Complex Trauma Taught Me to Hide; Cleaning Houses Taught Me to Heal.

I was so ashamed when I first started advertising myself as a house cleaner. Allison Brown, the film star? Allison Brown, the rockstar?! Cleaning … Houses!?!? Oh, my pride. Ohhh my ego. Not to mention several dear friends of mine were thriving as house cleaners, but me and my terminal uniqueness were clearly struggling with an identity crisis.

Thinking I was ever so clever, I made the sneaky decision to change my name for this endeavor … to Sally. Sally Brown. Sally was my new little house cleaning name and that was that. No one would know! And yet, despite being a professionally trained actress with a few impressive credits to my name, I - suck - at lying. Big time.

So when my very first client offered her hand for me to shake, before we toured her home, I clumsily introduced myself as Allison, my real name, which then prompted a bog of cringe-worthy awkwardness, full of me stuttering and stammering that Sally is my nickname … uhhh, no one really calls me Allison … umm, nice to meet you! Want me to clean your house?!? Ya. Not an awesome way to start out.

When I did confess some weeks later, this client’s response was surprising. She cited that people - often women - can treat you differently if they know you’re performing manual labor. She shared her own experiences of being bullied in her community for some yard work she was doing, and we actually got really close. Turns out authentic vulnerability is a pretty epic equalizer. I digress.

A little before this time, at the start of the pandemic, things in my internal landscape started drastically coming unhinged. Based on a number of triggers, each having to do with feeling a lack of safety and security in my home(s,) and heightened by the fears of Covid, I started to detach. I sought isolation and became prone to avoiding the people in my life. Dangerously so. I ghosted my friends. I lashed out at those who cared about me. I wanted to be alone - all the time. I wanted, no, I needed to hide. I became a creature needing a cocoon, a haven, a cave.

All I wanted was to get away from everything and everyone. Words and connections failed me. I was purely at the mercy of my instincts, and my instincts told me to RUN. I couldn’t name the feelings but they were full bodied, visceral, and inescapable sensations. Bouncing around Vermont, I ultimately landed back at my mother’s house in Windsor county. I love my mom, but we do much better not cohabitating. Living at home only exacerbated my declining mental health - what with increasing panic attacks, entrenched in disordered eating, bouts of aggression and depression, and little interest in doing things that used to bring me joy. In fact, what used to bring me joy sparked more panic attacks.

From a desperate attempt to try and get back on my feet and out of mom’s house, I posted an advertisement for house cleaning services. Immediately I was overwhelmed with responses. Turns out a lot of people need their houses cleaned. Thankfully for me, cleaning is something I am confidently good at.

Aside from that one moment calling myself Sally, I quickly reverted to my actual Allison self. Clients started accruing and referring me to their friends and neighbors. I became familiar with these people and their homes, their kids and their pets. I worked my ass off and would come home wholly exhausted. With a little money saved and with the help of Vermont housing support, I got my own place - a dinky and janky studio apartment all my own.

The work stayed hard, and I stayed with it. These homes and their histories were a lifeline. For someone who was desperate to hide, I found this agency of operating my own business to be a breath of live-giving air after nearly drowning in a sea of fear and panic and inexplicable inner hurts, not to mention being broke all the time. I could charge a profitable wage, I could feel my feet on the earth, and I started to live again.

Healing began to unfold. I had been stuck in a traumatized loop of fight or flight for much longer than the pandemic timeline. The busy bustling of pre-covid life was a very convenient distraction from some deeply scar-tissued wounds. I realized though that I was only scratching the surface of this loop. In order to move out and forward from the cycle, I needed more help.

With the support of a new therapist, and some low dose medication, I realized that my psyche had been at the bottom of a very dark and very narrow well for years, if not decades. Slowly, painstakingly, and with very tender guidance, I began to envision a staircase within that well. Then I started climbing those stairs. Then I saw what appeared to be a sliver of sky. Then I crested the well. At that point, being out of that well, I was baptized with streaming sunlight. I could see acres of green life, trees and butterflies; I was awash in warmth and possibility.

I needed to stay at the top of that well for a little while, so I made a veranda in my mind, to sit and snuggle and play dress up. I go there when I’m feeling overwhelmed, and imagine myself lounging on plush cushions and wrapping myself in big fluffy boas. I’m still prone to anxiety and panic, however, I don’t fall in the well of fear and isolation. I have tools to help ease myself out of the fight or flight loop, and back into rational thinking. It’s becoming rare that I feel the need to hide.

I’ve moved again since that first little apartment. This time I needed no government support, and I’ve landed in a beautiful country apartment. It’s too remote for my liking, but there is no perfect anything in this world. It’s not cheap, but its a testament to the hard work of cleaning houses, the perseverance of maintaining a business, and that authentic vulnerability that will forever be the greatest equalizer.

Will cleaning houses be my forever job? I sincerely try not to parade my mind with petulant questions. Cleaning houses has given me more life, more growth, and more stability than I have ever known. Cleaning houses has provided me a livable wage, joyful responsibility, and the be-hot autonomy that Allison Brown thrives in. Cleaning houses is steeped in the reality of our humanness. Cleaning houses shows me how alike we are.

I have compassion for the hiding creature that I was not six months ago. She was doing her absolute best. She was working SO hard. Yet where I am now, there is life and love and joy and freedom. There is pure and healthy pride when I tell people what I do for a living. There is a deepening, grounding and growing knowing that I am safe.

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