"You know how I was telling you that to be a good parent, after you spank your child, you pray with them? Well, I think after you get an emotional spanking, you need to be prayed with too."

These were wise words from my husband today after I received my personal equivalent of an "emotional spanking."

The long and short of it is, I got told today that I don't keep the house well enough. Someone actually cried about it. Not to me. But to Stephen's grandma.

So Grandma came and spoke to us about it in her little apartment. She kept a fairly impartial attitude about it, for which I'm thankful. But it still felt like someone stuck a knife right at me, personally.

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Let me set something straight.

Disclaimer: The following are not pictures of my mom's actual house. But they are the most similar pictures I could find to my mom's house after Google searching "hoarder house." So please look at these, put yourself in my shoes, and imagine living there. For 22 years.

LIVING ROOM

KITCHEN

Add three cats that have "marking" wars, a dog, a huge sewing and crafting supply collection, and dozens of boxes of "'skinny' clothes I might fit into someday," and you've got an idea of my mom and the house I grew up in.

The food in the fridge was never fresh, and definitely not what you could call sustenance (think sauces, spreads, rotten vegetables, three-week-old leftovers, and milk). It was so crowded that things would spill and no one would discover it for months. We had a tiny countertop dishwasher that we washed our plates, cups, and silverware in, but everything else, including the pots and pans used in preparing the food, sat in the sink until Mom ran out of things to prepare food with.

I wish I were exaggerating.

Anyway.

So it's been my lifelong goal to be "a better housekeeper than my mother." I'm very, very proud of myself for being strong and not keeping my house the way she does. But as you can see, the bar is set very low, and I don't get really, really far above it. There is a definite difference between her house and mine, sure, but it is probably still not quite up to "normal" standards. It doesn't even touch the way Stephen's grandma used to keep it. Keeping a clean house is very important to her.

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So, needless to say, hearing about the comment today on my poor housekeeping skills felt like a slap in the face, and because I know there's some truth to it, I've been pretty depressed all day. I did clean up. We undecorated the tree and took it down, I vacuumed the carpet, put dishes in the dishwasher. But it always takes a day or two to shake the depression that hits when something like this happens. The whole time I'm wondering how I can do better, I'm thinking of what a failure I am. Not very motivating long-term.

So Stephen prayed for me, and I felt a lot better. But my pride is still very hurt. I wish Grandma knew the house I grew up in. I wish the person that made the comment knew what kind of house I grew up in. I wish I could somehow reclaim some dignity by telling them. :/ But what difference would it make? I still don't keep house well enough. And an inkling of grace and sympathy from the offenders would only encourage me to stay lazy. There is nothing more motivating to me to be a better person than fear of other people's displeasure.

Am I now trying to win the approval of men or of God?

Men. It's always men for me.

:(

-Stephanie

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