This post is part of an 8 minute memoir project that I am doing. Details found here.

img_9950I don’t remember when I become “domestic”. I can recall my early 20’s, moving into my first apartment and being overwhelmed by all of the “adulting” that I was now faced with – cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc. I can recall hating all of those things with a passion, taking  no joy in eating a meal that I cooked and no sense of accomplishment after finally tackling the pile of laundry. I think I must have been a different person back then. One who had an overly optimistic outlook on careerism and a sense of naivety about responsible for oneself. I was person who assumed that I would continue to work hard and I could order takeout or hire a cleaning service to take care of the mundane details.

At some point along the way, there was a shift. Maybe it was a sense of biology or sociology – a gradual settling into a caretaker role that women often assume on top of everything else. Maybe it was the realization that while there is no great joy in cleaning a bathroom – there is some small sense of pride in having a bathroom that doesn’t look like a highway rest stop.

Perhaps the greatest shift of all occurred last year when we bought a house and got a dog over the course of a few months. Suddenly, there were more things that needed to be taken care of and I needed to stop focusing on myself so much.

Maybe, despite my years of fighting against it, I really am just a homebody after all.