When we moved into hour home over ten years ago, I laid claim to the smallest room in the house. I called it the craft room. I envisioned a desk in the corner for my sewing machine, and shelves filled with cubicles for various art supplies. The room had nice built in bookshelves that would be perfect for my many books. It was something many women dream of - a room of her own.
Unfortunately, my dream never fully got off the ground. My focus was constantly on the other rooms, and mine never really got the love it needed. It wasn't long before the craft room became known as the "crap" room. The room where unwanted things were put. The room where papers were stacked, school art projects were kept, things labeled for donation were stored.
Didn't know where to put something? Throw it in the crap room.
Every summer I go through the crap room and sort through as much as I can. Usually my goal is simply to be able to see the floor. This year, as I stood in the doorway of the crap room and sighed, my teenage daughter heard me, and to my surprise, volunteered to help organize it.
Now - if you have a teenager and they offer to help, you jump at the chance! So I told her that would be nice. Visions of sweet mother/daughter moments like something in a movie montage filled my head. We could bond over old objects and laugh as we cleaned shelves. This would be wonderful!
Or so I thought.
First, a bit of background on my daughter - she is an organizing fiend! Marie Kondo has nothing on her! Her room is super organized - everything in it's place. She has multiple planners to keep up with school and other activities. The girl is amazing. She has even organized classrooms for teachers at school, and this summer she completely re-organized the craft room at her dance studio.
The girl knows her stuff.
As soon as we started, I knew my vision of mother/daughter bliss was not going to be reality. My daughter was vicious. She was bossy. She would hold up something I had been holding on to, look at me, shake her head, and toss it in either the donate or garbage pile. She didn't even ask if it brought me joy.
She emptied out an entire bin full of ribbons that I have collected over the years. You know - the kind that come on a gift and you take off and keep because it's pretty and you might need it someday? Yeah, I had a big bin full of those. My daughter asked me when I had last used one of my collected ribbons. I couldn't tell her, of course, because I had no idea. She tossed the entire collection, only keeping ribbons that were new and unused.
I began to argue with her about what to keep and what to toss. I was getting frustrated, and I didn't know why. I wasn't typically the kind of person who held on to every little thing. Getting rid of stuff was the whole point, so why did it bug me so much?
That night after our first day of organizing, I told my frustrations to my husband. He thought for a moment and then said, "It sounds like you are having a hard time letting go, not of things, but of being in charge."
I thought about that. It was true. What was bugging me was that while organizing my room, our roles had reversed. My daughter is the authority when it comes to organizing. Giving up authority to my child was more difficult than I would like to admit.
My daughter wasn't being bossy - she was being the boss. She was the one who knew her stuff. This was her thing. The problem here, was me. I was the one not listening. I was the one fighting her authority in this situation. I was so used to being the one in charge that it was hard to let her take over.
The next day I made an effort to let my daughter take the reins. It was hard! My role as mother and authority figure was fixed. My husband was right - I had a hard time letting go of it.
I tried, and it helped.
We were able to finish the room together. She was right, of course, about all the things I needed to get rid of. We sorted and tossed, we cleaned and painted. In the end, I finally had the room I had envisioned. We dubbed it the art room (no more crap room!)
It was beautiful to see.
I not only learned to let go of the clutter in my house, but also learned to let go of some of my authority as far as my daughter goes. That authority is harder to let go of than a bunch of ribbons, but it's something that needs to happen as she gets older.
As we gazed upon the newly organized room, I looked over at my child and saw the proud look on her face. I realized that she was the grown daughter I had always envisioned - strong and able to take control.
It was beautiful to see.
- Amy Young
Comments