“It takes courage to grow up and be who you really are.” ~EE Cummings
When I was a kid, I had the smallest bedroom in my house.
It was small. Honestly, probably the size of a small walk-in closet. But it was mine. And for the first time, I get to choose what it looks like.
I remember picking up the little pink flower wallpaper on the baby blue wallpaper. My mother put up half of the wall with a wooden border and the top half was white. I chose a soft blue carpet to match. There was a twin bed, a small desk and enough floor space to sit next to my bed.
It wasn’t much, but I loved that room. I was proud of it.
Every summer morning, I had a routine. My mom would leave for work, and I’d wake up and pour myself a bowl of cereal. Back then, I was a picky eater and often only ate sugar. Hello, 1990.
After my breakfast, I will start cleaning my room and get ready to go to the neighborhood pool down the street.
I made my bed. I picked it all up. I vacuum the carpet. every day
The neighborhood pool didn’t open until noon, and I’d walk there by myself, but before I went, my room had to be cleaned. It was not something I questioned. It was what I did.
I didn’t think much of it at the time. It felt natural. It just felt better. What my room looked like when everything was in its place. I like the way it makes me feel.
But I don’t understand why. I didn’t realize that outside of my room, my life felt anything but peaceful.
I grew up in a household where you never knew what was going to happen next. There was a constant feeling of excitement, fear and walking on eggshells.
You never knew what kind of mood someone would be in or what might set things off. You learn to pay attention to everything—the tone, the energy, the small changes—because those are the ones that matter.
Even when nothing was happening, it didn’t always feel calm. There was a kind of unpredictability that remained in context.
Even as a child, you learn to read energy before you understand it. And when you can’t control what’s happening around you, you find something you can control.
For me, it was my room.
In that space, everything stayed where I put it. Nothing surprised me. Nothing felt unexpected.
Looking back, I see that I wasn’t just cleaning. I was building a sense of stability in a life where there wasn’t much of it.
I was giving myself something steady to hold on to. I didn’t have the language for it then, but I feel it now when I think of that little girl, walking around her room, making sure everything was in order before she left for the day.
It was not about perfection. It was about feeling right. This realization didn’t hit me until recently.
I was cleaning my room, listening to an audiobook. I didn’t even plan to do much, but once I started, I was completely immersed in it.
And it hit me. It is not new.
I clean when I’m overwhelmed. I clean when I get angry. I clean when things feel bad.
It’s almost automatic. I asked for a long time. Why can’t I relax when things feel messy? Why do I feel the need to fix everything before settling down?
Nothing in me will settle until I manage everything around me.
I would sometimes try to ignore it and tell myself to sit down, rest and leave it later, but it wouldn’t last long. Because I knew how it would end. I will not feel at peace until it is done.
That little bedroom wasn’t just a room. It was a place I felt safe. It was the only place in my life where I had control.
Cleaning is not just my job. It’s something I go to. How I created that feeling, the calm feeling.
When I looked at it that way, something changed.
It stopped feeling like something I wanted to fix and started feeling like something I could understand and even respect.
There are many ways people can cope when life feels overwhelming. In many ways people try to regain control when things feel uncertain. And this? This is one that brings me back to myself.
Instead of questioning it, I understood it. Instead of thinking, “Why am I like this?” I thought, “Of course I am.”
A lot of what we do as adults doesn’t start here. It starts long ago in ways we don’t fully understand at the time.
We adapt. We find ways to cope. We create small pockets of control, safety and relief wherever we can.
And those patterns don’t just disappear. They follow us. Sometimes quietly, sometimes in ways we don’t even question until something makes us stop and take a closer look.
For me, it seemed clear. Not because I needed everything to be perfect, but because order helped me feel grounded. It gave me something steady to fall back on when everything else felt uncertain.
And when I see it that way, it changes how I see myself. Now, when I find myself wiping down counters or reorganizing a space when I’m overwhelmed, I don’t struggle like I used to.
I recognized It is familiar. This is something that has been with me for a long time. But more than that, it’s something that has helped me. And maybe that part is worth paying attention to.
Not just the pattern itself but what it was doing for me. Because when we begin to understand where our behaviors come from, something changes.
We stop reacting to ourselves. We begin to see the connection. We begin to realize that the things we bring with us, sometimes without even noticing, were never random.
They were responsive. They had ways to adapt. They had a way of making life seem manageable, even when it wasn’t.
If you find yourself repeating certain behaviors, it may be worth asking what they are giving you, not why they are there.
When you see this clearly, there is less judgment, more awareness and more choice.
That little girl wasn’t trying to be perfect by cleaning her room every morning. He was making something he needed.
And in many ways, I still am.
about Selina Miller
Selina Miller is an author who focuses on self-awareness, emotional growth, and a deeper understanding of the “why” behind our patterns. By telling stories of personal experiences, she explores how early experiences shape the way we think, feel and navigate life. He shares more reflections and resources here: https://cylinamiller.myflodesk.com/zp48cnsbhw.
