Leave my mess alone – I love it

STANDING in the middle of my bedroom, the floor strewn with clothes, make- up, shoes and damp towels, I can see why my mother — anyone’s mother — would have a lot to say about it.

It’s a mess, I know. The kind of chaos and clutter guaranteed to set any parent’s nerves on edge.

But here’s the thing: it’s my mess, in my room, which surely means my crumpled bed-sheets and untidy drawers have nothing whatsoever to do with anyone else. And yet, my parents — particularly my mum — get so het up about the state of my bedroom.

‘How do you sleep surrounded by so much clutter?’ she asks, somehow convinced my untidy bedroom has the power to keep me awake at night.

Very well, actually, because, messy as it might be, this is my sanctuary. I find it cosy and comforting to have my muddle of stuff around me and impossible to get ready to go out without emptying out the entire contents of my wardrobe first.

Anyway, doesn’t the fact that teenagers and untidy bedrooms go hand in hand tell you something?

We’re constantly being instructed what to do and how we must do it, whether we’re at home or at school. Rules, routine and order are imposed upon us at every turn.

For me, my bedroom is this one disordered thing — the place where I have control over what goes where; the part of my life I should be allowed to govern in peace.

I expect Mum thinks that the state of my bedroom is some cliched act of teenage rebellion; that I know how much it winds her up, and yet refuse to change my ways.

But this isn’t me being disrespectful. I just like to spread my things out around me — whether that’s my clothes, make-up or school work.

The fact that I take great care around the rest of the house to pick up after myself is proof of that.

I rarely leave food out in the kitchen and always wipe round after I’ve made myself something to eat. I take my stuff upstairs with me, never leaving my belongings around the house.

When friends come over, I take them straight up to my room, telling them they mustn’t make a mess anywhere else.

That’s because I see the rest of our home as being my parents’ territory, for them to keep how they like it.

But my room is my one small corner of the house that is entirely my own. Keeping it how I like it should surely be my prerogative.

Because who does my messy room affect other than me?

Well, actually, I suppose there was the mouse incident a few years ago. My parents kept warning me that if I continued to eat in my room, allowing crumbs to gather under my bed, I might as well invite rodents to move in with me. And yes, they were proved right, and it caused considerable inconvenience and expense to get rid of them.

I was desperately sorry about that, and having learned my lesson I don’t let food fester in here any more.

But Mum won’t let it go. Four years on and she still brings up the mice. In her eyes, I’ll always be the savage whose slovenly ways invited rodents into her bedroom.

And honestly, I do understand her frustrations — she likes things tidy; I don’t.

But there’s a really simple solution that would make her feel so much better: stay out of my room, and then what she doesn’t see won’t upset her.

With that in mind, I’ve started putting furniture up against my bedroom door, effectively barricading myself in.

She says she finds that annoying, too — but the way I see it, I’m just helping her to avoid the upset of seeing all my lovely mess behind it.