The women I grew up with always had everything together. We’ve already written about their seemingly endless patience and grace, and the neatness and beauty that seemed to come with it. When I imagined myself as an adult, I pictured myself following their mold, complete with a color coordinated closet, spotless dining room table, and effortless ability to keep my head above water without breaking a sweat.
But I’ve always been messy. As a kid, my room could never stay clean. The closet had more clothes on the floor than on the hangers, my grades were good, but I always forgot to bring my homework to class. My mother was not pleased. While I understood the value of keeping a space organized, I could never put it into application. I envied my classmates, pretty Southern girls who all had the same handwriting and tucked their Lilly Pulitzer planners in their perfectly organized backpacks. Every year, my school planners went unused, my handwriting got worse, and my hopes of ever getting it together faded. Eventually, I came to terms with the fact that mess was just something I would have to live with.Read More