I Hate Housework

I don’t work outside of the home. After brain surgery for a Chiari Malformation and with a diagnosis of bipolar disorder, I was taken out of work. It has been five years now, and while I still struggle with the physical symptoms and am not able to do the thing I used to, I have settled somewhat. I have accepted that where I am at is as good as it gets. I will not get better. Because of the surgery, though, I will not get worse. The bipolar disorder will never go away, but it can be managed. I have a fantastic mental health team, and an excellent support system made up of friends and family. It doesn’t escape me how blessed I am to have both of those things.

Before being taken out of work, I was a Nephrology Technician. I initiated and monitored hemodialysis for patients with kidney failure. I then moved into a position helping people transition into doing their dialysis at home. It was fast-paced, and I loved where I fit into saving lives. It gave me a sense of purpose. I felt like people relied on me and trusted me to help keep them alive. My work impacted many lives, and I got hooked on that feeling. The brain surgery took all of that away. While I was trying to rebuild my life around this new normal, I met my husband.

My days now look quite different than they used to be. When my symptoms are managed, and I feel good, I work on my artwork, signs, and furniture to sell. I am able to spend time writing and improving my craft. Aside from my disability payment, this is what I can do to contribute to our household income, though my husband has never pushed me. Quite the opposite, he has been my biggest champion and encouragement. He understands that being able to express my creativity is an important, very needed part of who I am. It brings me contentment and fulfillment and allows me to contribute financially. There is another big part of my day. The part that I hate. Because my husband works around fifty hours a week and has enabled me to be an artist (I include writing in this because it is an art form), I handle a majority of the housework.

We have a small three-bedroom house in the country, so it isn’t hard to manage and keep clean. Except when the farmers plow the fields around us and again when they harvest. Then it becomes a never-ending battle against dust, bugs, and critters. (I usually win.) We have one son at home as well as two cats. I handle all the usual cleaning—sweeping, dusting, vacuuming, laundry and cooking. There is not a single bone in my body that enjoys any of it, except the cooking. But even that gets monotonous. Yet every day that I am able, I do it. My husband doesn’t expect it and helps me when I need help. He knows how I feel about housework. It is no secret. So why do I do it? There are a few reasons.

The biggest reason I do it is that it’s fair. My husband works a demanding job. It can be stressful at certain times of the year, requiring him to work ten or eleven-hour days. The commute alone is thirty minutes. He works his ass off for our family. Gender roles have no bearing in our relationship. It is a matter of how we operate as a couple and a family. He works all day, and so do I when I am able, just in a different way. We both hustle.

I also do it because when he comes home, and when my son comes home from a full day of manual labor, I want them to come home to a warm, inviting place. It is important to me that our home be a safe, comfortable place. A sanctuary of sorts. A place where they can shed the cares of the day, sit down to a good meal, and then relax instead of doing chores after a long day. That’s not to say there aren’t times when we sometimes have tasks to do after dinner, but the bulk of it is done already.

I am a caregiver by nature, and that is another reason why I do it. Taking care of my family is important to me. That is how I show love.

None of that changes the fact that I hate housework. Even growing up, I hated doing my chores. If this is what I can do to contribute to our family and our household, then I should do it. Am I saving lives? Not anymore. Am I changing the world by cleaning my house? Probably not. And I am okay with that.

I still hate housework.

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