Sunday, when the streets of D.C. are empty, and the city is quiet, is my favorite morning of the week. I roll out of bed and devoutly bounce into the kitchen. Then begins the rapid succession of my morning rituals: I turn on my tea kettle, and while the water boils, I brush my teeth. While the tea steeps, I get dressed. While I sip coffee, I make breakfast. It’s the only day I blow through my daily customs because, once I’m done, I can get started on the day’s most crucial task: resetting.
Before I was introduced to aesthetic TikTokers, I simply referred to “my weekly deep clean and grocery shopping” as such. It’s an inflection point for me. It’s when I recoup from the long week before and prepare for the days ahead. It’s proof of my commitment to my well-being.
As soon as I drop my breakfast plate in the sink, I head out to the farmer’s market. Walking among the crowd and browsing vendors for the perfect bunch of kale or sprig of rosemary helps me find my center—all while making cooking and eating more enjoyable. Plus, chatting up the farmers is lovely, too.
Once I’m home and the veggies have been prepped for the week, I initiate phase two: cleaning. I go through my home room-by-room, completing all the tasks in one before moving on to the next. I always start in the bedroom—changing my sheets, putting away clothes and stray headbands, dusting off my nightstands, altar, and Peloton—before getting started in the bathroom. The progression from dry cleaning to dragging out the sprays is a logical one, but it has meaning that stems beyond that. Something about prioritizing the heart of my refuge signals the importance of ensuring I take care of my soul first.
Of course, a choir of tunes is playing as this ensues. My cleaning playlist is composed of several albums that match whatever my current vibe is. I rotate the albums out as I grow tired of them. (Made in Lagos has maintained its top spot for 18 months.)
I’m not a churchgoing woman, much to my grandmothers’ chagrin, but cleaning my sanctuary is one of the things that makes me feel closer to God. And, at its core, it’s a testament to my grandmothers, two women who always made the time to reset their space each week. (But never on Sunday. They be in church.) I don’t know if it was that deep to them, but it set the tone for me.
I’ve taken their conviction that “cleanliness is close to Godliness” and created my own ministry.