How We Love

I recently dislocated my elbow whilst skateboarding, tearing the ligaments, resulting in an arm brace for 6 weeks. It has been rough. My job, which I had loved, is unfortunately highly physically demanding and thus, I have been unable to work. No income for as much as 3 months until I am fully capable of returning to work, whether it be my old job or not, meant I am no longer able to afford rent, and thus, return to my father's home. 

There is a shameful feeling about returning to your parents, bags packed, head down. Freedom isn't necessarily a thing anymore. The home becomes demanding. But of course, I am just glad I have family to turn to when things get rough. So I'm grateful. 

My father is quick to get angry, to say the least. Too much food in the pantry causes him to erupt in frustration, as the items appear chaotic and out of place. Oil marks from cooking need to be wiped immediately, or else you'll hear about your negligence. Cooking equipment each has a unique cleaning method that needs to be followed down to the T. When going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, you'll be questioned "who's that?" followed by, "what are you doing?"

It can be exhausting. Thankfully between the eruptions, there's moments of laughter, jokes, and conversation. There's banter, teasing, and dinners out, which eases the other moments. But this return has made me think a lot about my own behaviour in the home. 

I used to live with my two best friends; a girl and her boyfriend. My ex was over a lot too, and was good friends with my housemates, so the house almost always consisted of the four of us. Life was good. But in between the fun and wonderful, I was frustrated, angry, and stressed. Dishes were left sitting in the sink from the morning. Glasses left on the coffee table. Crumbs scattered over the benches from cooking. Cushions weren't aligned properly on the sofa after use. I'd find an abandoned hair scrunchie everyday. The corner of my rug would be folded over from someone's mis-step. 

I couldn't help but feel unappreciated, disrespected even. I had tried so hard to make our home as lovely as possible for us. I cleaned every week, often more than my fair share of chores. I tried to make things as easy and accessible as possible, by returning things to their place, or else risk losing them. I mothered my housemates, reminding them to do their dishes and often just doing it for them. 

This was the only origin of hostility in our home. My passive-aggressive cleaning was the only drama. Life was good, and yet I'd go to bed feeling angry. 

It's funny, because I have never really been a hugely tidy person. I'm a borderline hoarder. When I get creative, things get strewn about. I forget my own glasses and dishes. But when I lived with my [ex] best friends, I was on top of everything all the time. 

I grew up with my father's parents. My nanna was difficult to live with. Any mark on the bench or stove top was responded to with minor wrath. Dirty clothes left in the bathroom after a shower meant I was a slob. Ring marks from a cup received a deep sigh of frustration. "Bloody hopeless."

But regardless of this, my nanna did everything for me. My washing. My dishes. The house was always clean - nay, spotless. And although my carelessness and untidiness exasperated the heck out of my nanna, she always rectified it. And I have come to learn that her hardness and tendencies towards OCD, was a way she showed her love. She isn't affectionate. Sometimes I wonder if she has emotions. But I have never doubted her love me. Her strictness took care of me, and allowed me to live in a wonderful and clean home. My clothes were always stain and wrinkle free. My bathroom mirror and shower glass was exempt of streaks. This was how she loved. 

So, perhaps that is why my father is frustrated by the minor marks and inconveniences in the home that my brother and I cause. And perhaps that is why despite living in perfect harmony with two people I loved very much, the marks, dishes, and inconveniences they caused in the home angered me. Perhaps that is why I cared so much. Perhaps that is why my father cares so much. 

We both grew up with my nanna, and got used to how she showed love, that we too now show it in the same way. By taking care of those we love. By providing a clean and good home. The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree. 

Of course, I will work on my frustrations and remind myself not to let minor inconveniences in the home irritate me. It ruined an otherwise perfect time. I will remind myself, it's because I love them. And I can show my love without getting angry if others don't feel it.