Have you read Rachel Hollis’ book Girl, Wash Your Face? Neither have I. But I Googled it after I found out that the wait list at the library is three miles long.
The premise is simple. She writes about how we lie to ourselves so often that we don’t even know we’re doing it anymore. We tell ourselves that everyone else has it figured out and that we are falling behind our peers. We spend all of our time trying catch up but instead we end up feeling alone. Somewhere along the way, our lies became our reality, and we can’t break free–until now. At least that’s what I’m assuming the book wants us to believe.
So here’s my lie: I should have it together by now. I should know what I’m doing.
I tell it to myself every day at every turn. I simultaneously see fresh snowfall and my daughter’s white sandals by the front door instead of tucked neatly into a hand-me-down box. I eat popcorn sitting on the floor behind the kitchen island hoping that my kid doesn’t find me because I don’t want to share.
Raising humans is messy, and it spills into every part of my life. While I’m mopping up over here, a mountain of laundry pops up over there. Blonde hair strands are stuck to everything in my house–lamp shades, my husband’s toothbrush, a door knob. There are towels in the dryer from two days ago and bath toys that ironically need to be cleaned. I hardly ever listen to my voicemails. My dishwasher only gets unloaded because I let my toddler make a mess of her art supply bin.
It seems like I’m always trading one mess for another, and I know I’ll never get ahead.
Worse of all, I’m wearing mismatched socks. One purple, one orange. Not even complementary colors. Last winter, when I was feeling in a funk, I bought a variety pack of these ridiculous neon socks to show the world that I could still be kind of hip. Neon socks are not hip, and it turns out that they aren’t practical either. Recently, my child learned to open drawers, and I swear she is stealing them one by one to gaslight me into losing my mind.
I should have it together by now. I should know what I’m doing.
But I don’t. I might never have it together. That’s a scary truth. From the outside, it looks like I have a straight line, a clear path, and the brush never scrapes my boots. But now you know I’m wearing those boots to hide something, and I’m actually out there looking for about six rogue, unaccompanied socks.
What would happen if we could break free from these lies? If we didn’t expect ourselves to be perfect? When you find out, let me know. And girl, send me that book as soon as you’re done reading it or washing your face. Whichever comes first.
