My house is a mess ALL THE TIME. I mean a complete disaster – like a bomb literally went off.
In the beginning of my motherhood journey, the mess, it really bothered me. It bothered me not because of the actual mess, but because of what it said about me, the image it portrayed, and the message I was sending. That message said that I couldn’t hold it all together. That I was weak. That I was inadequate and that I was a failure.
But then one day I realized – who set this standard? Who sets the bar?
Society tells us we have to have the house in pristine condition, the children in all the sports and activities, make a certain amount of money – enough to buy all the things and go on lots of vacations - and still provide home cooked meals, play with our children, teach them to read before kindergarten, have a good marriage, go on date nights, and on and on and on.
Society tells me I have to do it all – to be a supermom and Instagram worthy. But honestly, somethings gotta give. That’s just not me. And the minute I realized this and let it all go was when everything changed – when my whole perspective changed. My house is a mess not because I am a failure - it’s a mess because I choose to live my life not clean up after it.
When I think about this season, I want my kids to remember feeling loved. Remember that mama got down on the floor and played with them, made up silly songs for everything, and danced like crazy in the kitchen. I want them to remember baking together and being outside as much as we possibly could. I want them to remember my calm, my peace, and my smile. Not my anxiety, my hustling, my distraction, and my striving to fit the ideal society deemed worthy, but was never really attainable. I want them to remember me – not what the house looked like.
So, when I look around at my house tonight, stepping on legos as I stumble to the kitchen to feed the baby, I cannot help but smile. The littles were in bed early and I choose rest. I choose me. I choose self-care. The past lies I told myself would have had me hustling to clean and stay up late catching up on all the things that didn’t matter. The lies would have told me I was not enough if I didn’t fit the image social media portrayed of the perfect mother – the clean house, the made-up face, the latest fashions, the expensive house, and all the activities.
But today – the actual me - smiled at my imperfections. She smiled that my house was a mess and I was able to let go and leave it be. Because this, this means progress for me. This means I choose life. I choose love. I choose me. This means that I finally value myself enough to know that I am enough – no matter what I look like, what my house looks like, or what I accomplish in a day. I am enough. And I can go to bed certain that my sweet babies know they are loved, they are safe, and they are my world. And if that is all I ever do – that is more than enough.