'Why I stopped tidying my bedroom as a 49-year-old woman, and you should too.'

I used to believe a clean house equalled a clean mind.

Scratch that. I needed it to be true.

For most of my adult life, I've worn tidiness like a professional badge. Neatly made beds, clear worktops, perfectly folded washing were all signs that I was in control. I was extremely capable, and most importantly of all, a success at this thing we call life.

My house was more than a home. It was a showroom. The real estate agent could've popped by at any time, and I'd have offered them a cup of tea while they took photos.

But somewhere between running businesses, raising kids, and learning to live with a brain that doesn't go neat and tidy in the traditional sense, I let go of the lie. And do you know what? It feels so good.

Let me explain.

I was diagnosed with combined ADHD earlier this year, at age 49. Late, I know. But like so many women, I didn't fit the stereotype.

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I was a Type A perfectionist, school captain, prefect, journalist, award-winning businesswoman, published author, single parent-of-two, doer of all things. I had systems, colour-coded folders, plans A through to Z.

I also had exhaustion. Bone-deep exhaustion.

For years, I thought it was just life. Surely everyone felt this tired?

Turns out, when your brain is wired differently and no one tells you, you work five times as hard just to appear like you've got it together.

And when life finally hands you a diagnosis, you realise how much energy has been spent pretending.

Which brings me back to my room.

My bedroom used to be immaculate. Even when the rest of the house was in chaos, I could retreat into this oasis of serenity. But the truth is, keeping it that way came at a cost. I'd clean it before bed, again in the morning, and spend weekends decluttering things that weren't even cluttered. It was less about peace and more about performance.

Then one day, I stopped. There wasn't a big moment. Just a quiet decision: I don't want to spend my energy on this anymore.

Now, my room is… lived in. The washing basket is rarely empty. Books are piled on my nightstand like architectural statements. Shock horror – I occasionally have dirty clothes in corners (what a rebel!).

And instead of spiralling, I exhale. Because I've finally understood something important: a tidy room doesn't make me a better woman. And a messy one doesn't mean I'm failing.

So, what changed?

I started listening to what my brain needs, not what the world expects. My brain thrives on creativity, not constant tidying. It loves big ideas, not perfectly ironed sheets.

Does your drawer look like this? Image: Supplied.

It especially loves rest — the kind that comes when I'm not mentally tracking everything around me, willing it into place.

I also noticed something beautiful: when I stopped over-functioning in the name of control, I got to know myself better. And, in a surprise to myself, I actually love the clutter and sense of adventure a messy room brings!

But here's the real shift: I decided I was no longer going to expect my children to have perfect rooms either. This is the only place in the world where they can truly be their messy, wonderful selves.

When it got to the point where my scolding about room tidiness was beginning to jeopardise the closeness we had, I knew something had to give. I'd take messy beds, random musical instruments and piles of (slightly smelly) sports socks over a broken relationship with my boys any day.

I think, for so many women, we've been taught that managing our homes to a magazine standard is a form of love.

But what if the real love is letting go? What if showing our children — and ourselves — that mess is just part of living is the gift?

Let's be clear — I'm not saying I've embraced filth. You won't find mouldy dishes or forgotten Tupperware science experiments under my bed.

Old habits die hard, and I am still a Type A perfectionist.

But I've made peace with the imperfect and no longer apologise when someone drops by unannounced and the show home looks like people actually live there. In a major development, I don't tidy for the cleaner anymore either!

I have hundreds of pieces of costume jewellery in drawers that don't always close, and my clothes are not always put away because I'm too busy living. I don't want my epitaph to say, "She didn't go out much, but her tidy room was a real credit to her."

Midlife has been a gift in many ways for me. It's stripped back so much of the unnecessary. I now find myself asking: does this feel good to me?

I can honestly say that most of the time, a slightly messy room filled with laughter, books, messy make-up and jewellery drawers, with clothes laid on the back of chairs feels so much better than any version of spotless ever did.

If you're reading this and still folding your towels a certain way because someone once told you that's how they fit best, I see you. I was you. Guess what? You're allowed to stop.

You're allowed to have a beautiful, creative mind and achieve all you want to, plus a laundry pile and a room that looks like an eccentric witch lives there.

The two are not mutually exclusive.

In fact, I'd argue they go hand in hand.

Read more about ADHD in adults:

• 'There's a loneliness that comes from knowing you're too much.' What happened when I was diagnosed with ADHD at 49.

• 'How do I know if I have ADHD?' Your questions about adult ADHD, answered by medical experts.

• 'I hope to no longer be my harshest critic.' What it's like being diagnosed with ADHD at 38.

You can hear more of my story (and the unfiltered stories of other wonderful women) on my podcast Unscripted with Lisa Burling, available wherever you get your podcasts. Or pop by for a visit at www.lisaburling.com.

Feature image: Supplied.