Let’s say that the toothpaste splattered on the bathroom mirror bothers you. Every time you clean the mirror you are reminded that you’re the only person who does this job and it’s frustrating that no one else cares enough to clean it up.

One of the things that drew me to Germantown was the amount of space to plant things in the ground. I’ve had my share of container gardens in concrete backyards that left me wanting to grow more plants. What I really wanted was enough space to grow my own food.

Instead of having a “cleaning day,” which sounds a bit like a list of chores, I have what I call a “home day” — a day where I set aside time to take care of the house’s needs.

There is no prescription for what order to do things in, or how to keep the home under control as a whole — everyone lives so differently. Some days I break the house up into sections; other days I stick to one room or project.

Before restoring anything, it’s important to examine what can stay as-is and what needs to be repaired, replaced or given a good scrubbing. It’s also important to have a strong end-vision. It takes belief to bring something back to life. To build it up, to improve and strengthen it. If you can’t envision it, how can it come to fruition?

There are times that I struggle being a feminist in the work that I do.

It doesn’t always feel like I am making a difference and men don’t actually want to learn how to clean, cook and give women domestic equality. Many times I feel like a misandrist toward men who aren’t fourth-wave feminists, a movement that began around 2012.

Consider this scenario: a person asks their partner to clean up the laundry in their shared bedroom. In doing this, the bedroom would be tidy. The person who put the request in has done everything to keep the bedroom tidy for themselves, and even goes so far as to be the consistent caretaker and cleaner of the space.

You could understand if there might be some tension here.

It’s okay for our hands to be held.

Many times when I’m unmotivated to do a project, I know that the main deterrent to getting started is simply that I don’t want to do it alone.

My week is split in two: I have my three teenage children four nights a week and the other three it’s just me. I walk between two different lifestyles as a working single woman and a very busy mother.

When I was young, I used to love to move my bedroom furniture around. It seemed like I was scooting my dresser and bed across the room twice a year—sometimes even switching bedrooms with my sister. I loved the change that rearranging brought and the newness within the familiar.

When I trained in martial arts, my instructor taught me that “good form will carry me through.” There were times when I felt so tired that I became sloppy and let my guard down, which would get me punched in the face. I learned that when I became more technical and understood the movement, I was aware of the need to keep my hands up and have good form. Poor form wastes energy and leads to unfavorable results. To have good form you must engage all of your senses. For instance, when you are washing the dishes you can be aware of:

It’s not rocket science, nor am I reinventing the wheel: “The Method” is a way you can ensure that you don’t miss anything and you give proper attention to the entirety of your home, one room at a time.

By the time our kids move out of the house they should know how to tidy, clean, do their laundry and navigate a kitchen.

I consider this baseline behavior for an able-bodied adult human being. As we watch our children grow, we learn how difficult it can be to teach them these skills. We also have our own set of struggles with domesticity, which makes this a tricky subject for parents to navigate. It’s almost as if we forget that the real work is to raise healthy, functioning, emotionally intelligent human beings whose internal compass points toward love.

A few months ago my therapist suggested that I reconnect and talk to my angels. As I contemplated if it was time to find a new therapist (I had grown accustomed to using my analytical mind, full of reason, to navigate through life), I realized I had drifted far from the imaginative energy that the spiritual world has to offer.

There was a beautiful and high-quality nature to life that ascended on the house after I had cleaned up the rubble of a tornado. My actions, decisions and work that I poured into my home were valuable. I honor domestic work as a healing practice.

Rare is the home that is not affected by the undercurrents and expectations of gender roles. Domestic oppression is a symptom of patriarchal programming. Even some of the most progressive couples struggle to challenge ingrained domestic roles.

Violence causes so much turmoil on our planet. People in powerful places enable corporate plundering, war, greed and exploitation—and we are all caught up in the mess.

We buy things online and shop at chain stores. It’s impossible to adhere to a moral code with every purchase.

Violence causes so much turmoil on our planet. People in powerful places enable corporate plundering, war, greed and exploitation—and we are all caught up in the mess.

We buy things online and shop at chain stores. It’s impossible to adhere to a moral code with every purchase.

When we live in a world where we feel we can do whatever we want, whenever we want, we succumb to a spiritual plague. It erodes the fabric of cooperation and equality, as well as the symbiosis that allows for us to have safe, healthy living environments. When we look at those trying to dismantle our democracy, we can see ‘doing whatever, whenever’ as a symptom of a bigger problem that is chipping away at the health of our government. 

Quarantine hasn’t been easy for anyone, and everyone is crazy in their own way.

In terms of domestic life, I think a lot about what angers me. As a cleaning lady, I’ve had clients who’ve pitied me, and others who’ve barked orders at me while offering me their scraps. I’ve had those who’ve stiffed me. Those who’ve looked down their noses at me. And those people made me mad.

I’m noticing the bags under my eyes. I see the lines on my face, telling me that I’m starting to age. The targeted ads that I saw at the beginning of the pandemic were preparing me for this moment.