Tidy House, Tidy Mind

Never underestimate the healing power of a good old…clean?

That can’t be right, surely? Replace ‘clean’ with dance, snog, laugh or cry and I’m sure anyone would concur with the statement. But clean?!

Those are words I never thought I’d see these idle little hands type. Actually, my hands aren’t idle, that’s a lie, but they are usually occupied with anything other than cleaning, such as furiously Whatsapping my girlfriends, holding a wine glass, or cooking a sumptuous feast. Ok, maybe not the cooking bit (unless you count stabbing the plastic packaging on a microwave meal, pretending it’s someone who’s pissed me off lately). I love eating, just as I love proudly surveying a pristine abode – but the admin part of both activities feels like a chore. Personally, I’ve always thought a spotless home was the sign of a wasted life.

So I was astounded recently when I awoke with the urge to have a major deep clean of my house. Not just the regular hoover-without-moving-stuff and a cursory flick of a duster, oh no, I’m talking actually sorting shit out. Throwing things away. Scrubbing skirting boards and emptying that kitchen drawer full of biros, lighters (I haven’t smoked since 2016), the contents of Christmas crackers and other random objects.

I know – crazy, right? I think it had something to do with the sun streaming in through the windows (well, sort of; I hadn’t cleaned them on the outside for a while. Hello?! It’s arctic out there!).

Anyhow, so the sun poured in, dust motes floating in the shards of light beaming down from my skylights – and I was overcome with the urge to blitz the place. Knowing that this feeling wouldn’t come around again in a hurry (the last time was just after I was abducted by aliens who performed a full lobotomy as I slept), I knew I had to act quickly – carpe diem – before it passed for another year. So I downed my green tea (I had to get that in; it’s a passing fad – I’ll be back on the hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows by the time you’ve finished reading this) and set about rummaging under the sink for all the necessary kit. Five minutes later and I straighten up looking like Kim from How Clean Is Your House? (minus the Croydon facelift hairdo and frosted pink lippy), pinging my rubber gloves as though about to perform a rectal examination.

Considering I have a modest little cottage, I soon discover I have acquired a lot of stuff since the last purge, particularly for someone who bleats about ‘adventures not things’ in poems and blog posts like this and this. Why is it that when you start sorting cupboards and drawers the avalanche of possessions makes more mess than you started with? I guess you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs though, eh?

Anyway, here are 5 things I learnt about spring cleaning yesterday, aged 41 and 5/6 (hey, better late than never):

1. You have to be ruthless.

If you’re just going to take everything out, have a nice little try-on of old garms and reminisce about that festival/wedding/graduation you wore them to and then put it all back, there’s no point. You’ve got to go at it with a gung-ho attitude. Unless it a) fits and makes you feel fabulous (as in, like, now – not twenty years ago), b) serves a unique purpose, eg hiking boots or c) has such a powerful memory attached to it that getting rid of it would feel like losing a limb, kick it to the kerb. Or a charity shop, preferably, where it could bring joy to someone else. One woman’s trash is another’s treasure.

2. It will be emotional.

Delving into cupboards rarely plundered – the ones containing boxes of old photos or files of yellowing paperwork – takes emotional strength, particularly if there are triggers therein; a photo of a deceased relative smiling into the camera can catch you unawares when it tumbles from between some old payslips…or the cards from your wedding day when you’re newly divorced. If you’re not feeling strong enough to go there right now, at least put all those heartstring-tuggers in one place and label the box clearly, then put them in the loft and move on. Physically and mentally if you can. If not, just physically will do. Out of sight, out of mind.

3. You’ll find things that you thought were gone forever.

I found myself gazing in wonder at long-lost items: a set of keys that I could have sworn had been lost on a night out; a favourite earring that I loved and had kept the other one ‘just in case’, not expecting to ever be able to wear them again. What joy! You’ll uncover hidden treasures along the way; like little rewards for tackling the job.

4. Once you start, you’ll be like a woman (or man; but probably woman) possessed.

Seeing a room looking immaculate is a thing of beauty to behold. Like that shy schoolmate whose makeup and hair you’ve done for a wedding and is positively radiant, bursting with new-found confidence, witnessing the fruits of your labour is…heartwarming. Encouraging. Having moved furniture, flung open windows (disclosure: I soon closed them again, it was bloody freezing) and blown away the stale, stuffy air and negative energy (it’s all about the ch’i mannn), it felt like a new room entirely. One belonging to a person who’s clearly got their shit together. Spurred on, I whizzed around the house like that Tasmanian devil in the old Looney Tunes cartoons, only without all the dribbling (I’d just bleached the surfaces, after all). I didn’t stop at the contents of the house, no siree!  I unsubscribed from the incessant stream of junk mail, irritating social media notifications and blocked the most annoying Facebook ‘friends’ (stop tagging me in things and adding me to groups, Godammit!).

5. It feels amazing when you’ve finished.

Having cleaned, buffed and polished the entire house (approximately eight hours later) I was exhausted…but also elated. The place was neat as a pin – and my mind was feeling razor-sharp too. It was as though getting rid of the physical clutter had also been gradually decluttering my mind. Whilst cleaning a huge mirror, I stopped and looked at myself more clearly than I had in ages. What appeared before me was a 41-year-old woman who looked a bit, well, tired. Tired of putting up with things being out of line. And I’m not just talking wonky ornaments on a shelf.

By bedtime, I’d performed a full life laundry. I stood back and surveyed the end result, before slipping between crisp, clean bedsheets feeling accomplished.

I’d cleared out everything: three bags of rubbish for recycling, another three for the dustbin, two for charity.

And one boyfriend.

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

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