Therese (Mom)

Every spring, I feel it before I even realize what’s happening – The urge to open the windows. To wash everything. To clear out drawers that haven’t been touched in months.

But lately, I’ve realized I’m not just cleaning my house. I’m cleaning my life.

There was a time when spring cleaning meant productivity for me—lists, bins, donation piles stacked neatly by the door. Now, it feels different. Slower. More intentional.

When I open a closet, I don’t just see clothes. I see versions of myself. The younger woman who thought she was invincible. The busy mom who put herself last. The tired woman who kept pushing through when her body begged her to stop, and sometimes I have to pause.

Because letting go of a sweater isn’t just letting go of fabric. It’s letting go of who I used to be, and that can be emotional.

It’s also a time to come to terms with the body I have today. I have a tendency to hang on to clothes, thinking someday I’ll return to the size I once was. In the meantime, those clothes quietly represent failure because I can’t get there. I have to let that go. It’s not about the size. It’s about being healthy—physically, mentally, and spiritually.

This year, as I folded and sorted, I noticed something else.

The clutter in my home mirrors the clutter in my heart. The regrets I still replay. The guilt I carry for not doing things “better.” The perfectionism that still whispers, try harder. I’ve done this with painting, too. I’ll start a canvas, and if it’s not perfect, I paint right over it. Start again. And again.

Spring is teaching me something different:

• Maybe I don’t need to paint over everything.
• Maybe I don’t need to erase every mistake.
• Maybe I can let things be imperfect and still beautiful.

So now, when I clean, I try to do it differently. When I wipe down a counter, I ask myself, What thought can I wipe away too? When I donate something I’ve been holding onto “just in case,” I ask, What fear am I finally ready to release? And when I open the windows and feel that fresh air move through the house, I let it move through me too.

Spring doesn’t rush. It unfolds slowly, even after a harsh winter, and healing feels the same.

I’m not trying to overhaul my life anymore. I’m starting with one drawer. One room. One old belief at a time.

Maybe that’s enough.