With us trying to sell our home, I have to stay on top of the cleaning in case a same-day showing request comes through. That alone puts a lot of pressure on me, but I also know it’s part of getting us closer to our goal—our dream house. So I hold both things at once: the stress, and the hope.
The hardest part lately has been my boys’ bedrooms.
Every single day, it feels like they reset themselves back to chaos. Toys everywhere. Dirty clothes. Trash. And somehow… Play-Doh. I genuinely don’t know how it spreads the way it does when we just cleaned. Getting them to clean it up is usually met with complaints—being tired, sick, or just not wanting to. Eventually it turns into consequences: losing tablet time, TV, being grounded. The part of parenting I hate but know is sometimes necessary.
They’ll do it, but sometimes only with adult help.
Ideally, I want them to handle it on their own. Realistically, they still need modeling. They need someone to show them what “resetting” looks like again and again until it sticks. And as exhausting as that is, I’m here for it.
So most days, my routine starts with their bedrooms.
I can’t fully move on with my day knowing that level of chaos is sitting behind closed doors. It actually feels easier to knock those rooms out first, because if a showing request does come in, I know I won’t have to spiral. The bedrooms are done. I only have to focus on whatever mess we made in the common areas that day.
And listen—people warned me that selling a house and buying a new one would be stressful. I just didn’t realize they meant this kind of stress. The kind that keeps you awake long after the house goes quiet, with anxiety sitting heavy and constant in your chest. The kind that leaves you feeling like one small disruption could be enough to send everything spiraling.
But I keep coming back to a quote I once read:
You have to sacrifice your old life in order to have a new one. That’s why everything feels like it’s falling apart during transition—it’s supposed to.
I think about that a lot when it feels like we’re floating in some strange in-between space. When chaos feels louder than usual. When frustration shows up first instead of patience.
Regulating in those moments doesn’t come naturally. It’s something I’m actively learning. But it’s freeing once you slow yourself down enough to do it. Now, when I walk into one of those messy rooms, I pause. I breathe. I take it in. Then I start—one spot at a time, section by section.
Motherhood can feel drowning when life is being watched.
You’re judged no matter what you do. One group thinks you’re too strict, another thinks you’re not strict enough. The definition of a “good parent” feels like it changes daily, and somehow you’re always behind it. So we do the only thing we really can—we show up, we put in the work, and we do what we believe is best for our kids.
I could strip their rooms down completely. Take the toys. Leave just a mattress and a week’s worth of clothes. My mom did that to me growing up. And while I’m not totally against it, it doesn’t feel right for where my kids are developmentally. It might solve one problem while creating another.
What they need more than anything is regulation. Modeling. Consistency. Accountability that actually fits them.
So for now, we keep practicing. We keep resetting. We keep learning—together.
And maybe that’s enough for this season.
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