Just. This.

I had taken a much needed break from blogging shortly after my last post. The holidays are a little rough on me this year. Thanksgiving was a simple dinner at home, and I prepared the house for Christmas a few days after that. My usual anxieties popped up and I made the conscious decision to just deal with it.

I’m trying to recognize my patterns- mental, emotional and physical, so that I can change what isn’t working and maintain the routines that help me feel good about myself. If I’m completely honest, I do love the holiday season, but I also tend to shut down when I know I must face certain things that are uncomfortable or traumatic.

In having a conversation with my husband, he mentioned that my mood changes drastically in the days leading up to Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter when I know I will see my parents and siblings. I denied this for many years. I blamed the stress of marriage, raising kids and my job, instead of being honest with myself. The truth is, I don’t like celebrating holidays with my extended family because of the past traumas I endured.

As a trained people-pleaser, I have always felt that I’ve never been able to meet my father’s expectations. I ‘have believed that I deserved my mother’s criticism of my life choices or parenting style. Instead of addressing these problems head on I always avoided confrontation. I rarely, if ever, spoke up about how their behaviors affected me.

As the oldest child I was parentified very early in childhood and took on responsibilities for my brothers and sister that should have been reserved for adults. I have slowly started to acknowledge that I have resentment towards them. As a teenager, I was always told by my parents that I had to be responsible, I had to help them with my siblings because they both worked outside the home, they needed me to be mature and take on their roles as parents in their absence.

You can imagine how my siblings must have felt when my parents put me in charge. I had no understanding of what they were asking me to do, and my brothers and sister believed they “didn’t have to listen” to me because I’m not their mother. But when chores didn’t get done, I was the one my parents punished. We fought constantly. I knew that if they didn’t do their fair share, I’d be in trouble. They knew it, too. If things were a mess they knew I’d take the heat. So naturally, I did their chores, too.

“You’re the oldest, you need to help them. You’re smarter, they don’t know any better. Just do it if they can’t.”

That’s a tall order for a 15-year-old girl. It was infuriating, too. I didn’t have a childhood. My siblings did. They had no responsibilities so long as I lived in that house. This is one of the reasons why I moved out as fast as I could after turning eighteen. I needed to escape. I needed to live my own life. I needed to be free from parenting my siblings.

They don’t see it the same way. They see me as a control freak, someone who has trouble letting loose and just having fun. They accuse me of being tightly wound. I’ve been accused of abandoning them when I moved out, when the reality is I had too many expectations placed on me and I needed to flee for my own sanity.

It’s true, I have control issues. I’m OCD about cleaning my house. I don’t let the dishes pile up in the sink. I vacuum daily. I make my kids clean their own rooms and do chores. I’ve been criticized as being too tough on my kids by certain family members. This used to upset me, but then I remember they don’t clean their houses the way I do, because they never had to when we all lived in the same house. I was the house keeper.

I’ve mentioned this to my parents and siblings before and have been met with outrage. They don’t remember how I did the dishes almost daily. They don’t remember the laundry I did for myself and for the rest of my family. How I cleaned toilets and cleaned out the refrigerator. And having a parent who can’t throw anything away made it very difficult for me. Instead they have gaslighted me or told me they don’t remember it happening that way, but they were 14, 12 and 6 when I moved out. I still struggle with these traumas today.

My husband tells me I have an obsession with cleaning and purging. I am constantly throwing things away. I go through phases of overwhelming urges to get rid of things, followed by moments where I hang on to things that have memories attached. It’s a nightmare. It’s like having a split personality. The OCD side of me is enraged when the house is a mess. The part of me raised by a pack rat wants to save things in case I forget the happy memories associated with the item. Can you imagine the fight inside my brain?

This is why I spend days cleaning my house for holidays. It’s almost as if I have to prove my worth by how clean my house is and how nice it looks. And then when family arrives, I am so keyed up from stress and anxiety that I want them to leave immediately. I battle myself quietly, trying to tell myself it’s all okay, and things will be fine. It’s still a struggle.

Therapy has helped with some of this. I have recognized that I’m not at fault for my obsessive tendencies. It’s hard to break free from something ingrained in you as a child. I have learned to acknowledge it, to accept it and to consciously work on changing my habits. It’s not easy. To be honest it’s awful sometimes, but I’m doing the best I can.

One of the skills I adopted during these moments is mindfulness and meditation. I have learned to be honest about what is happening inside my brain. It’s challenging. It’s also beautiful. One of the mantras I use when meditating is to say the words, “Just. This.” I repeat this phrase to remind myself that what is happening in the present moment is what matters. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Today. Present moment.

I acknowledge my shortcomings I allow myself grace. I accept myself and others for who we are. I forgive myself for allowing others to guilt, shame, manipulate or control me. I forgive others for their mistreatment of me. And I focus on just this, a mantra to carry with me in my daily life.