One morning, I took out some pent-up frustrations on an old plastic toy that had long been ignored. I smashed it repeatedly, sending bits of plastic flying, and in my frenzy, I accidentally sliced my finger. There I stood, amidst a chaotic scene of shattered remnants and spilled emotions, feeling both liberated and a bit ashamed. The remnants of my pride lay scattered across the floor, and yet I found myself right back in the midst of chores.
It had been a while since my frustrations as a mother had bubbled over. It seemed a meltdown was overdue and, oddly enough, there was a strange comfort in having released that childish energy.
The roots of my fury were planted the night before when my husband decided to take a shower and realized we were out of clean towels. The laundry basket overflowed with dirty ones, leaving only beach towels in our linen closet.
I was on the couch, typing away on my laptop. In my mind, I’m a writer, but the reality is, without a steady income, I’m simply a homemaker with a passion for writing. I used to be a teacher, and then a stay-at-home mom, but now that the kids are in school, I find myself embracing the title of a homemaker. One who enjoys writing, that is.
As a homemaker, the towel situation fell squarely on my shoulders. It’s my duty to ensure we have clean towels, and when that doesn’t happen, I feel like I’m failing at my role.
Let’s be clear: yes, I’m a homemaker, but that doesn’t mean I strive for perfection in housekeeping. While the kids are at school, I’m not going to spend my days creating elaborate storage solutions or perfectly folding endless piles of laundry. My goal is to find a balance somewhere between chaos and order, with occasional moments of brilliance interspersed with feelings of inadequacy. After all, I have other pursuits.
I love to write. I also connect with readers and fellow writers online. These endeavors bring me joy and fulfillment, and I devote time to my blog, which is an essential part of my life.
So, back to the source of my anger…
As my husband waved a beach towel in my direction, he interrupted my writing with a series of questions. I interpreted his words through the lens of a wife:
- “How many towels do we have?” Translation: You’ve been home all day; how hard is it to get some clean towels?
- “Why aren’t there any clean towels?” Translation: You should be doing laundry instead of sitting on your laptop.
Does my husband deserve a clean towel? Absolutely. But do I want to explain my failure to him? Not really. It’s frustrating when our roles feel outdated, and I find it hard to be questioned about domestic tasks.
Sure, the towel situation could use some attention, but would it hurt to use a beach towel for once?
This led to a spat, and we went to bed on a sour note.
The next morning, after dropping the kids off at school, I stormed home, ready to unleash my anger through cleaning. I was upset—angry that I seemed to carry the weight of household chores alone. I felt the frustration of being the one responsible for the dirt and chaos that surrounded our family.
But here’s the thing: even with my frustrations, I am also empowered. My husband does his best to share responsibilities, often using inclusive language like “ours.” Most days, this arrangement works well. My husband travels frequently, and I’m the constant presence in our kids’ lives. I chose this role, taking them to lessons while managing the household.
Yet, it can be disheartening to feel like I’m solely responsible for all the mess. And so, I took my anger out on that plastic toy, and then I cleaned up the aftermath.
While it may have seemed like a trivial first-world problem, it cleared my head. I realized that fulfillment won’t come from an empty laundry basket. Instead, I find joy when my fingers dance across the keyboard. Writing nourishes my soul, and I will prioritize it. I won’t win any major literary awards for my tales of domestic life, but I am part of a significant community of mothers, sharing our experiences and stories.
Imagine if I could just write that masterpiece! Maybe then I could tell my husband, “I’m busy with work, so let’s share the cleaning duties.” Now that’s a dream worth pursuing!
So, I better get to work on that masterpiece. But first, I have some towels to fold.
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Summary
The author reflects on the challenges and frustrations of being a homemaker while balancing personal passions, like writing. After a small meltdown over laundry, she realizes the importance of prioritizing her writing and finding fulfillment outside of traditional domestic roles. The piece celebrates the journey of motherhood and the need for self-expression amidst household duties.