Embracing My Mess

Every year, my parents travel for work for a couple of weeks. When we fostered, I would watch the kids while my parents were away. One particular trip stands out to me - the youngest two kids were in preschool, so I took time off work to be home with them and complete my schoolwork.

The first few days were rough. All four kids got the flu, and the evening help I had lined up was canceled until everyone was healthy. By day four, I was exhausted from solo parenting sick kids. The older two had finally gone back to school, but the house was in chaos—a mountain of clean laundry had overtaken the couch, the floors had been mopped only to be covered in toys again, and the kitchen counters were lined with dishes waiting for the dishwasher to finish. I also had a mountain of schoolwork to catch up on. Still, I took the younger two out to run errands and grab groceries, hoping to catch my breath.

While wrangling two high-energy preschoolers through a store, my phone rang. A social worker.

I hesitated before answering, already bracing myself for whatever stressful thing she needed. She asked if she could stop by that afternoon for a visit, even though she knew we had been ill. She had forgotten to do her monthly check-in before my parents left.

Immediately, panic set in. I pictured the mess waiting at home and thought, The house is NOT ready for a worker visit. But I also knew that this was the only day that worked for my schedule.

So, I took a deep breath and agreed. I also asked for grace, explaining that I had just taken the kids for groceries and hadn’t had time to clean. I paid for my cart and rushed home, unloading groceries at lightning speed before frantically trying to clean up. I had just managed to reload the dishwasher, leaving a sink full of dishes still waiting, when the doorbell rang.

Nervously, I walked to the door.

We sat down in the living room, and as we talked about the kids, she casually picked up some laundry and started folding it alongside me. I didn’t apologize for the mess. In fact, I joked as I welcomed her into our “disaster.”

And then, as she was leaving, she thanked me.

She thanked me for making time for her visit despite the less-than-perfect timing.

That moment stuck with me.

I was so tired of trying to present a perfect image—one that, let’s be honest, I wasn’t pulling off anyway. I realized that my unrealistic expectations weren’t making my life better. They were making me less genuine in my interactions.

Since then, I’ve (mostly) let go of the pressure to keep up appearances. Now, if you come over, I’ll welcome you in. But I won’t apologize for the mess. Because real life is messy. And that’s okay.