A completely unscientific investigation into Instagram, laundry, motherhood, fake organisation, and the suspicious woman who appears to have her entire life sorted.

Let’s start with a confession.

I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

There.

I said it.

And I’m willing to bet you don’t either.

Oh, you look like you do.

We all do.

That’s the trick.

Somewhere out there is a woman who has matching containers in her pantry, a clean car, beautifully folded towels, glowing skin, a successful career, emotionally well-adjusted children, a husband who apparently knows where the laundry basket is, and a fridge containing actual ingredients instead of half a lemon and three sauces.

She posted a photo this morning.

The caption said:

“Just feeling grateful. ❤️”

And you looked at it while standing in your kitchen wearing yesterday’s leggings, holding a cold cup of coffee, wondering whether the strange smell was coming from the fridge or your soul.

And you thought:

“What the hell am I doing wrong?”

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Because there is a very good chance that woman has a laundry chair too.

You know the one.

The chair.

Every woman knows the chair.

The chair that began its life as a perfectly innocent place to sit.

Then one day a cardigan landed on it.

Then a pair of jeans.

Then a bra.

Then a towel.

Then another pair of jeans because apparently the first pair had somehow become emotionally unavailable.

Eventually the chair stopped being furniture.

It became Mount Laundry.

And nobody sits there anymore.

It has been claimed.

By clothes.

Welcome to the Internet, where everyone is thriving

Social media has done something extraordinary to our brains.

We have somehow convinced ourselves that everyone else is living inside a lifestyle magazine.

Look at her!

She’s up at 5:30am.

She meditates.

She journals.

She drinks lemon water.

She exercises.

She makes a nutritious breakfast.

She packs healthy lunches.

She has a skincare routine.

She reads books.

She has meaningful conversations with her children.

She owns linen trousers.

LINEN TROUSERS.

Do you know what happens when I wear linen?

I look like I’ve been gently attacked by a washing machine.

Meanwhile, she’s standing in a sun-drenched kitchen holding a bowl of blueberries like she’s about to host a TED Talk on inner peace.

And you’re thinking:

“I should really get my life together.”

No.

You should probably stop comparing your behind-the-scenes to somebody else’s highlight reel.

Because here’s the thing about that beautiful photograph:

You can’t see the laundry pile just outside the frame.

You can’t see the argument she had five minutes before taking it.

You can’t see the child crying because their banana broke.

You can’t see the unpaid bill sitting on the counter.

You can’t see the message she’s afraid to answer.

You can’t see the fact that she hasn’t washed her hair in four days.

You can’t see the panic.

You can’t see the doubt.

You can’t see the woman behind the photograph.

You see the photograph.

And your brain fills in the rest.

She’s got it all together.

She doesn’t.

Neither do you.

Neither do I.

And frankly, I’m starting to think “having it all together” is an elaborate scam.

Because what does that even mean?

Does it mean your house is clean?

For how long?

Because I’ve cleaned my house before.

It was beautiful.

For approximately seven minutes.

Then somebody entered it.

A human being.

With feet.

And snacks.

And suddenly there was a cup on the table.

A shoe in the hallway.

A towel on the floor.

A mystery object in the bathroom.

And somehow a teaspoon in a bedroom.

WHY IS THERE A TEASPOON IN THE BEDROOM?

Nobody knows.

Nobody will ever know.

It’s now part of the family history.

The myth of the perfectly organised woman

You know those women who say:

“Oh, I just make a list.”

A list?

A LIST?

My dear woman, I have made lists.

I have lists of lists.

I have written something on a list and then spent twenty minutes looking for the list.

I have put something on my calendar and then forgotten to look at the calendar.

I have set reminders.

The reminders reminded me.

I ignored them.

At this point my phone is basically a disappointed parent.

“You have 17 things you said you’d do.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Three of them were due yesterday.”

“I know.”

“You also have 4,632 unread emails.”

“WE DON’T NEED TO TALK ABOUT THAT.”

And motherhood?

Oh, motherhood.

