This is the floor of my home, May 24, 2013.  You can believe me when I say it isn’t a lot different today.  And do not think it is hilarious to point out to me that the title of the book showing in the corner is “Organizing Your Day.”  Because I already noticed.

Maybe it sounds melodramatic, but I’ll say it anyway – some of us are truly wounded when it comes to the disorder of stuff in our surroundings.  The painful self conciousness we feel is equalled only by our discomfort with our body size.

The terrible irony is that the shame we feel about our messy living spaces is the very same emotion that keeps us from just emptying all our stuff into a trash can, and moving on with our lives.  I’m ashamed I haven’t finished the project I started with that yarn, so I can’t get rid of it.  I’m ashamed I gave in to the fantasy of selling afghans on Etsy for extra income, so now they tower in colorful columns on the floor of my room.  To admit that I won’t do what I imagined with the countless layers of incompletes accumulating in my home seems like admitting that I am weak and lazy.  And who was every motivated by that?

You know, I might love your messy house.  I love to look at people’s things, and see something about them.  You could take a deep breath, and let me come in, and be curious about all your stuff.   I know, I know — that’s what you are afraid of.   I might see something about you, that I haven’t seen before.