This past week at Bible study, I sat at a table with six amazing women discussing clutter. We all have it—the piles, the shoes (my personal nemesis), the never-ending pile of preschool artwork, the loads of laundry. And we all have that one closet we’d be horrified if someone opened, am I right?
I’ve never really thought much beyond what it physically is…stuff. Things. Junk. But as the seven of us shared and dug a little deeper into our clutter, some truths began to surface that went much deeper than piles of Kindergarten worksheets and that box of clothes we can’t let go of because “someday” we might fit back into it.
Our conversation shifted from Container Store bins and organizational tips to much bigger things like guilt and shame and vulnerability. There were common threads – the excessive amount of toys our children have that they don’t play with, the hoarding tendencies of family members, the hand-me-down pile up. But the biggest thing we revealed was the shame and anxiety we have over entertaining.
What struck me the most was how this physical clutter and the way we feel because of it has ultimately separated us from community with those around us. We fear that if our houses don’t look Instagram-worthy and pristine, we’ll be judged or seen as unfit hosts. We can’t fathom asking our friends to sit at a table without a Pottery Barn centerpiece.
I grew up in a home where we had people over all the time. Weekends were a revolving door of friends, babysitters, and neighbors. I could walk two houses down to play with one friend and two blocks to play with another. I had several “bonus moms” whose license plate numbers I can still recite because that’s how much time I spent in their cars.
It took me years to realize what a gift that was, but at the time, it was just normal. If I wanted to invite a friend to our house on a Saturday afternoon with 15-minutes notice, there were no great logistics involved. No one was concerned with how presentable the house was. We simply called their house, and they showed up.
When did we make it so complicated?
I have a lot of wonderful memories from childhood in my friends’ homes. You know what I have exactly zero memories of? Mess. Or the décor and organization (or lack of) in my friends’ homes. (Okay, there was this one really creepy chicken statue that sat in one friend’s kitchen, and I only remember that because I felt like it was watching me all the time.)
As for clutter? I’m sure it was there, but do you know how much it mattered to me? ZERO. And I can assure you that my 90’s bonus moms did NOT waste their time cleaning counters and vacuuming floors right before five second-graders descended for a sleepover. They simply knew better. They threw some sleeping bags, pizza, and Blockbuster videos out on the living room floor, and moved on with their lives. Ain’t nobody got time for the Dyson.
Here’s the thing, friends. We all say we want authentic connection, but we are so consumed by appearances and perfection that we are not willing to open our lives and our homes to those around us. One thing I know to be true? Nobody wants to be friends with the Cleavers. If we insist on waiting until we have the perfect home and a clutter-free life before we can invite people in, we’ll be waiting forever.
To be fair, vulnerability is hard, scary even, but it’s also a bridge. It’s at the heart of connection. To let people into our mess, into our struggle, and into our homes says to them, “It’s okay to be you. You don’t have to be perfect here.”
What freedom there is in that!
We don’t have to have it all together to invite others in. Don’t miss out on the joy of connection because you’re afraid of people seeing the real you. To be truly seen and known and accepted anyway? I’m not sure I can think of a greater gift.
