“It takes courage to grow and become real” ~ EE Cummings
When I was young, I had the smallest bedroom in the house.
It is very small. Frankly, maybe the size of a small walk-in closet. But it’s mine. And first I have to choose what it looks like
I remember picking a baby blue wallpaper with little pink flowers on it. My mom put it in the middle of the wall with a wooden frame and the top half was white. I chose a soft blue rug to match. I have a twin bed, a small table and enough space on the floor to sit next to my bed.
It’s not much, but I like that room. I am proud of it.
Every summer morning I have a habit. My mom went to work and I woke up and poured a bowl of cereal. At the time, I was a discriminating eater and should only eat sugar. Hello 1990.
After breakfast, I would start cleaning my room and getting ready for the pool on the way.
I made my bed. I picked everything. I knocked on the carpet. Every day.
The neighborhood pool does not open until noon and I walk there by myself, but before I leave my room must be clean. It’s not what I asked. It was just what I did.
At that time, I did not think much. It feels normal. It just feels good. I like the way my room looks when everything is in place. I like the way it makes me feel.
But I do not understand why. I did not understand that outside my room my life was anything but quiet.
I grew up in a house where you never know exactly what will happen next. There is stress, fear and a constant feeling of walking on eggshells.
You do not know how someone will feel or what might be causing this. You learn to pay attention to everything – nectar, energy, small changes – because it matters.
Even though nothing happened, I did not feel calm. There is a kind of unpredictability that lies in the background.
Even at a young age, you learn to read energy before you understand it. And when you can not control what is happening around you, you find something that you can control.
For me, that is my room.
In that space, everything is where I put it. Nothing surprised me. Nothing feels unpredictable.
Looking back, I can see that I was not just cleaning. I am creating a sense of stability in life that is not much.
I am giving myself something fixed to keep. I did not have the language for it then, but I feel it now when I think of the little girl moving around her room, making sure everything was just before she left for the day.
It is not about perfection. It is about feeling okay. That decision did not affect me until recently.
I was cleaning the house, listening to audio books. I did not plan to do much, but when I started I really enjoyed doing it.
And it hit me. This is not new.
I clean when I overdo it. I clean up when I get angry. I clean up when things feel right.
It is almost automatic. For a long time, I asked it. Why can I not take a break when things go awry? Why do I feel this needs to be fixed before I can fix it?
It felt like something inside me could not be resolved until everything around me was resolved.
Sometimes I will try to ignore it and tell myself to sit back and relax and leave it for later, but it will not last long. Because I know how it will end. I will not feel calm until it is ready.
That small bedroom is not just a room. It was a place where I felt safe. It was the only place in my life that I managed.
Cleaning is not just something I do. It’s what I go for. It’s how I create that feeling, the feeling of calm.
When I saw that, something changed.
It stopped feeling like something I had to fix and began to feel like something I could understand and even respect.
There are many ways people can endure when life feels overwhelming. Many ways people try to regain control when things feel uncertain. And this? This is something that brings me back to myself.
Instead of asking it, I understood. Instead of thinking, “Why am I like this?” I thought, “Of course I am.”
Many of the things we do as adults do not begin here. It started faster in a way we didn’t really understand then.
We adapt. We find a solution. We make small pockets of safety management and rescue wherever we can.
And those patterns are not just gone. They follow us. Sometimes quietly, sometimes we do not ask questions until something stops us from looking closer.
To me, it looks like cleaning. Not because I needed everything to be perfect, but because order helped me feel grounded. It gives me something fixed to come back to when everything else feels uncertain.
And when I look at it that way, it changes the way I see myself. Now when I realize I am clearing a stand or re-arranging space when I am overwhelmed, I do not fight it as I used to.
I acknowledge it. It used to be familiar. It has been with me for a long time. But more than that, it was something that helped me get through. And maybe that is the part that deserves attention.
Not just a model, but what it’s doing for me. Because when we begin to understand where our attitude is coming from, something changes.
We stop reacting to ourselves. We are beginning to see the connection. We begin to realize that the things we carry with us sometimes, unintentionally, are never accidental.
They are responsive. They are a way of adapting. They are a way to make life feel manageable, even if it is not.
If you find yourself repeating certain behaviors, it may be worth asking what they are giving you, not just why they are there.
When you can see clearly, there is less judgment, more understanding, and more choices.
The little girl who cleans her room every morning does not try to be perfect. She is creating what she needs.
And in many ways, I still am.
About Cylina Miller
Cylina Miller is an author who focuses on self-awareness, mental growth, and a deeper understanding of the “why” behind our model. Through storytelling, personal experiences, she explores how early experiences determine how we think, feel, and explore life. She shares reflections and other resources at: https://cylinamiller.myflodesk.com/zp48cnsbhw.
