Cleaning=Therapy? Maybe.

 You know that feeling when your brain is so full that even breathing feels like a task?

Yeah. That’s me on most days.

And weirdly enough, the only thing that makes me feel a little less lost is cleaning.

Organizing.

Putting things into neat little piles as if somehow I can do that with my thoughts too.

I don’t clean because I’m some aesthetic Pinterest girl who loves spotless rooms.

I clean because if I don’t, I’ll sit in one corner overthinking till I convince myself the world’s ending.

(Melodramatic? Yes. Real? Also yes.)

Folding clothes.

Sweeping floors.

Arranging my books.

It’s like... while my hands are busy, my mind slows down just a little.

It stops screaming. It becomes bearable.

It feels like telling myself .... "Hey babe, maybe everything else is going crazy but at least your socks are matching."

Small wins.

Tiny stupid wins that save me when nothing else can.

People think cleaning is boring.

For me? It’s therapy. It’s breathing. It’s surviving the days when the weight in my chest is too heavy to carry.

So yeah, if you ever see me scrubbing my room like a mad woman...

just know ....

I’m not cleaning.

I’m fighting for my peace.

And somehow, someway,

I always win.