Once upon a time, I LOATHED doing laundry. Seriously. I would have piles and piles of clothes all around my room, on my bed, on the floor. I would move the piles of clean clothes from my bed to the chair and then back again. The dirty clothes would pile in corners until I finally did them – or purchased more clothes to eventually add to the fabric mountains. And then they, too, would become part of my bed-to-chair-to-bed shuffle. Day after day, week after week, month after month, I did this routine because I hated doing laundry.

Part of it hailed back to my childhood days when cleaning was a fanatical, almost punishing process, at which I never was good enough or fast enough.

Part of it was because laundry never ended.

Part of it was because someone always did my laundry when I was younger and I didn’t have to do it and then, when I grew “old enough,” it became part of a punishment because I had upset the person who had once done it. From that point on, laundry was hard. It was a battle.

I fought it. I hated it. And I fought it harder because I hated it.

I spent thousands of dollars on clothing I wore one time because I hated doing laundry and there would be nothing to wear the next day, unless I went clothes shopping that night. Thousands of dollars in clothing I eventually washed and then stuffed into garbage bags to DONATE because I hated doing laundry and it felt easier to donate that clothing (and it had to be clean to save my pride) than it would be to actually complete the task of finding space for all the things I had gathered in an attempt to avoid doing laundry.

My loathing of laundry trickled down into my daughter’s life, manifesting as her loathing to do ANY sort of cleaning or organizing. Her childhood room became an obstacle course of piles of toys and books and stuffies and clothing. And then we would fight because her room looked like a disaster field and it was easier for me to focus on HER mess, than it was for me to be accountable for the fact that *I* had taught her this pattern. *I* was the source of this pattern. *I* was her example.


Something happened.


Almost ten years ago, I contracted West Nile Virus and in the first 48 hours of diagnosis, I stayed in an elongated Near Death Experience, where I was in the Light, being given the choice to remain in the Light or return to Earth. I returned to Earth because I wasn’t ready to let my daughter be alone on this planet. Then I spent an entire week in the presence of Death. And then six more weeks on the edge of Death. And then six more months trying to come back to life. And then a few more months regaining energy to live.

In the yearlong journey of recovery after the Nile, I let go of everything and everyone that no longer served me. I boiled my life down to a tiny storage unit and one guest bedroom that I shared with my daughter. We didn’t have a lot, but I still hadn’t busted through my loathing of laundry and I had passed it on to her. So, for several years, she and I walked around and over piles of laundry that gathered on the floor of our little guestroom. We pushed clean clothes from the bed to the floor to become one big hill of clothing, never really knowing – unless we could smell for certain – whether the clothes were clean or dirty.

It was an exhausting pattern, this avoidance of laundry. And, I could not make myself do it any other way. I was locked into this loathing energy and blaming it on my childhood and being completely unaccountable about the fact that *I* was the creator of it all. Ignoring that *I* was the culprit.

However, after living together in that tiny room for nearly eight years, I KNEW I wanted it to change and I grew WILLING to change it, but I did not, yet, know how to change it, although I had grown willing to be accountable for the fact that it was ME that was doing it all. That, in and of itself was HUGE.


Something happened.

She and I moved into a basement room and we were surrounded by STUFF that wasn’t ours. We had a little more room, but the entire house was full to the gills of stuff. And a lot of the stuff wasn’t clean. For two years, we lived there and I paid attention to how uncomfortable I was, being surrounded by the obvious show of neglect and the energy of “I just don’t care enough to do anything about any of this mess.” I suddenly became aware of how *I* was treating my space.

Even though we were in a bigger room, we had less space for clothing, so she and I began to thin the herd. We kept what we loved and donated the rest. Without any discussion, the piles began to lessen. We stopped piling clothes everywhere. We started completing the entire process of laundry, rather than just part of it. I suddenly began to calmly go through the process of sort, wash, dry, put away all by myself, no longer demanding that she be part of the process because I hated it so much, which in turn had caused her to hate it too. Slowly, I found peace in the process of simply touching that which was mine, caring for it, tending to it.

Today, I did ALL my laundry in under three hours and it is all put away. I do that every week, without complaint, and without conscious effort because I made a choice, one day, years ago, to pay attention to how I was living my life, how I was expressing myself in this life. I chose to be willing to get accountable for the fact that the mess around me was MY creation – even if my daughter was creating messes of her own… I was the one that set the “mess” energy into motion in the first place.

So, I invite you to take a personal inventory of your life. What are you loathing and, therefore, avoiding or making messes around? What are you blaming on other people, your childhood? Are you ready to be willing to be accountable for the fact that YOU. ARE. THE. CREATOR of your life?

When you become willing to be accountable for YOUR experience of this life, THAT is when you become THE force of transformation for yourself.

And THAT is what the world needs.




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