The Bare White Wall: Hosting Without the Shame

One thing I’ve learned in my work as a professional organizer is the rarely spoken-of shame that clients feel about their spaces. And I can’t help but empathize.

Becoming a mom has brought me the gift of connecting with other families in my town whose children are the same age as my son. Play dates, supportive commiserating, and a bit of light bickering about our partners helped me through the trenches of parenting a demanding young child. Yet I had a hard time inviting these neighbors and their families over for a full, proper meal, as is the custom where I live. These are my close mom-friends, whose children are my son’s besties, the women I connect and share with regularly. And still, a film of shame stalled me from the lightness that comes with connecting with friends in your own home.

The shame didn’t come from untidiness. Nope. It was rooted in an imaginary benchmark of value that I had self-designated as worthy. My neighbors’ homes all felt so effortlessly homey and welcoming, with what seemed like zero effort. My illogical inner voice would scream: “We don’t have enough room to host everyone!” “The kids will be bored at our house; we don’t have nearly enough toys.” “The fridge isn’t big enough for drinks for eight people.” “You’re no good at decorating; that wall has been empty and stark white for over ten years!”

My road blocks weren’t about cleanliness or a house overflowing with stuff, but I know that voice well. It’s the one that says you are not good enough, and your home isn’t up to scratch to have people in it. Here’s what I’ve come to see: my shame was never about the mess. It was about the story I told myself about my home. And it’s the very same story I hear from clients, time and time again.

We so often put ourselves last on the list of priorities, and our homes are no different. I’ll wear those jeans when I lose those pesky four kilos. I’ll book that vacation when I can finally save the money. I’ll start eating better when life is easier. I’ll take care of myself when everyone else is in their rhythm. I’ll sort those old trinkets my mom gave me when I have a free weekend. I’ll go through those bags of baby clothes when my son has kids of his own. I’ll file those papers when I find the time to set up a system. I’ll invite my friends when I feel unabashedly proud of my home.

This is a perfectly normal narrative. But it can keep us from the peace and serenity our spaces and lives deserve. Twenty boxes of kids’ clothing in the basement? No problem. But are those boxes taking up the space where you’ve wanted to put a home gym for five years? Then there’s the issue. I often see people’s lives hindered by the accumulation of belongings and the demands they place on precious space. We only have so much of it. Every possession adds to our story, and at some point the excess can become too dense for us to hold. We’re left feeling utterly overwhelmed, with a fresh sprinkle of shame on top.

Whether shame shows up as a basement full of boxes or a bare white wall, the answer is the same: stop waiting for the conditions to be perfect, and make room, literal or emotional, for the life you actually want.

So this year, I’ve invited all three of my neighborhood mom-friends and their families for a Thanksgiving feast in my home. That empty wall is still blaring white. I have no idea where everyone will sit or how I’ll keep all the white wine chilled. But gathering in our homes is about so much more than being organized or perfectly tidy, and a stressed-out, anxious host is sure to put guests ill at ease. So I’m letting go of the shame, embracing the imperfection, and feeling the lightness this path of organization has brought me.

Bring on the turkey and the shameless celebrations.

Monika, All In Order