Therapy

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who has found this quarter stressful. It seems like every direction I turn, I run into another struggling individual pouring out their woes. As of late, I've served as a kind ear for many, but it's not so easy for me to open up about my emotional torments. I'm pretty good at bottling it all up until I overflow: a habit I'm destined to manage in the new year. And I think I know where to start. Dishes.

Leona and I had a discussion the other day about cleaning and our most loathsome household duties. She detests laundry; I hate dishes. I'll let dishes go for as long as I can stand it. But, Leona claims washing dishes is "therapeutic." That really resonated with me this weekend. What do I do for therapy? And why do I hate dishes so much?

I don't know what it is about dishes. I started washing them at home as a chore when I was probably seven or eight. I remember my mother pulling a kitchen chair up to the sink so I could reach. I probably begged her to do them at first, like Gracie begs me to help out now. Boy, I wish I had bitten my tongue. Maybe I wouldn't resent washing them so now. I think my aversion to the task is that, when I was younger, I cut my hands on knives and broken glasses hidden by the soapy suds on a couple of occasions.

When I grew up and got married for the first time, I was the only spouse diligent enough to wash the dishes. I remember my ex-husband washed the dishes ONCE in our seven years together. It was after I'd spent three full days and nights at the hospital with my mother. The ex washed the dishes before I came home for a nap and a shower just so that I could make him a steak dinner while I was home. And things haven't changed. Now that I'm remarried, my current husband still avoids washing the dishes. The last time he did it? Mother's Day 2008. I swear. I can remember, because he said he'd do the dishes since it was Mother's Day. I guess that's the one day a year I get to take a break. However, he changes the litter box and takes the trash to the dumpster. I guess I can't argue too much.

The point of my dishes rant is coming soon. The other day, I had a particularly stressful phone conversation with my mother. I was angry, I was hurt, and I had all kinds of raging energy. I set Gracie up with her video game in the living room and said, "Honey, Mommy's going to do the dishes now, because I'm in just the right kind of mood." I took my laptop to the kitchen, started blaring some White Stripes and ran the hot, sudsy dish water. The dishes were piled high. I think every glass, bowl, plate, and pan we own were dirty. That just made me even madder. So, I took to the daunting task of washing the dishes.

I had finished the silverware, then the glasses, all the while staring into the foam and thinking about all of the things that I've been carrying around. I thought about how terrible things have been in my family since my mother and father divorced; I thought about the person I used to be and the person I want to be; I thought about friends I've gained and lost. And as I thought, the tears started flowing. All of the emotions I'd been harboring inside came flowing out into the sink, and I thought, "This IS therapeutic! Leona was right!" It took me a good two hours to finish the kitchen, and by the time I was finished, the tears had started and stopped quite a few times. It was a purging that I needed. Not only did I cleanse my heart of ill feelings, I cleansed my dishes with them!

I like the idea of turning my worst nightmare into something nourishing. That's a start for the new year. :)