Everything must be in its designated spot. The dishes neatly arranged, pillows fluffed just right, clothes folded perfectly, toys neatly stored, and toothbrushes aligned. For me, achieving this order brings a sense of tranquility and accomplishment. It makes me feel composed, joyful, and in command of my life.
As our family grew with more little ones, I found it increasingly challenging to maintain this level of order. I began to wonder: am I really in the right place by stressing so much about everything being perfectly arranged? The time it took to transition items from their chaotic state to their proper place became a source of anxiety. It made me feel like I was failing, like I wasn’t being the best mom or partner.
During the two months between my youngest son’s second birthday and my oldest son’s fifth birthday (yes, we were the busy parents of three kids under three for a brief moment), I realized I either had to adapt or lose my sanity. Necessity led me to accept that not everything had to be in its designated spot immediately.
I started pulling my underwear from the clean but unfolded laundry basket. I allowed the toys to remain strewn across the floor for an extra night or two. I even let my husband handle the dishes without insisting they be done right away.
If only I could bottle the secret to this newfound freedom, I’d sell it to every overwhelmed mom out there (including myself, because I still have my moments). My survival instincts kicked in; I simply couldn’t keep rushing to restore order.
I was physically and emotionally drained — my heels left marks on my sheets as I tossed and turned, I struggled to breathe while driving, and I even shed tears during a work review where I received praise and a promotion. My anxiety peaked when I deboarded a plane just as the flight attendant closed the door.
Something had to change. So, I made a conscious decision: it was okay for things to be a bit messy, and they didn’t need to be fixed right away.
Sure, our floors may be a little dusty, toothpaste smears might linger on the bathroom counters, a basket of unfolded laundry sits nearby, and handprints decorate our glass doors. But I no longer succumb to the urgent cries of “Clean me!” I tackle them when I can.
And guess what? Everything is just fine. My kids are thriving and healthy, our home isn’t crawling with pests, I still show up to work in clean clothes, and my relationship with my husband remains strong. Most importantly, I feel lighter.
Don’t misunderstand me; I still take pleasure in organizing and tidying things up. However, I’ve learned not to let the journey from chaos to order rob me of my joy. Instead of using any free time to restore order, I now invest it in activities that truly bring me happiness: savoring a quiet cup of coffee in the early morning, writing, running, reading, cooking, socializing with friends, and getting to bed early.
While it’s satisfying to have my belongings in their rightful places, it feels even better to prioritize my own well-being first.
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In summary, I learned to let go of my obsession with cleanliness and instead focus on what truly matters: my happiness and well-being. I shifted my priorities from maintaining order to enjoying life, which has made all the difference.