We stepped into her foyer and into a beautifully perfect home. Nothing out of place. The little green envy monster tried to bare it’s teeth, but I gave it a swift kick and told it to sit down and shut up. She lead us into her family room/kitchen. My mouth tried to go slack and hang open, but I kept it hinged closed. Barely, just barely. And then I died a little on the inside. She likely didn’t even realize she’d done it. Deep breaths. Don’t let insecurity in. But there it is, in all its glory. I secretly tell insecurity to cover up. No exposing itself to others like that. It’s rude and crass. I make a vow then and there to do my best to not do this to other women. To not feed their insecurities.
It was a simple sentence uttered.
“Please excuse my mess.”
What mess? Seriously, does she really think this home of mass perfection is a mess?
Is that just what we’re supposed to say when someone comes over? Is it ingrained so deep within each of us that we don’t recognize it for what it truly is?
I kinda feel like throat punching her when she says that, but that wouldn’t be very Christian of me.
I hate to be bearer of bad news, but it’s pride, ladies. Plain and simple. Pride masquerading as humility.
And it’s breeding ugliness within other women. Breeding in the way Gremlins massively produce when just a drop of water hits them.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
When this statement is made, other women instantly think, “If THIS is messy, she’s never coming to my house!” Or, “Oh my gosh, she’s been to my house. She must think we’re disgusting pigs. Ugh.”
My old house with it’s broken tiles and old carpet. My house full of boys where you never know what secret thing might fall from the ceiling. My house where there may be dust and certainly things out of place. My house with the second hand furniture that’s stained. My house that’s not good enough.
What must these women think when they come over? Are they disgusted? Will I be allowed to hang out with them once they see my imperfect home? Will they see beyond my home and see ME? Am I worthy? Will they talk about me and my home behind my back? Insecurity. Check! Failure! Check.
And insecurity dances around my living room, yelling, “Yes! Yes! Gotcha! haha Gotcha again!”
Tangled in the web of insecurity with one simple sentence.
Once again, I get to claw my way out. Sometimes the battle is easy and I cut myself straight out of the web of lies. Other times it’s bloody and a real battle.
It has to stop.
We have to rise above as women and stop doing this to each other.
Stop apologizing for a mess that doesn’t exist.
When someone compliments your home a simple, “Thank you” will suffice.
Because we see through your false statement. Your home is lovely and we know it. You’ve been blessed and clearly, you have figured out how to keep the house organized and nice. And we’d rather know your secrets than have you lie to our faces.
We should expect better from each other. We expect the truth.
If you raced around all day to get the house in shape, great. Say that. If you didn’t, don’t try to convince us with that story. If you’re naturally a neat freak, own it. But please, start telling the truth.
Women have the power to build up other women. Let’s do that.
Your truth may be that the house is a mess in your eyes. But let’s just agree to eliminate this sentence from all of our mouths, mmkay? Let’s agree that we’ll refrain from that one sentence so that we don’t stir insecurity in others. Deal?
What do you think when you hear this statement when you enter someone’s home? Does it breed insecurity in you? Are you guilty of it? I am. I’ll be honest.