The calm of my mother's house

Don't get me wrong, my mother is a wonderful person: warm, intelligent, loving, caring funny. I am lucky to have such a strong relationship with her.
But my mother is anxious. And I am anxious. Partly because over the years I have absorbed her messages into my own fabric.

Now I am learning to be in my mother's house; to accept her loving, caring, nurturing, her food parcels; without the concomitant bundles of guilt and anxiety.

Today, as I left, she gave me a little bag containing a couple of brillo pads, so I might at last clean my pots, properly.