just clean that damn kitchen already

a domestic rant on the expectations placed on a woman's back

*listen too, if you can. the words come alive with musical accompaniment.

clean the kitchen.

it’s a mantra in the back of my head that plays on repeat.

doesn’t mean i do it, though.

i used to keep the house so clean as a mother and wife. i did it for my husbands—the one i married out of suppressed fear and trauma, and the one i married for love, my soul mate.

both ended so intensely. one by trying to kill me, or at least hurt and scare me enough that i believed that was his intention, and the other to cancer.

two different beasts, claiming two different men.

and in both of these marriages, i cleaned.

why did i clean? because that’s what we are programmed to do as women.

we clean.

and if we are heterosexual and our partners help too, then we consider ourselves lucky indeed. but the hard truth is this: even when they help, the roles are never equal.

our world has set it up so that when we do it as women and caregivers, we do it because it’s our job—to love the kids, to cook, to clean, and to hold down jobs too.

make the meals, clean the mess, nurse the baby or the sick family member, sign up for the activities, drive back and forth to said activities, buy the groceries, help with the homework—and don’t forget about your own self-care.

because if you do forget, your ship is going down. so you schedule that in too. and you rally to work that into the chaos.

and then you wonder why you need to stare at the wall for hours on end at midnight, or endlessly scroll, or why you want to crawl into bed and not leave again, the moment you get a second to yourself.

and the irony of all of this is that when our partners do help out, they do it and it gets appreciated and acknowledged, because the expectation is not that they have to in the first place.

so when they do, we all jump up and down. what a supportive husband!

and it’s the same with our children. we ask them to help, but we will do it if and when they don’t, for various reasons.

maybe they’re little still, and asking and getting the follow-through isn’t worth the effort. so we train them to help a little, but then we do the rest.

or maybe the kids are older, and so we ask and they give, but from a place of helping out mom, and then it’s back to their busy teenage lives.

the lives we are so thankful they have—if we have teens who are busy and productive and not struggling to even stick around, as i’ve been there too.

but maybe you’re one of those moms who reads all the personal growth and parenting books about how to be a more awakened human, and learns to do it like the moms in—insert other place here— who do it better. or how we could raise our children the right way by following—insert famous name here—and then they would learn to help more.

and if you have read these books that therapists or classroom teachers suggest we read, you know what i’m talking about. the how-to-parent-better-so-you-don’t-fuck-up-your-kids books.

because the entire world knows it’s the woman’s job to clean and care and ultimately be the endless source of love for all, when the other family members can’t or won’t.

i know, i know…

why rant about something that’s already been written about so much?

because i feel like i’m drowning in it.

and because i told myself i would write uncensored.

and because i know that the other wives and mothers reading this can relate, and my male writer friends can too, even if they see it from another perspective.

perspective.

that’s what it’s always about. and i have it now. because as trapped as i was in both an abusive and then a loving marriage, i miss the loving marriage and the man who went with it every second of every day.

can we put ourselves in someone else’s shoes, walk a mile in them before we cast our judgment?

but let’s be so for real here—who actually does that?

we all think we’re taking time to see it from the other’s perspective, but to truly understand another takes time, care, patience, perseverance.

something we are rarely afforded when the patriarchy has us marching to the drum of their incessant beats: faster, stronger, show up more!

you must buy into—fill in the blank—whether it’s a cause or a product we’re expected to believe in.

but i say,

fuck it.

and my house is paying the price.

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William-Adolphe Bouguereau - Charity (1878)

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i am a writer, speaker, and musician devoted to healing and embodiment. i share essays, poetry, and original music through venus consciousness. i’d love to walk this path with you. 💞