Sorry, Not Sorry: Why Women Shouldn't Have To Apologize For Being Messy (Among Other Things)
I never make my bed (because why would I?), I often forget to throw out my Starbucks cup when I finish it and I’d venture to say that you can most likely always find an extra coat (or two) somewhere in the backseat of my car. I’m messy (not dirty), a bit disheveled and kind of all over the place.
I always wished for the ability to pull my hair in to a high ponytail without any bumps or loose pieces and the skill to color-code my notes by highlighter. I try to keep my closet color-coordinated and organized, and often wake up praying that my tangled necklaces won’t be so deeply knotted together that they’re un-wearable. There seems to be no clear line drawn in any aspect of my life, whether the aspect in question is in or out of my control — everything just sort of blurs together. I don’t even have a clear zodiac sign or eye color — I’m an Aries-Taurus cusp child and my eyes change from green to brown.
At various points, I’ve been called unstable, messy and weird — I embrace all three of these things, as I’ve never completely fit a mold. My beliefs, my feelings and my adorations are all jumbled; everything for which I stand and everything that makes me who I am is cluttered. Those who know themselves best know that objectively, nothing about the incongruity of their emotions makes much sense.
My lack of organizational skills used to embarrass me and at times, I felt as though they were inhibiting me. I used to always apologize for my moderate illegibility whenever a classmate asked to borrow my notes or for the appearance of hangers and clothing on my floor when someone came in to my bedroom.
No matter how hard I tried to be organized or exceptionally neat, I failed miserably. And it wasn’t until I drew the correlation between my outward display of disorganization and my ever-changing, fluid internal environment that I realized I needed to apologize for nothing; in fact, I had every reason to be proud.
So, I’m not sorry for leaving my papers on my desk and for the part in my hair being completely uneven. I’m not sorry for being emotionally unstable when I’m going through a tough time or because I haven’t yet had my daily fix (well, my twice-daily fix) of caffeine. I’m not sorry for wearing my heart on my sleeve at all times and sometimes facing the unfortunate repercussions of having it broken.
My life is chaotic and my relationships and circumstances are dynamic. I’m far from perfectly put together, but I’m even further from being boring. Life isn’t supposed to be neat, it’s supposed to kind of be a mess. That’s the beauty in the uniqueness of all of our journeys: If you approach your life as a puzzle in which you have to fit all of the pieces together perfectly — a puzzle with one definite solution — well then, your life is completely imitable. And what’s the fun in that?
Thank the people who tell you that the instability of your life makes it difficult for them to keep you around. Also, thank the people who make snarky comments about your blaring disorganization. And finally, thank the people who are frightened by your blunt honesty and your ability to vocalize and display your emotions and thoughts, as all over the place as they may be.
They’re the ones who are telling you that you’re not boring, that you keep everyone else on their toes. Behind the negativity is deep admiration; they’re applauding you for being authentically yourself.
If you’re able to be honest enough with yourself to admit that you don’t always have it put together perfectly, you should embrace that, because no one does. No one is “on” 100 percent of the time and no one’s life stays ordered and organized every minute of every day.
Thrive in the grey area; make a home inside of it. Love every bit that makes you the messy blend that you are. So, wake up tomorrow morning and don’t make your bed.
Photo via We Heart It