Washing Dishes and Therapy

It may seem paradoxical to think that the propensity to want to clean up (and especially cleaning dishes) can be therapeutic. For a long time, I have always treated washing dishes as a form of mental cleansing—and for sure, it works miracles for me. I understand that for many, there isn’t much appeal in stacks of dirty dishes lying around waiting to be washed. My friend Fred Ombui once confessed, with a tinge of humor and what looked like sorrow for me, that dishes are his sole source of stress and agony.

Not many understand the psychology behind this ritual, and I am still in the process of educating myself on what it means, and whether it has some underlying message. From what I have gathered, there seems to be a connection between the actual mess (dirty dishes, greasy utensils, or any form of disorganization for that matter) and mental turmoil, confusion, anxiety, and stress. The process of washing dishes then becomes an act of not only cleaning up the physical mess but also arranging the internal mental struggles.

For me, there is an intimacy when I let the faucet run, properly balancing the hot and cold water to a temperature just right for my hands. I have even created a ritual of changing the “flavor” of dish soap with each new bottle. I rotate between Dawn’s Platinum Fresh Rain Blue, the Green Palmolive, and sometimes a lemon-scented brand. I enjoy the smoothness of the scrub, the touch of the greasy residue, and the rhythm of foaming, rinsing, wiping, and storing the dishes.

In the process, I am always concentrated, yet not entirely focused on the dishes themselves. Most of the time, I have my classic 80s Retrowave music playing in the background, and I allow my thoughts to wander, finding solace in some distant utopia. After the dishes are done, I take joy in cleaning the surfaces with a strawberry-scented spray, leaving the sink sparkling and the kitchen with a settling fragrance. When everything is finished—down to ensuring the mug handles face the same direction—I switch off the lights and return to reality with a more purposeful and relaxed mindset.

Whatever this is, however odd it may sound, I believe it represents the basic art of life: messing up, picking yourself up, cleaning yourself, and returning to your trade. Life doesn’t happen to be perfect—and even if it is, certain things can still be overwhelming. For me, dishwashing has become a way of asking myself for permission to start over. It has allowed me to drain my pent-up stress, anxiety, and cluttered thoughts into the sink, and to refill myself with a clearer, calmer conscience. I don’t plan on giving up this habit anytime soon.