We fight about clean-up a lot at our place. About keeping the common areas tidy. Participating in household chores.
During after-battle tears, yesterday, Lucy admitted “I know it’s for our own good, Mom. So we’ll know how to clean up.”
Then it hit me, I’d never really explained why we’d rather fight this battle than breeze through the tasks ourselves.
That it’s not about technique. And it’s not just about comfort and justice and self-discipline and space.
It’s about the mind-game.
Facing a mess and knowing we’ll get through it. One tiny bit at a time.
Accepting it’s there. Deciding how to look at it. Making the first move. Occupying our minds while we do it. And following through til it’s done.
Like illness. Like recovery. Like fear.