Dear friend,
I looked up today if there’s a word for people like me. (Stahp, not that word.)
I mean a word for people who cannot function when their environment is in disarray. Are others out there like this? Crippled by chaos?
I found myself in an absolute mess today, on the cusp of rage, and feeling quite sorry for myself indeed. I’d broken my own rules and gone to bed with a dirty kitchen, which meant that morning came with a sink full of dishes, food crusted counters, and a full trash can. Fair enough — my friend Amber hosted us for dinner the night prior and I was happy to light a match and walk away for a few hours.
moments from when life was ordered
After swiftly cleaning through the rubble, and wiping away the remnants of filth, I didn’t feel much better. Why? Because the rest of the house followed suit. Clumps of dog hair blew like tumbleweeds across the dining room floors, gathering in corners with single socks and broken pencils. Books from all four children were piled up on the table and Latin flashcards were shut half-in, half-out of the school cabinet. The house, seemingly overnight, had thrown up winter coats, coffee stained wash clothes, and muddy boots.
My calendar told me it was time to shut myself up in the office to work. Work? You must be out of your mind. How could I possibly focus on “cultivating the beautiful life” when outside my office door sat unfolded laundry, drooping houseplants, and cardboard boxes stacked by the kitchen door?
You must be at the edge of your seat wondering if a word does in fact exist for such a soul, and I’m sad to tell you, it does not. The best that Google could give me was “neat freak”.
Poor showing English language.
Before someone reminds me that these messes are blessings, made by the souls in this world that I love more than my own life, I know. I also know what it means to see the chaos that ensues from six people living under the same roof, to roll up my sleeves, grab a soapy bucket and get to work. This isn’t a complaint about the filth (okay, maybe a teeny bit) but rather, a plea with you all to help me re-frame… if you can.
Misery doesn’t love company. Misery loves help and advice from those wiser.
Before I could head into the office to complete important tasks for our business that, quite literally, keep the lights on, I had to at least dampen the noise of the home screaming at me. I ran the dishwasher, made breakfast, started the washing machine, scrubbed my bathroom toilet and ran the vacuum quickly through the downstairs. After starting some bread in the mixer, pulling out shrimp from the freezer for dinner, and making up a Costco shopping list, I could finally retreat to the office. The fire was still burning, but the flames felt less painful — at least for the moment.
moments from when life was ordered
While Stuart dove into school with the kids (he is a Saint), I dove into the labor at hand: editing the podcast, recording ads, putting the finishing touches on the website for our Italian retreats we’re running this year, responding to some urgent emails, and taking a few phone calls with potential getaway guests. Three hours (and two espressos) later, I emerged from the office to find the house hadn’t magically polished and dusted itself in my absence. Rather, a dozen tea mugs had collected on the counter, the contents of four backpacks had been emptied onto every flat surface available, and the crew was hungry.
(Not whining. Documenting facts.)
Like so many of you, we are in the thick of it: deep in the forest of raising children and trying to do that very intentionally. Alongside this calling (our greatest), we must work. As my friend used to always remind me “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” So we labor.
While I work, be it writing, recipe creating or filming, I try to remind myself of the good fruits that come from these efforts. Sure, the cat just barfed on the rug, but it’s okay. You’re doing what you need to do. You’ll clean it later. Work makes sure there’s a house to lay the rug in, after all.
But dang it anyway. The homemaker-gene is strong. I delight in my home, in folding my children’s laundry and surprising them with fresh bread. I’m thrilled (no really, I am) to organize the towel drawers or scrub the shower.
The majority of time, these worlds orbit one another. On bad days, they collide.
The children will not always demand such effort in their studies, nor will they always be here to eat through two loaves of bread a day. Back to that plea I mentioned earlier: what I need is a band-aid to slap on my wound in these moments, a small bridge between the reality of home-chaos and the obligation to labor. How do I quiet the mental noise of the chaos?
moments from when life was ordered
I’m seeking to be able to function better when the world within our walls is untidy, to be able to separate my ability to focus from the immediate and personal circumstances surrounding me.
My friend Angela used to tell me to “put on my blinders”. Head down. Don’t think about xyz. Just look forward, focus on what’s in front of your eyes. At the moment, this is two-fold: planning through tomorrow’s YouTube video and simultaneously chopping vegetables for tonight’s supper.
This is reality — a torn devotion to the work of my hands, and the work of my hands in my home.
The reset will come, it always does. The family will pitch in after supper to put the house right, take out the garbage, unload the dishwasher, and repack the school bags. I will sip a decaf, wondering why I got so uptight in the first place, and enjoy our little cottage through candlelight.
Until tomorrow when I am once again just a woman who needs to be reminded that she’s not a “neat freak”, but rather, a woman wildly devoted to her home, the people in it, and the work that makes that life possible.
Send cleaners or advice.
Love,
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