The Tell-Tale Laundry Basket
If they only knew my pile of laundry sat in the same spot in my living room for over a week.
Prior to its current location, it accommodated itself next to my grey ottoman in my family room. The basket nestled beside the ottoman’s deflated corner where my children cemented their footprints from one too many games of the “Floor is Lava.” I thought I would actually get it done if I put it in the living room.
Instead, I grew resentment towards it.
Much like a monster hiding under my bed, it taunted me with my maroon sweater’s empty arm and the leg from my worn linen mauve jumpsuit. Would it reach out and drown me with my fluffy white bath sheet, jeggings, and graphic tees that I’ve loved so much?
Another reminder of how I just can’t get it done.
I can’t do it all.
And if only they knew.
You know who they are. The voices that scream at you when you’re not dressed like usual for school pick-up, remind you that you’re bragging about your kids despite talking about their challenges or even nag you with “how you do it all.” And you can hear the Poe-like dreadful pounding of your heart in your ears—beating—harder, quicker.
You’re supposed to be superwoman. Can’t you fold a two-week-old basket of laundry?
What do you do all day?
The question taunts and repeats itself like a groaning old record. It skips. It repeats. It’s deafening.
But what if I uncovered the basket by ripping off the bath sheet—the one I had at the top of my Christmas list because it was a king-sized version of a regular towel? Undoubtedly, the monster would devour me whole. It’d entangle me between sports bras, weave me through holes of my white eyelet blouse, and chain me to a misplaced polka dot sock from one of my kids.
Soon, I would see that the voices weren’t from my unfolded, wrinkled laundry—my fear of my man was suddenly evident. As much I would hope I grew resilient from the ridicules of social media or even comments from friends, I care.
And I care too much.
My heart desired the affection of their words. They lulled me into a stupor until I fell flat on my face, aching and unfulfilled.
“The fear of man lays a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is safe.”
—Proverbs 29:25
I reached in the basket and pulled out my favorite plain, white long sleeve t-shirt. I grasped the handles, grunted as I picked it up, and placed the basket in my room. In the end, it’s a heavy basket of clothes that I’ll fold later this afternoon. But I pray that my delight in the Lord’s Word may loosen the bands of misguided judgment. I feel safe once again.
This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Unmaking Fears".