Motherhood is where you can simultaneously feel like the most important person in the world and also like an unpaid combination of chef, chauffeur, therapist, cleaner, detective, negotiator, nurse, event planner and snack distributor.

You can spend an entire afternoon cleaning the house.

Then your child walks through the front door.

Five minutes later:

“Where did all this mess come from?”

You look at them.

They look at you.

You both know.

But neither of you will say it.

Because apparently that’s how wars begin.

And let’s talk about cooking.

You can spend an hour making a beautiful, nutritious meal.

You put it on the table.

You feel proud.

Then somebody says:

“I don’t like it.”

You say:

“YOU ATE IT LAST WEEK.”

“I don’t like it anymore.”

“Oh.”

“What can I have?”

“Food.”

“What food?”

“THE FOOD I JUST MADE.”

“I don’t like that.”

So now you’re standing in the kitchen eating the rejected meal over the sink while making toast for someone who apparently has been starving for the past six minutes.

And somehow…

you are still the one who feels guilty.

😂

Careers aren’t much better

Then there’s work.

We’re all supposed to be ambitious.

But not too ambitious.

Successful.

But still available.

Confident.

But not intimidating.

Independent.

But not difficult.

Professional.

But warm.

Organised.

But spontaneous.

Calm.

But energetic.

Successful.

But also somehow available to make cupcakes for school on Thursday.

And if you’re working from home?

Forget it.

Everyone assumes you’re available.

Your child:

“Mom!”

Your partner:

“Where’s my charger?”

Your phone:

DING.

Your email:

DING.

Your washing machine:

BEEP.

Your brain:

“Should we panic now or wait until lunch?”

And then someone asks:

“How do you balance everything?”

Balance?

My friend.

I am not balancing.

I am juggling while standing on a moving vehicle.

And then there’s the house.

Instagram would have us believe women spend their mornings arranging eucalyptus branches in ceramic vases.

I spent my morning looking for a Tupperware lid.

I found six lids.

None matched.

This is apparently my villain origin story.

We all have those cupboards.

You open them carefully.

Something falls out.

You close the cupboard.

You decide that problem belongs to Future You.

Future You is furious.

Future You has inherited approximately 14 problems from Past You.

And Future You is tired.

Here’s the really funny part…

The woman you’re comparing yourself to?

She’s probably comparing herself to somebody else.

The woman with the perfect body is wondering why she doesn’t look like someone else.

The woman with the successful career is wondering if she’s spending enough time with her children.

The stay-at-home mom is wondering if she should have a career.

The career woman is wondering if she should slow down.

The single woman is wondering if she’ll ever find someone.

The married woman is wondering why nobody warned her that marriage involves discussing dishwasher loading techniques.

The new mom is exhausted.

The older mom is nostalgic.

The woman with children wants five minutes alone.

The woman without children gets tired of being asked when she’s having them.

The woman in her twenties thinks she’s behind.

The woman in her forties wonders where the time went.

The woman in her fifties is finally beginning to realise she doesn’t actually have to explain herself.

And somewhere in all of this…

we’re all looking sideways.

Looking at someone else’s life.

Someone else’s body.

Someone else’s marriage.

Someone else’s house.

Someone else’s career.

Someone else’s confidence.

Someone else’s Instagram.

And quietly deciding that ours isn’t enough.

Can we stop doing that?

Because maybe your house isn’t Instagram-worthy.

Maybe it’s life-worthy.

Maybe there are toys on the floor because children actually live there.

Maybe your kitchen has fingerprints on the cupboards.

Maybe your sofa has been claimed by someone who weighs 12 kilograms and refuses to move.

Maybe your garden isn’t perfect.

Maybe your hair isn’t perfect.

Maybe your body has changed.

Maybe your career isn’t where you thought it would be.

Maybe you’re still figuring things out.

Maybe you’re tired.

Maybe you’re starting over.

Maybe you’re rebuilding.

Maybe you don’t have a five-year plan.

Maybe your five-year plan currently consists of:

“Get through Tuesday.”

That’s okay.

Seriously.

It is.

And let’s talk about the lighting.

