Every few months, I feel this pressing urge to purge or donate nearly half of our belongings. I scan the house and am met with a sea of forgotten toys, mismatched Tupperware, ill-fitting clothes, and cables from gadgets that are probably long gone.
That same itch resurfaces at the end of the day when my kids’ toys are strewn across the living room. Even if there are just a few toys out of place, I feel that familiar tension. And on those nights when my husband, bless him, tries to tidy up—only to lean the toys against the baskets instead of actually putting them away—I can hardly contain my frustration.
For me, dealing with clutter isn’t just another item on my to-do list, like preparing lunch for my kids or scheduling a dentist appointment. It transforms into a panic that feels all-consuming. It’s as if I can’t breathe with the disarray surrounding me, and that chaos amplifies my sense of helplessness in an already unpredictable world.
Yes, I have an anxiety disorder, which means my perception of reality can differ significantly from others. I often feel as though everything is on the verge of collapse, and I must restore order to feel grounded. Unfortunately, this often manifests as an overwhelming irritation towards excess belongings and disorder in my home.
Reflecting on my upbringing, I realize that my childhood was filled with chaos. I grew up in a cluttered environment, with my hardworking single mother often too overwhelmed to maintain order. I don’t fault her for this; it’s clear that clutter didn’t bother her in the same way it does me. Perhaps, in my quest for stability, I’m compensating for the mayhem of my past, striving to create a semblance of order in my life.
That said, I’ve learned to embrace who I am. My home isn’t the tidiest in the neighborhood, and I allow my kids the freedom to make messes. Playdates often result in every toy being scattered across the floor, and I encourage their creativity through painting, building, and even cooking—flour flying everywhere. However, I always clean up promptly. If I don’t, my anxiety spikes.
When my husband is on a grueling 12-hour shift and it’s just me and the kids, balancing work and household chaos becomes a Herculean task. On those days, I might leave dishes in the sink or a sticky spot of juice on the floor. But, oh, does it gnaw at me! My reaction is visceral; I can feel the tension building in my body.
When I finally get the chance to clean, it’s not a mere chore; it’s a frantic effort to regain control and stave off a panic attack. Thankfully, it’s not always this extreme. Over the years, I’ve learned to let some things slide. I don’t judge others for their messes; in fact, I find comfort in them. It’s only my own clutter that makes me feel like I’m losing my grip.
I recognize that everyone has their own comfort levels with messiness, and many might view my clutter as unacceptable. However, I also know I’m not alone in my feelings. There are others out there who don’t aspire to be “neat freaks” but still experience a sense of impending doom when their surroundings become disorganized.
So, to those who share this struggle, know that I understand the depths of your anxiety when your home isn’t in order. It’s not something you choose, and it doesn’t make you obsessive or controlling. You keep your space tidy for your own peace of mind, and that’s perfectly valid.
And remember: you are incredible, just as I am.
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In summary, my urge to maintain an organized home stems from my experiences with anxiety and a chaotic childhood. Though I embrace my kids’ messes, I find that order is essential for my peace of mind. It’s okay to prioritize a neat space for the sake of your well-being, and you’re not alone in feeling this way.