Not like “I haven’t showered today so my hair is oily and I have two brand new zits even though I’m almost 40″ messy (although that is also true).
I mean the kind of messy that makes other people uncomfortable because if they get too close, my mess might rub off on them.
I am the kind of messy that doesn’t make sense.
The messy whose feelings get hurt but I constantly say, “I’m fine”.
The messy that forgets special dress up days at school and who gives their kids a milkshake as a reward even though everything ever written about healthy eating says not to reward with food.
The messy who cries in private so I don’t bother anyone with the weight of my mess as I dip down to help them clean up their own.
The messy that has anxiety and depression and worries endlessly that I’m ruining my kids.
The messy that is late for things, not because I wasn’t ready but because I had to talk myself into going.
The messy that buys $300 in groceries and then orders pizza because I absolutely CANNOT.
The sort of messy that means to text you back but gets pulled in 59 directions, then forgets, then sits and worries that it’s too late to text now or it will seem weird.
The messy who has days they sincerely NEED to do adult things like pay bills, make phone calls, and set appointments but I can barely get myself from the bed to the couch.
The messiness who loses her temper, yells in traffic, always feels in a rush, and never seems to get all the things crossed off her to-do list.
This sort of mama-messiness is maddening because it is endless and exhausting.
It convinces me that I’m getting it all wrong and messing everything and everyone up along the way.
It assures me that I’m too much and not enough all at once.
It whispers in the chaos that I’m not fooling anyone. No one believes I have it all together because show could they if they saw this mess!?
Friends, I’m messy, but I don’t apologize for it.
Because here’s the thing about my mess.
My mess is a collection of what has happened to me, what I’ve witnessed and experienced, what I’ve survived and what I continue to not allow to beat me.
And that is HARD WORK not to let the messiness win.
Sometimes mess is less about what we aren’t getting right and more proof of what we’ve overcome.
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One Reply to “Messy Parenting”
I chose to accept that our lives are outside the box. I chose to enjoy it.