My relationship with laundry

Let me tell you about a relationship. Not a glamorous, heartwarming one, but a relationship that’s been with me through thick and thin: my relationship with Laundry.

Laundry and I go way back. In fact, it probably knew me before I even realized it existed. My first real encounter with Laundry was when I was about five years old. That’s when my mom introduced me to the idea of putting clothes in the hamper. I’ll admit, it seemed like a simple task at the time, and I remember feeling a little thrill as I tossed my clothes into the big brown hamper with the broken lid.

As I got older, Laundry started to get more complicated. I was taught how to sort clothes, fold them, and eventually how to use the washer and dryer. By the time I hit high school, I thought I had it all figured out. I could do laundry on my own, whenever I wanted. It made me feel so grown-up—like I was ready to tackle the world. Little did I know, that was just the calm before the storm.

Then came college. That’s when Laundry really started to mess with me. At first, things seemed pretty easy. I had a laundry basket, detergent, and dryer sheets. The basket was neon green and sized perfectly for carrying all my laundry down the hall to the dorm laundry room. It doubled as my hamper, so I’d always know when it was time to do laundry.

Armed with quarters and a naive hope for perfectly folded clothes, I entered the world of adulthood with excitement. But reality hit hard, and fast. My college days of carefree independence quickly came to an end. Laundry lured me in with its promises of easy freedom, only to leave me tangled up in frustration. I’d been spoiled as a kid. Someone else always took care of my laundry—buying detergent, paying for utilities, and dealing with everything else. I never gave it a second thought.

But now? Now I had to do it all myself. No more family hampers to magically fill with clean clothes. No free detergent or dryer sheets. I was suddenly drowning in laundry, trying to make sure I had clean clothes to wear for the week, let alone enough underwear. Then, came marriage and soon kids. Suddenly, I wasn’t just doing my own laundry—I was taking care of someone else’s too. That brought even more laundry into the mix.

The system we had at home was a mess but it somehow worked good enough to get us through. The kids would bring their bursting hampers down, and I’d haul them to the laundry room. After washing their clothes, I’d return them to the hampers, and they’d sort through them and put them away. Meanwhile, the adult laundry? If it wasn’t dry cleaning that I would get delivered, it would end up piling up in the laundry room. It would stay in piles around the laundry room—clean, but not quite put away. When it did get put away, it was a rushed, messy process.

I could go on about how Laundry has wreaked havoc on my life—the times I prayed for my clothes to dry in time, or the many instances when I’d forget to hit start on the washer or dryer. I’ve had stinky washers, forgotten loads, and damp clothes that I swore would never get dry. But I’ll spare you the details and just say this:

I’ve had enough. I refuse to let Laundry control me anymore.

My strategy for battling laundry: pick one day a week for laundry. Instead of doing laundry every day, commit to just one laundry day. I know, you’re probably rolling your eyes, thinking this is impossible. But trust me—give it a try. This was a gamechanger for me in dealing with laundry. Fold clothes straight out of the dryer, and take them immediately to where they belong.

You can beat Laundry. You just have to believe in yourself. Hang in there, and you’ll conquer it. Thanks for listening to my rant.