I can't think of too many things more degrading than being a 27 year old woman, a mother myself, and having both my parents stage an intervention over the state of my walk in closet. Flashes me right back to my teenage years when my mom would make a day out of cleaning my room and organizing my closet. Here it is the night after Christmas and as a grown woman, 6 months pregnant, and I am at the mercy of my parents help and humiliation once again.
Granted the room off our master bedroom is really more of a laundry room/closet where the washer and dryer, water heater, and electrical box my father needs access to happens to be located. It has been a thorn in my side and source of anxiety for months. So many days I vowed to get it cleaned up once and for all, only to find myself exhausted strewn across my bed starring into the debris at the end of yet another day that has passed on my untidy existence.
We're not talking a few loads of built up laundry, the place was a full blown disaster area. I've never been the most organized person when it comes to my stuff. I have a lot of it. My mom simply calls me a slob. My husband calls me a Bag Lady. My dad just says I'm pitiful and shakes his head in disgust.
We attack bags upon bags of items containing leftover junk from cleaning out my car that never got dispersed to its proper place and put away, discarded Halloween costumes, outgrown baby clothes, pictures, old credit cards statements. OK, so I'm a pack rat. The thought of the electrician muddling his way through the forgotten items of my life was embarrassing enough to allow the troops in. After about 20 minutes of my Dad's comments on my many (many, many, many) bagged up clothes that no longer fit, depression had fully set in.
Did he not realize that each comment like "Leah, what are all these clothes?" translated in my head to "I have an entire wardrobe of clothes that I am now too fat to wear." I should just donate to them all to Goodwill now because this ass is never going to be that size again.
They mean well. When my Aunt comes over to help and ends up rewashing loads oof clean clothes left in the basket because they are too wrinkled and folding my husbands boxers, I am thoroughly humilitaed. And in no position to turn down their help, so I suck it up and accept it.
