Updated: July 29, 2016
Originally Published: October 8, 2015
I used to pride myself on being a meticulous housekeeper. Before I married my partner and became a parent, my home was immaculate, every surface free of clutter: no photographs, no decorative items, no plants or vases. My bed was always made, my books neatly arranged, and my bills stowed away out of sight.
My refrigerator was a fortress of order, with containers aligned by size, meats and cheeses tucked away in the deli drawer, and fruits and vegetables confined to the crisper. The top shelf? Exclusively reserved for liquids, as it was the tallest section. Solid items? Absolutely not.
At that time, I lived alone with two cats, working long hours as a corporate lawyer. I often dined out and could afford to hire a cleaner for my apartment. I felt like I had everything under control—an efficient master of my domain, the epitome of calm amidst chaos.
In retrospect, I realize how misguided I was. My upbringing was steeped in a different sort of chaos—one characterized by the discord between two unhappy parents. While our home was tidy, it was filled with a different kind of turmoil. Arguments erupted over trivial matters, leading to packed bags and dramatic exits, only for my parents to reconcile shortly afterward, promising us kids that they would never fight like that again.
As an adult, I thought I could escape this familial chaos by maintaining a spotless apartment and steering clear of emotional entanglements—except, of course, for relationships with men who mirrored my own argumentative tendencies. I was determined to rise above my parents’ tumultuous marriage, believing that love could be devoid of chaos. Surely, I could fix any emotional discord. After all, I was the Queen of Cool.
Then came the right partner—Jack, whose steady demeanor, sense of humor, and comfort with silence offered me a new perspective. He showed me that conflicts could exist without escalating to explosions. With his support, I found the courage to leave my law career and pursue writing seriously. Jack isn’t overly demonstrative; his love language is action rather than words, often waiting for me to recognize his affection.
A few years into our relationship, during my pregnancy with our son, we had our first argument—unbeknownst to me. While we were removing an air-conditioning unit from a window, we lost our grip and it shattered on the concrete below. “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” I exclaimed, rushing to clean the mess. When I returned, I found Jack sitting on the back steps, visibly shaken. “We’re fighting. Why are we fighting?” he asked, bewildered. Fighting? This was our version of chaos, and I was still clinging to my belief that I could control it.
Fast forward to parenthood, a rambunctious child, and a German shepherd who sheds more than my two cats combined. My life became a whirlwind of writing, teaching, and adjusting to my son’s school schedule. I barely had time to breathe, let alone fret over the organization of my fridge.
While Jack and I still rarely argue, we often find ourselves racing through life, tending to responsibilities instead of nurturing our relationship. I sometimes wonder if we’ll ever rediscover our romantic connection. I question if he still values my contributions, especially when I know I can be demanding.
Then came New Year’s Day 2015, a particularly tumultuous period when I was also grappling with a family drama that could rival a soap opera. I spent the morning under the covers, overwhelmed, while the house descended into chaos—mail piled high, dog hair in every corner, greasy kitchen appliances, and a refrigerator that had seen better days. Finally, I emerged to find Jack dismantling the fridge, scrubbing it with disinfectant.
“What’s happening?” I asked, bracing for a sarcastic remark about my lack of cleanliness. Instead, Jack simply said, “Something smells,” and continued his cleaning. All I wanted to do was retreat back to bed and wallow in self-pity. But my upbringing taught me that ignoring him wasn’t an option.
“Let me help,” I said begrudgingly, starting to remove items from the shelves. Jack tossed out the vegetable drawer filled with decaying produce. “You don’t have to,” he insisted, but I could see his determination. In that moment, helping him didn’t feel burdensome; it felt like an act of love. I quickly realized this chaos wasn’t something to fear but rather an aspect of our life together.
This, I discovered, is what love looks like.
For those on a similar journey, consider exploring resources such as this guide on home insemination kits or check out Mia and Sarah’s inspiring story of parenthood, which highlights their own path to family. Additionally, Healthline offers great information on IVF, a valuable resource for couples looking to conceive.
Summary:
In this reflective piece, Ava Thompson shares her journey from a highly organized single life to navigating the chaos of marriage and parenthood. Initially driven by a desire to control her environment, she learns to embrace the unpredictability of love and family life, ultimately discovering that true love thrives amidst chaos.