I can’t help but chuckle when I think about my upbringing in Caracas during the mid-seventies. My parents, both passionate entrepreneurs, had immigrated to Venezuela—my mother from Spain and my father from France. Family was everything to them, and keeping our home cozy and welcoming was a top priority.

My mother, a stay-at-home mom of five, made cleaning second only to cooking. But as a teenager, I was not on board with her philosophy. I’d often complain, “Why clean today if it’s going to get dirty again tomorrow? What a waste of time!” Ironically, my own kids, now 10 and 12, are starting to sound just like me back then.

Cleaning in our household wasn’t just a chore—it was a regimen. Sleeping in on Sundays was simply not an option. When the sound of the vacuum went on, we all stood by attention. Everything was cleaned to near-obsessive levels. Perfectly clean shelves were wiped down weekly. Dusters? Banned. We used wet rags soaked in floral-scented chemicals, and bleach was king. Walking into our freshly disinfected bathroom was an assault on the senses. The smell of bleach was so strong, I was convinced my nose hairs would fall off.

"Pasar coleto" (mopping) was an art form, and only an "aragan" (a giant squeegee with a rag) was acceptable. Undiluted Fabuloso was poured straight onto the floor, and you could smell a freshly mopped entrance the moment you stepped out of the car.

This cleaning obsession wasn’t unique to our home. I remember hearing about a neighbor who landed in the hospital after cleaning her kitchen with a deadly mix of bleach and ammonia—a combination that was all too common.

As I entered my twenties, I started questioning this approach. Was all this cleaning really necessary? Did we need to smell bleach to know something was clean? Did it have to feel like a mindless, joyless task?

Years later, with kids of my own, I gained even more perspective. Yes, I want a tidy home. Yes, I want my children to live in a clean environment. But not at the cost of killing every living organism in the process, breaking my back, or drying out my skin. Cleaning doesn’t have to be a punishing chore—it can be an act of self-care.

What once felt boring and monotonous now feels almost meditative. Much like taking a shower, it’s a conscious process of washing away not just dirt, but the energy of the day, revealing the true beauty of my space. The smell of bleach has been replaced by the soothing aromas of essential oils, which uplift my spirit and create a sense of peace.

Fast forward to today, and the world of cleaning has evolved. We now have countless plant-based options, like Therapy Clean, that leave behind harmful chemicals and synthetic fragrances. Consumers are waking up to the negative health effects of traditional cleaning products, from hormone disruption to cancer.

In some ways, creating Therapy Clean feels like a way to reconnect with that childhood experience of home—albeit in a much healthier, mindful way. I’m proud of what we’ve put out into the world. These products not only clean with plant-based power but are also designed to inspire you, to make cleaning something you enjoy, not dread. It’s about more than just a clean home—it’s about creating a space that nourishes you.