Surprise my sister on any given day, and her home is always immaculate. Her husband is a cleanliness enthusiast, her mother-in-law follows suit, and her two older daughters have been trained to embrace tidiness. Even the baby—okay, maybe not the baby—seems to glide through their home like a tiny, well-coordinated cleaning machine. My sister, who once identified as a messy person, claims her husband inspired her to change her habits. Their family of four moves through their space with the grace of a well-rehearsed dance troupe, each member contributing to the overall orderliness. Honestly, I’m pretty sure my little nephew is crawling with mop attachments on his hands and knees.
My own home, however, tells a different story, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of envy.
I’ve always preferred my belongings to be organized and visually appealing. At heart, I’m a minimalist; clutter makes me feel uneasy. Growing up, I envisioned a home that would “rise up to greet me,” as Oprah famously stated—not one that greets me with a tripping hazard of shoes and scattered items.
The rub? I refuse to clean up after others.
My husband, a fantastic guy who works tirelessly and handles a lot of household maintenance, is, without question, a messy person. His messiness isn’t intentional; he’s blissfully unaware of the socks, receipts, and coffee mugs he leaves behind. In the earlier years of our marriage, I tried to train him in the art of tidiness, but that endeavor has turned into an endless struggle. Our kids, too, are messy—typical children, really—and while I don’t blame them, I know I need to teach them better habits. I’m genuinely trying to keep up, but without dedicating my entire day to cleaning up after them, my house devolves into chaos.
I often go back and forth on this issue, sometimes resigning myself to the mess and thinking, “This is my life now.” I try to let my family’s disarray wash over me like water under a bridge. I come across articles suggesting not to attempt to change your partner, and for a brief moment, I feel reassured that ignoring the mess is the way to go. I see quirky wall art that says, “Excuse the mess. We live here,” and I give myself a mental pat on the back for being so understanding and progressive.
Then I visit my sister or binge-watch a season of a home renovation show, and suddenly I get this burst of motivation: “If we work together, we can conquer this!” I grab my imaginary battle armor and charge into the mess, brandishing my broom-sword while shouting at my family to “PICK THIS UP! AND THAT! AND THOSE! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”
When I nag and point and act a bit crazy, they do clean up their messes, so I can achieve a tidy home—provided I maintain constant vigilance over everyone.
However, if I look away for even a couple of hours, everything falls apart. Last weekend, I needed to focus on a project in my office all day. When I finally emerged, the kitchen counters were a mountain of dirty plates, crumpled napkins, and used mugs; shoes were strewn in the hallway; toys and art supplies cluttered every surface; and mysterious sticky spots had materialized on the floor. I burst into tears—full-on, snotty, ugly crying.
I only turned my back for one day, people.
I’m so tired of looking at piles of discarded clothes, papers, and dirty dishes, all of which belong to other people. I’m fed up with grabbing the vacuum only to realize I first need to pick up other folks’ junk. I want to go on strike. I want to declare, “I won’t vacuum until you all pick up your stuff!” but I know that if I do, I’ll have to hover like a hawk to ensure it gets done, because if I walk away, it won’t happen.
I’m not asking for a kidney here. I just want my family to put their dirty clothes in the hamper and dishes in the dishwasher. I want to be able to say, “Hey, clean the living room,” and have it actually happen. Why is this so hard? Why can’t my family be like my sister’s—synchronized in our quest for order? I desperately wish they cared as much as I do.
But they don’t. So here I am, a neat freak surrounded by slobs, facing a dilemma: Do I ignore the mess and resent my environment, or do I nag my family endlessly and end up resenting both them and myself?
Seriously, what would you do? Because I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle, and I’m utterly exhausted.
This article originally appeared on February 2, 2017.
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Summary
The author expresses the struggles of being the only neat freak in a family of messy individuals, feeling overwhelmed by the chaos and messy habits of her loved ones. Despite her efforts to maintain order, she finds herself constantly battling clutter and longs for her family to share her values regarding cleanliness.