Airing Out the Laundry

Take a good look at this picture. And tell me… what do you see?


Perhaps, a metaphor of my cluttered brain? Or maybe… a representation of the endless chores a parent has (usually the mom) when there’s children in the home? Nope, none of the above. Just a random load of laundry on the living room floor. That, by the way, up until earlier this morning has been plopped in the same spot for the last couple of days. Am I embarrassed to admit this? Yes, of course I am. But this here pile, is the story of my life.

I am messy. And everything about this assertion has been confirmed by anyone who has stepped foot into my house. If, back in the day, you would have questioned me about my untidiness, I would have refuted it. But now, I humbly admit what my mother, various old roommates, and even secretly my own guilty conscience have been claiming all along; I. Am. Messy.

Why is this important to share with the world? For accountability, of course. And It surely needs to changed. The reason I have been able to cope with my higgledy-piggledy tendencies for so long is because my scattered clothing and empty perfume bottles never affected anyone, except me. So, all was well. Up until today, I could go on in my messy state of blissfulness without a care in the world. Then, this morning, the fairytale ended when I saw this…


More mangled clothes on the floor, you wonder? No. Not just any ol’ clothes—they’re Terrance’s. Last night when we returned home, my five-year-old casually stripped down to his underwear, leaving his garments sprinkled in a trail leading towards his bedroom. This morning, when I fully noticed them there (and yes, it… took me that long to notice them) my views about the cluttered life slapped me right in the face and reality finally sat in. I am teaching my son to live like a pig.

Visions into my dear son’s future quickly flooded my mind revealing a 20-something year old bum, sitting amidst a hoarded living room; Pizza boxes, Cheetos, and dirty gym socks strewn all around him. All alone he slumps, crying his eyes out; his tired and wearied wife having left him, feed up with his filthy ways. I can’t let this happen, I thought, staring at his muddled little jeans. My baby cannot be someone’s nightmare of a husband, let alone just some mangy bum.dsc00315


So here I am, exposing my dirty little secrets in this blog, and promising that I will teach my kid –and myself that being neat is more conducive to a healthy life style.


This incident makes me think about how having lived in disorder for so long has really held me back over the years. Its hindered me socially, creatively and emotionally. However, the anticipation of all the more friends I’ll invite over, the space I will have clear to store and write in my journals, and just the overall mental clarity I’ll gain from having a clean space motivates me to stay on top of my house work. So, this morning, I can happily say I cleaned my entire apartment. From top to bottom, in the words of my mother I can definitely say “it’s spic and span.” And I intend to keep it that way.

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The purpose of this blog is to come from a place of love, strength, discovery and vulnerability. Please join me as I share my journey.