My house is a disaster. Like I mean not just messy or cluttered, but can’t find anything, have way too much stuff, I can spend a month cleaning and it doesn’t look like I’ve put a dent in it. That kind of mess. I care. I do. But I still invite people over, I apologize for the mess, but only half heartedly. I spend hours staring at the mess but don’t do anything about it. Every now and then I clean up enough to function. Then I expect everyone to notice… But I really don’t want them to notice at the same time. I cry, I yell, I stress, I pray. But I still leave the mess and hope for it to clean itself. Guess what? It doesn’t.
I have four children under 8. My youngest is one, and I’m still in my part partum depression era. You know what doesn’t help with a mood disorder? Mess. You know what doesn’t help motivate me to clean up? Depression, overwhelm, exhaustion, and relationship troubles. And so it goes.
Adulting is hard. I’m nearly 40, and I’m still trying to figure out stuff that I feel like I should have absorbed by 25. I mean I have to fight with myself just to get in the shower. When my kids are napping or at school, I want to stare at my phone or drink my coffee, or stare into space.
I wrote this all out today. Now I’m going to pick up all the stuff off my living room floor. Maybe I’ll write again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll do something productive then too.
* this post and it’s title is inspired by Dana K White and her book “Jesus doesn’t care about your messy house.”*
