Exposed
By Simone Griffin
@sincerelysimoneg
It’s Saturday morning—our weekly household cleaning time. My husband and I wake with intentions of fueling up on coffee and taking turns entertaining the baby, while we divide and conquer the house. We furiously tackle the kitchen, scrub the bathrooms, and go to war with the army of laundry that seems to multiply in size, attack us, and humble us every time we feel victorious for completing a load.
I’m seven months pregnant with an achy back and a multitude of physical limitations that serve as a good excuse to let my husband take on the most tedious chore of all—cleaning our shower. He carries the cleaning caddy upstairs, only to return a few minutes later. The expression on his face reveals a sense of overwhelm that I’m assuming has to do with the state of our bathroom.
“Did you already finish? Do you need more cleaner?”
I ask this slightly annoyed with the fact that he seems to be stalling. If I could do it myself, I would and it’d be finished already. His gift is thoroughness; mine is efficiency.
My husband sighs.
“I’m gonna wipe it down to tide us over. But I think it’s time to go ahead and hire someone for a deep clean,” he says. “I got a recommendation from a friend. I’ll start price checking.”
With a nonchalant shrug, I give him an “okay” and return to completing my downstairs cleaning duties. I pause for a moment and consider his suggestion. We’ve been discussing hiring someone for a monthly deep clean of the house since we got pregnant with our first baby. I'm grateful we have the option of hiring help, but I'm confident we can keep a three bedroom home clean on our own.
***
After a long day, I release my joys and sorrows beneath the consuming waters of a hot shower. I look down at my protruding belly that has already grown massive enough to obstruct my view of my feet. But there are a few things my pregnant stomach can’t block out. My eyes reluctantly move their way to the corners of the shower, landing on the ring of mold forming along both sides. Didn’t we just scrub our shower floor a few weeks ago?
Feeling slightly defeated, I rush through my night time routine and collapse next to my husband in bed.
“You know, I think you’re right about this being a good time to hire some help,” I finally say. “Even if it's just to see how we like the service, before the baby is born. I’ll get in touch with the lady a few of my friends recommended.
Here’s the thing about my approach to cleaning: I am undeniably tidy, but not necessarily clean. My unspoken motto is something like: “If it appears clean to the eyes of a visitor, it’s clean enough.” Besides, what person outside of our household has any business digging beyond the surface to judge our level of cleanliness?
I have sparkling white countertops, but a microwave whose specks of food reflect every meal we have warmed up throughout the week. I have hand lettered labels and designated spaces for most of my pantry shelf items, but a two-week-old drop of cheese that burns at the bottom of the oven every time we preheat it. I regularly “Marie Kondo” our drawers, but leave a heap of laundry in the dryer for more days than I’d like to admit. My shelves are styled and balanced, but you don’t have to get too close to see the dust.
***
The doorbell rings 15 minutes earlier than anticipated. In a frenzy, I have been collecting toys off of the floor, wiping the kitchen down, and shoving the pile of dishes from the sink into the dishwasher. My husband comes down to answer the door and sees me organizing the shoes in our entryway.
“Are you really trying to clean the house before the cleaning service sees it?” he asks. His eyes widen and he shakes his head in disapproval.
“I’m just picking up a bit so that it looks decent, they don’t trip over toys, and we don’t look disgusting,” I snap back. How dare he question my quick attempt to make our house presentable?
But what he said made me pause. Did it make sense to try to disguise the daily chaos of our home, when the cleaning company would likely see the places we have neglected to clean, anyway? Weren’t they coming precisely for the purpose of helping? And why did their perception matter to me so much? What is it that makes me want to hide my mess and look more polished than I really am, even to people I don’t know?
***
I remember being a teenager, highly consumed with pop culture, and I’d take notice of the magazines strategically strung along the shelves of the checkout lines during grocery store visits. Copies of People and US magazine plastered the faces of celebrities with the headline “EXPOSED!” The subheadings would reveal embarrassing facts about plastic surgeries, hidden affairs, and other unpleasant information that might put their character into question. While I was always interested in learning about the advertised dirt and drama, I also wondered how violating and helpless it must feel to be out of control, as the world around you makes judgements and assumptions about your life.
These days, motherhood often leaves me feeling like those celebrity faces on the magazines lining the checkout aisles—out of control and unable to avoid my mess being exposed to the world.
I felt exposed when my newborn struggled to latch as I breastfed in a hospital room full of people. I felt exposed each time the daycare had to remind me that he was running out of a change of clothes, diapers, or wipes. And I felt exposed when breast milk stains would seep through my work shirts, due to a missed pumping session.
These challenges—big and small—often leave me feeling like a visitor has seen the crumbs hiding behind the doors of my well-kept, white kitchen cabinets. Like I’m a fraud, I want to appear tidy and unshaken, as though I possess more order than chaos.
I find myself measuring my worth as a mother by my ability to hold everything together. But when that security is threatened, I feel out of control of my life and afraid of others seeing me struggle or fail.
Motherhood exposes the imperfections in my home and in my heart.
I can choose to acknowledge my mess and ask for help cleaning it up. Or, I can attempt to hide my mess and be content with the false appearance of perfection. When I make the first choice, I make peace with my humanity and limitations. When I make the second choice, I continue to convince myself that everything is okay when in reality—mold is festering in the crevices and becomes a health hazard to myself and the people I love.
Internally or externally, my surface level cleaning is never sufficient. It is my pretend protection and false security. It masks my mess, but never eradicates its existence.
So, I hired someone to scour the filth on the shower floor, but I was also motivated to take an honest look at the areas in my mothering that could use a more frequent wipe down.
I’m allowing my husband to pick up tasks from my to do list, rather than pridefully taking on too much out of the belief that I can do it better. I’m asking friends for prayers on the days when power struggles with a toddler deplete me. I’m saying yes to the offer of someone else briefly entertaining my son so that my pregnant body can rest. I’m setting up a therapy appointment to release the insecurities and traumas that influence the way that I parent.
***
My husband walks out of our sparkling white bathroom with a beaming smile.
“I haven’t seen the shower floor or shower door this clean since we moved in!”
I take a peek and agree that it looks brand new. We walk around the rest of the house, smiles beaming, pleased with what we see. I pull out my phone and send a text to the cleaning service:
“Thanks so much for coming to help us. Everything looks great and we will definitely contact you again.”
My body melts onto the couch. Kicking my feet up and closing my eyes, I inhale the aroma of a freshly cleaned house and exhale relief. If being exposed yields this feeling, I’d say it’s worth the risk.
Guest essay written by Simone Griffin. Simone is a former counselor and newly turned stay-at-home mom. In the margins, she writes on her blog, creates calligraphy for her Etsy shop, and spreads encouragement on Instagram. Online and in real life, her mission is to lead women to seek Christ+counseling. Simone loves exploring local coffee shops with her husband, but these days, they take their coffee homemade and reheated. Simone is the author of Glimmers of Hope: A Devotional Workbook for Navigating the Struggles of Womanhood with Grace.
Photo by Ashlee Gadd.