought to myself, in my mild delirium, that this would be an ideal moment to tell the world about my relationship with my kitchen.
In future blog posts, I’m sure I will one day write about my coping strategy (trichotillomania: a form of OCD where one compulsively pulls, and in my case, consumes, their hair) and about the different forms of therapy and treatment that I have undergone to curb it. But for now, I am skipping all of those social graces and just writing about something that I have found helpful in my personal coping journey. In a world where I sometimes feel out of control, I find peace and satisfaction in my clean kitchen. It is my temple. It is my happy place. It is where I find solace and joy. When everything else seems out of my control, I can take comfort in the fact that if I just take some soap to a sponge, that in minutes I will stand witness to a clean kitchen. So as I sit here, beating myself up (“Why are you just staring at your notepad? It’s a grocery list, not calculus!”) I realize that I am trying to force productivity in a hostile environment. My temple is in shambles. I can find no comfort here. The only thing that will fix this, is for me to pick up a sponge and begin the journey.