I’m nervous y’all. And you can tell I’m nervous because I always use the phrase “y’all” when I’m nervous even though I’ve never lived further south than the Chicago suburbs.
But I have people coming over to take my picture tonight for a magazine blurb. They call it a “photo shoot”. I call it “people coming over to my house to take a picture” because it’s way less scary sounding.
I used to write about veggies and getting my kids to try to new ones for a local farm’s website a couple of years ago. Apparently this makes me a “foodie mom,” and I’m going to be in an article about such.
This is pretty exciting. It’s not something that happens every day. And yet I am so scared because there are a few things that scare me:
- Getting my picture taken
- People coming over to accomplish something when my children are all awake.
- Feeling out of control. And this is making me feel really out of control.
Arguably, I don’t need to have my whole house spotless. They are just coming to take my picture in the kitchen. But this is currently my living room. While it has been worse, this is way more than my nerves can handle today. (Notice that mic children occasionally like adding to our decor by writing words on pieces of notebook paper and hanging them on the wall with scotch tape. We are super classy.)
I used to have serious home anxiety. I would get so nervous whenever anyone would come over. My mind would race and I would be terrified that something would be out of place. Unfortunately, what often happens when we have that much anxiety about something is that we work and work and work to make things perfect until something inside of us snaps and then we give up and chaos ensues. Oh the pictures I could show of those days!
Not a fun place to be.
And so I learned to let go. I learned to let things be “good enough.” I learned that perfect houses and little children don’t mix. I learned that the less we try to be perfect, the better we become.
And I finally realized that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of my house. It doesn’t matter if people like the decor or the furniture arrangement or the fact that nearly every single item in my home has some word or phrase on it. (Hey, some of us love words.)
It doesn’t matter if other people’s homes are bigger or cleaner or fancier or trendier. Or anything really. All that matters is that it’s my home and it shelters and comforts my children and my husband and myself. And that it nourishes us. And is our refuge.
And I really do believe that. It’s not just something I’m saying to make myself feel better.
So why am I terrified of someone coming over to take a picture of me in it?
I guess it’s just the joy of human insecurities.
And the fact that my kitchen floor currently looks like this.
And that we decorate with paper leprechauns made in kindergarten and achievement shields made in preschool.
Oh well. I’ll survive. I just wish I was someone who could relax with a glass of wine afterwards. I totally would, but alcohol makes me dizzy and anxious, and so the thought of celebrating an anxious situation with wine would be a bit counter productive.
Oh well. I’m going spend the rest of the day trying to remind myself that trying to impress people with my home is silly. That all I need to be is me.
And then I’m going to go clean up that mess on my kitchen floor!