Sometimes My House is a Mess, and I Don't Care Anymore
Heather McCain
"Excuse my mess," I say as I invite an unexpected guest into my house. I've said it a thousand times before, feeling my cheeks blush with embarrassment over the dishes in the sink, toys and socks scattered across the floor, and my carpet, sprinkled with crumbs that clearly needs a good vacuum.
After my friend leaves, I immediately start cleaning up even though I am exhausted from working so many hours lately. I know I'll regret not napping when I head to work later, but I'm beating myself up, wondering what my friend must be thinking about me. Does she think I'm a mediocre wife and mother now, because I clearly can't keep up with the mess.
After my friend leaves, I immediately start cleaning up even though I am exhausted from working so many hours lately. I know I'll regret not napping when I head to work later, but I'm beating myself up, wondering what my friend must be thinking about me. Does she think I'm a mediocre wife and mother now, because I clearly can't keep up with the mess.
Thanks to my anxiety, I dwell on it for the rest of the day, and into the evening. I finally send her a text.
Hey, I'm sorry again about my messy house when you stopped by earlier!
I imagine her reading the text, rolling her eyes, and tossing her phone to the side in disgust. I know, a bit dramatic, but, anxiety, ya know?
My phone dings with a text notification, and before I know it, I'm reading the words that will remind me that a lived in house is so much more than that.
It's not a house, it's a home, and this great family I know lives there. I came by to spend time with you because I wanted to do that today instead of folding my massive pile of laundry and catching up on almost a weeks worth of housework, haha.
Hey, I'm sorry again about my messy house when you stopped by earlier!
I imagine her reading the text, rolling her eyes, and tossing her phone to the side in disgust. I know, a bit dramatic, but, anxiety, ya know?
My phone dings with a text notification, and before I know it, I'm reading the words that will remind me that a lived in house is so much more than that.
It's not a house, it's a home, and this great family I know lives there. I came by to spend time with you because I wanted to do that today instead of folding my massive pile of laundry and catching up on almost a weeks worth of housework, haha.
What? She has a massive pile of laundry? She is a week behind on housework? But everytime I see photos of her house on social media, everything looks so put together.
Then it hits me. When I post photos, I don't include the ones that have messes in them, either. It isn't anyone else who is setting these high, often unrealistic, expectations of what my home should look like. At least not anyone who knows and cares about me. It's me. And when I only allow others a glance into my life during moments when I feel like I have a handle on everything, I am contributing to this notion that our houses, no our homes, must be magazine ready at all times.
I repeat my friends words to myself now when I start to feel overwhelmed. When I desperately need rest, a mental health day, or just some me time, and the housework is continuously calling to me and interrupting my down time, I tell myself, "It's not a house, it's a home."
Those dishes means my family ate a nutritious meal off of them (or chicken nuggets and chips, whatever).
That pile of laundry means my kids have enough clothes to dress in layers to stay warm.
Those crumbs mean my thirteen year old, who has a rare chromosome disorder, is finally self-feeding on a regular basis.
Those toys everywhere mean my five year olds are learning through creative play.
Those jackets dropped on the couch, and socks here and there, mean that when my family walks through these doors, they can finally settle in and enjoy the comfort that only home can provide.
Because, we do life here. We make memories. One day, my kids will be grown and I'll reminisce about these days. Something tells me I will remember much more about our family dinners, movie nights, and being piled up in the family room surrounded by chaos and laughter than I ever will the mess. Something tells me I might even miss the mess that once meant my home was filled with children.
This isn't just a mess, it's a representation of a life well lived together. This isn't just a house, it's a home.
Then it hits me. When I post photos, I don't include the ones that have messes in them, either. It isn't anyone else who is setting these high, often unrealistic, expectations of what my home should look like. At least not anyone who knows and cares about me. It's me. And when I only allow others a glance into my life during moments when I feel like I have a handle on everything, I am contributing to this notion that our houses, no our homes, must be magazine ready at all times.
I repeat my friends words to myself now when I start to feel overwhelmed. When I desperately need rest, a mental health day, or just some me time, and the housework is continuously calling to me and interrupting my down time, I tell myself, "It's not a house, it's a home."
Those dishes means my family ate a nutritious meal off of them (or chicken nuggets and chips, whatever).
That pile of laundry means my kids have enough clothes to dress in layers to stay warm.
Those crumbs mean my thirteen year old, who has a rare chromosome disorder, is finally self-feeding on a regular basis.
Those toys everywhere mean my five year olds are learning through creative play.
Those jackets dropped on the couch, and socks here and there, mean that when my family walks through these doors, they can finally settle in and enjoy the comfort that only home can provide.
Because, we do life here. We make memories. One day, my kids will be grown and I'll reminisce about these days. Something tells me I will remember much more about our family dinners, movie nights, and being piled up in the family room surrounded by chaos and laughter than I ever will the mess. Something tells me I might even miss the mess that once meant my home was filled with children.
This isn't just a mess, it's a representation of a life well lived together. This isn't just a house, it's a home.
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