I’ve always struggled with being messy, and it’s something that has left me feeling embarrassed. Society seems to hold women to a higher standard of cleanliness than men. During my college days, I often noticed how boys could leave their rooms in chaos—clothes strewn about, beds unmade, and papers everywhere—without a second glance from anyone. If you ventured into their space, you’d simply navigate around the pizza boxes and take a seat. A guy’s messy room would elicit a casual “Dude, that’s gross,” while a woman’s untidiness would raise eyebrows and prompt thoughts like, “What’s going on with her?”
Traditionally, women have been seen as the custodians of the home, expected to maintain tidy and welcoming environments where guests feel at ease. However, I seemed to have missed that particular lesson in femininity. My home was often a jumble of dirty laundry stacked next to clean piles. When I lived alone, dishes would languish in the sink for days, and vacuuming was a rare occurrence. I would perform the bare minimum cleaning just to keep things from becoming utterly disgusting, only to spring into action when guests would announce their arrival. In those moments, I would scramble to wash laundry, dust surfaces, and make the place appear presentable, all while feeling like an imposter in my own home. While I wished for a clean living space, the motivation to actually clean was often lacking.
Then came children, and with them, a messier reality. It’s almost comical how someone who struggled to keep a one-person home tidy could suddenly be tasked with managing the chaos of a family of four, especially when two of those family members are perpetual mess-makers. Every step they take seems to unleash a whirlwind of clutter: sand from their shoes spreads across the hallway, clothes are discarded from their rooms to the bathtub, and crumbs rain down under the dining table. It feels as if sticky juice residue is gluing my feet to the floor, while heaps of laundry and an endless pile of dishes persistently taunt me. For someone who has never been fond of washing a single dish, the mess produced by children can feel like a punishment devised by the Greek gods.
On the bright side, I have become tidier since becoming a mom. In my single days, I would rate my tidiness a mere 4 on a scale of 1 to 10. Now, as a mother, I still consider myself a 4, but it’s important to note that a mom’s 4 is much more organized than a single person’s 4. I’ve learned that allowing dishes to pile up only leads to greater chaos, so I tend to wash them promptly. I also make it a point to clear out backpacks and diaper bags as soon as they enter the house, knowing tomorrow will be tougher if I don’t. I manage to stay on top of the laundry much better than before. If only I had put forth this level of effort when I was living alone, my home could have been immaculate.
In the evenings, I still tend to run out of energy and end up collapsing in front of the TV, while the perfectionists among us are busy tidying up every little scrap of paper left behind from craft activities. At least I can take solace in knowing that my home isn’t dirty. I can only hope that once my boys have grown and moved out, my newfound tidiness will persist. Who knows, I might even find myself at the top of the Empty-Nest Cleanliness Spectrum, becoming the tidiest resident in the nursing home.
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In summary, while my tidiness has improved since becoming a mom, the messes created by my children still present a daily challenge. Embracing a cleaner lifestyle has been a journey, and I look forward to what the future holds as my boys grow older.