Because lighting is doing some heavy lifting out there.

Nobody looks the same under:

Bathroom light.

Nobody.

Bathroom lighting has ended friendships.

It has questioned marriages.

It has exposed pores nobody knew existed.

You can feel gorgeous all day.

Then you walk into a bathroom.

Turn on the light.

And suddenly you’re staring at a woman who looks like she has personally experienced every historical event since 1842.

Turn the light off.

She’s back.

Beautiful.

Mysterious.

Thriving.

😂

And honestly?

Life is a bit like that.

We keep judging ourselves under the worst possible lighting.

We zoom in on our flaws.

We remember our mistakes.

We replay awkward conversations.

We notice what we haven’t accomplished.

We compare our ordinary Tuesday to somebody else’s carefully selected Saturday.

And then we wonder why we feel inadequate.

Maybe the woman who “has it all together” is just better at cropping.

Maybe she’s not more successful.

Maybe you just haven’t seen her laundry.

Maybe she’s not more confident.

Maybe she’s just learned how to take the photograph from her good side.

Maybe she’s not happier.

Maybe she’s simply having a good Tuesday.

And maybe…

you’re having a difficult one.

That doesn’t make you less successful.

It makes you human.

So here’s your official permission slip.

You are allowed to have a messy house.

You are allowed to forget things.

You are allowed to change your mind.

You are allowed to have absolutely no idea what you’re doing.

You are allowed to rest.

You are allowed to say no.

You are allowed to disappoint people.

You are allowed to not answer the message immediately.

You are allowed to wear the same leggings three days in a row.

We don’t need to tell anyone about that last one.

That’s between us.

😂

You are allowed to eat the chocolate.

You are allowed to buy the dress.

You are allowed to take the nap.

You are allowed to start again.

You are allowed to be proud of yourself for things nobody else sees.

You are allowed to have a bad day without turning it into a bad life.

And you are absolutely, categorically, spectacularly allowed to not have your life together.

Because here’s what I’ve realised…

Maybe “having your life together” was never the goal.

Maybe the goal is having a life that feels like yours.

A life where you laugh.

A life where you love.

A life where you sometimes cry in the car because it’s the only quiet place available.

A life where you occasionally eat dinner standing at the kitchen counter.

A life where you make mistakes.

A life where you learn.

A life where you change.

A life where you lose yourself a little…

…and then find yourself again.

Maybe success isn’t a spotless house.

Maybe it’s getting everyone fed.

Maybe it’s getting through the difficult week.

Maybe it’s finally leaving the relationship that was breaking you.

Maybe it’s applying for the job.

Maybe it’s starting the business.

Maybe it’s asking for help.

Maybe it’s getting out of bed when everything feels heavy.

Maybe it’s looking in the mirror and deciding:

“I’m going to stop being at war with myself.”

Maybe that’s success.

And if nobody has told you lately…

You are not behind.

You are not failing.

You are not less valuable because somebody else appears further ahead.

You are not less beautiful because your body has changed.

You are not less successful because your journey looks different.

You don’t have to become somebody else to deserve happiness.

You don’t need a cleaner house.

A bigger salary.

A smaller waist.

A better relationship.

A more impressive Instagram.

A perfect morning routine.

Or a five-year plan written in colour-coded stationery.

You don’t need to have your entire life figured out.

You just need to keep living it.

Messy.

Beautiful.

Ridiculous.

Unfinished.

Real.

And remember…

The next time you find yourself scrolling through Instagram thinking:

“Everyone has their life together except me.”

Put the phone down.

Look around.

There’s probably laundry on the chair.

There’s probably a cup of coffee going cold somewhere.

There’s probably something you forgot to do.

There’s probably a message you haven’t answered.

There’s probably a cupboard you don’t want to open.

And there is probably a woman somewhere looking at your life thinking:

“She’s got it all together.”

😂

So maybe…

just maybe…

we can all stop pretending.

Because nobody has their life together.

Some people just have better lighting.

And you?

You’re doing better than you think.

🌸

You’re Worth It.

Even on the messy days.

Especially on the messy days.