One month into quarantine, I found a pattern developing at home. It took a moment for our family to realize that seemingly endless spans of time with those you love without a plan is not the easiest thing in the world. We needed something to do, to focus on.
My life became an exercise in chronic cleaning and purging, with an obsessive need for outer order. I felt some sense of a euphoric high seeing a pile of trash hauled away to the dump; bins dropped at a donation center, or a freshly cleaned-out fridge.
Daily maintenance became my highest priority, a laser-focused coping mechanism that helped me feel better because things looked better.
This compulsion spilled into my relationship with Gabe and the kids. Organizing took precedence over presence, play, and rest.
I grew agitated when they were sitting around because I never sat down. I overreacted to the simplest disagreement, emotions spiraling out of control. It became evident to all — including myself — that I was…
