Bouncing = inability to focus, bouncing from one chore to another, unable to complete even the simplest of tasks due to severe anxiety and depression.
One of the most painful things I have suffered with for a large portion of my adult life is something I call bouncing. Before I get into how bouncing has impacted my life and how I have learned to control it, let me give you some background.
I have C-PTSD due to years of childhood trauma, sexual, verbal, and physical. It wasn’t until I was in my early 50s that I finally started to confront all I had been through as a child and start the healing process.
When I was in early grade school, my brother and I washed the dishes after my mom made dinner. If we wanted to eat, we had to clean up afterward. Since we were so young, we had to kneel on chairs to reach the sink. At some point, my brother stopped helping, and the cleaning rested on my shoulders.
I was terrified of my mother and her anger, and it never once occurred to me to disobey her. My mother knew I was easily malleable and eager to please, and in no time, she had taught me how to scrub the bathrooms, vacuum, and dust our house. My mom hated cleaning.
When I was in fourth grade, I knew how to keep a clean house. My mother demanded that the house be spotless each day when she got home from work, and that included a thorough cleaning, vacuuming the whole house, dusting, scrubbing the bathrooms and cleaning the kitchen every single day whether the house needed it or not.
I took a lot of pride in my cleaning, desperately praying that my mom would notice how nice the house looked and praise me. Unfortunately, she never did, but I kept hoping. As much as I was terrified of my mother, I absolutely adored her and did everything in my power to please her.
When my mom got home from work, she never had to lift a finger to do anything around the house. Never was I thanked or praised for a job well done. The only time I got any recognition, if you want to call it that, for all of my hard work was if I forgot something, and then the verbal abuse would start.
“MORRENE! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE AND CLEAN THE FUCKING FLOOR REGISTERS! NOW!”
“DOESN’T IT OCCUR TO YOU TO WIPE OUT THE FUCKING SINK AFTER YOU WASH THE DISHES? GET OVER HERE AND DO IT NOW!”
“YOU FORGOT TO SWEEP THE PORCH! DO IT NOW!”
By the time I was in high school, I had given up on ever pleasing my mother.
Complaints, complaints, complaints, endless complaints. By the time I was in high school, I had given up on ever pleasing my mother. I was being crushed under the weight of criticism and abuse that was my daily life. I was tired of it all. And I was angry.
When I left home at 18 to go to college, that was the first time in my life I didn’t have daily chores hanging over my head. After I graduated from college and got my first apartment, I realized how much I hated cleaning. I mean, I hated it with a passion. And I must admit I wasn’t the best housekeeper at that time in my life. Sometimes I would go days without washing dishes, making my bed, scrubbing the bathroom or doing laundry. After a while, the mess became too much for me, and I would go to work like a tornado, deep cleaning each room and surface until it sparkled. But even when I did give my house a deep scrub, it still felt dirty. Instead of seeing all of the hard work I had done, all I felt was depression and anxiety, as if I hadn’t done enough.
On my worst days, I would flit from one chore to another, making half the bed, washing a couple of dishes, folding a few pieces of laundry, never able to fully complete a task that needed to be done. Sometimes I would be so overwhelmed with anxiety and depression that all I could do was sit on the couch staring at the uncompleted chores as the cruel voice of my mom ran in a hamster wheel through my head.
I used to jokingly tell my friends that my perfect house would be one where I could bring in the outside hose and squirt it down
.
It has taken me years of healing to realize where my hatred of cleaning originated from and the anxiety and depression that followed each time I did clean. As I look back at my life, I have bounced for years without realizing its origins. When I finally started to address this painful “condition,” I found a good way to clean my house without those toxic voices screaming at me from the past.
First, I list chores that need to be done, such as laundry, making the bed, cleaning the kitchen, vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom, etc. Then, I put a time limit on the amount of time I plan on cleaning. Currently, I live in a small apartment, so it doesn’t take much to clean it (or mess it up). Then I tell myself that for ONE HOUR, I am going to clean as much as I can. I put in my earbuds, listen to some good music or a podcast, and clean away. Sometimes, I can get into a groove and get my whole house clean. And some days, I hang it up after that one hour.
This method has greatly helped me control past voices and keep my apartment manageably clean. But don’t misunderstand. I will never win the Good Housekeeping Award for having a spotless house. I still hate cleaning. Some days, I can feel that angry teenager in me rebelling against the cleaning. And on those days, I just have to respect what she is feeling and put it on my “Fuck it, I’ll do it tomorrow” list and do it another time.
I cannot tell you how liberating it is to have finally put the bouncing to rest.
Photo by Farhan Azam on Unsplash
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Morrene Hauser currently lives in Central Ohio. For a little over 30 years she ran and operated her own business as a court reporter. Upon retirement Morrene started writing about the many wonderful animals she had while growing up and the powerful impact they have had on her life. Morrene also writes about mental health.
Hi Morrene, I am fascinated with the connection you made between cleaning and your trauma and how it took a few decades to be able to recognize it. Your personality and resilience shine through in your writing. I was able to reflect on the seemingly mundane tasks in my life that I subconsciously associate with my trauma. Thank you for sharing your story!