The Miracle of Acceptance

How I found a way keep my apartment clean

For as long as history has been recorded, the task of cleaning house has fallen to women. Whether they liked it or not.

I am in the “not” category. And it goes way beyond viewing it as the mundane drudgery it is.

The irony is I once owned a lucrative cleaning business. My two partners and I scoured everything from bathrooms in Boca Raton mansions to the greasy kitchen floors of high-end restaurants on Palm Beach.

I didn’t like it any better then, but I loathed the job I had even more and at the time, it seemed like an exit strategy.

When I was growing up in the 70s, we had chore lists waiting for us on the kitchen table when we got home from school. Some might squawk at this, and my inner kid is right there with you, but in retrospect it was good discipline. And it taught me skills I needed as an adult.

My brothers balked. Every time. I’m sure I did too sometimes, but not as much because everything in the culture told me it was my job as someone with a uterus to handle the scrubbing, vacuuming, and dusting. From Olivia Walton needing to get tuberculosis to be relieved of her cleaning duties (and fighting it every inch of the way) to Edith Bunker nervously dusting around her grouchy husband, the message was clear to my 10-year-old self. Cleaning and taking care of the house was women’s work.

I was on a continuous see-saw of wanting to please my mother by demonstrating what a good girl I was and managing the anger that came from the resentment of being forced to do something I truly despised. I devised workarounds. For example, I was infamous for gathering up the extraneous detritus of my bedroom and shoving it in the closet. As long as no one could see it, I considered it to be clean. That delusion was shattered when I was caught.

Fast forward to college. My first roommate was a neat freak. Betsy couldn’t stand to have anything out of place and although I always knew where everything was, my method was a bit messier. I found myself capitulating to her way of order to avoid confrontation and tension. But this meant more resentment for doing what I truly didn’t like.

I eventually left the dorms and moved into an apartment with three other girls. We had a scheduled community cleaning time, and we all shared a bong first. That and stereo blasting “Holiday” by Madonna made it more palatable. Couple this with my Catholic-good-girl complex that told me I had to put the feelings of others ahead of my own and I pretty much kept myself in check.

The first time I ever lived on my own, I discovered I loved coming home from work to a clean and tidy living space. I found ways to force myself to dust and clean the bathroom but would often drift in the middle to something more pleasurable. Half-done tasks became the norm. Unless I was having company. There’s something about having another human being in your living space that forces you to see all the things you’ve managed to ignore.

I’ve rented many apartments in my life and owned a house. I’ve bought all the gadgets, tried the latest hacks, and possess an admirable array of cleaning supplies. I’ve berated myself, told myself I was lazy and that I just needed to suck it up. I questioned what was wrong with me and screamed inside my head to just get over it. But my feelings never changed. And neither, really, has society.

While it may seem like “we’ve come a long way baby,” I think Virginia Slims was a liar. Sure, there are modern men who don’t mind sharing the household chores with their wives, but in my experience, it’s usually the wife devising the strategy and plenty of my friends have complained that they end up doing things themselves because it’s easier than being labeled a nag when he forgets.

Sure, magazines like Cosmo paint us as independent women in charge of our lives, but for every Cosmo, there are three Women’s Worlds that provide tips and hacks on cleaning stoves and bathrooms. I don’t see that content in GQ. Or Esquire. Or Men’s Journal. Not to mention that I doubt there are many men who take an inventory of the household chores that weren’t done that day as they’re falling asleep. It feels like the responsibility of it is in our DNA.

When I realized I was neuro-divergent a few years ago, I was relieved to have finally found the reason. It must stem from executive dysfunction or pathological demand avoidance. Or maybe it was one of the many other traits those with ADHD or autism experience. There maybe some truth to that, but it never felt like the full reason either.

Then I just admitted it to myself. I hate to clean. I gave myself permission to feel that way - no judgment, no shade, no consequence. Imagine, I finally gave myself permission to feel the way I felt without caring what anyone else thought.

Now what?

The easy answer is to hire someone. That’s not in my budget at the moment. So, now what?

This is where the miracle of acceptance gets to strut its stuff. On a whim, I posted this to my local Buy Nothing Group on Facebook.

I have what may seem like a strange ask. I recently accepted the fact that I cannot stand to clean. But I love to cook and I'm really good at it. I've only been in my new place a couple of months, and I'd like to keep it as clean and organized as possible. I'm looking for someone who would be willing to barter a couple of hours every two weeks with their cleaning/organization skills and I will prepare you some delicious food. We can work out the details to make sure we both feel it's equitable. I'm only looking for someone who is serious. If the idea intrigues you drop a comment about what appeals to you, and I'll send you a DM. Photos of my latest creation.

The response has been incredible, and I believe I’ve found a great match. Someone who enjoys doing this particular thing. She’ll clean. I’ll cook. And we both get what we want.

This entire experience is a perfect example of Carl Jung’s third option theory:

Most humans, when presented with two options, neither of which appeals to them, will choose one or the other to avoid the discomfort of not knowing. But when you have the courage to sit in the unknown, a third previously inconceivable option shows itself.

Here’s to third options, acceptance, clean living spaces and sharing what you love to do in a way that makes someone else’s life better.