Have you ever been in the middle of a mess?
I don’t mean a polite middle class mess where you roll your eyes and complain with the other moms about decorations that aren’t up or a Pinterest masterpiece turned into burnt offering. I mean the sort of mess that buries you in shame.
I don’t mean a polite middle class mess where you roll your eyes and complain with the other moms about decorations that aren’t up or a Pinterest masterpiece turned into burnt offering. I mean the sort of mess that buries you in shame.
In the middle of a mess like that we feel entirely unloveable. We are convinced that if someone knew the truth we would be a pariah. We hide. We lie. We try frantically to clean up our chaos hoping against hope that somehow no one will notice. We tell ourselves all kinds of stories that start with "bad luck" and end with "never again" and some of them are even true. 