Who Am I if I Can't Organize a Closet?
The glory and tyranny of being forced to rest.
My kids went on vacation with their dad last week, and after the chaotic last few weeks of school, I was so excited for a glorious week all to myself. I had plans for a mix of summer-y fun, getting ahead on work, and tackling a few house projects. On the list: Sort through the year’s mountains of school papers and throw out 95 percent of them, get my kids’ bedrooms painted, hang new art, and clear out a ton of their clutter, deal with the random piles that inevitably end up in our mudroom, the floor of my office, and my closet. There is a whole list that I keep on my phone, of all the “some day” projects like this.
And then last Monday I threw my back out.
So instead, I had spend the week mostly lying in weird positions and not lifting anything heavier than one of my kittens. It was painful but not horrendous — I finished reading the Bridgerton books, I ordered a lot of very good takeout, I gave myself permission to do no work. But when my mobility started to return last Friday, I was SO VERY ITCHY to tackle at least a few of the projects on that organization list. I had to really force myself not to go for it all (hi, still can’t lift a full laundry basket!) and instead be happy with a more bare minimum approach to projects.
All of this reminded me of this essay, which I’m reposting today because it will be new to many of you. I first published it in September of 2022, when this list was less than half the size it is now—but my tendency to use organization as a relaxation technique but also a measure of self-worth was for sure alive and well. As I wrote then:
There is diet culture energy here, for sure. And productivity culture. And perfectionism. I’m not sure there is a more peak White Lady moment than texting your friends photos of your newly organized Tupperware drawer and yes, I did that.