The Messy Years Are the Meaningful Years

Reflection written by Jennifer Mikolyski

Three kids into my motherhood journey, I wasn't sure I was going to make it.

I stood in the living room, desperately trying to tame the tornado of yesterday's clean laundry. My four-month-old was strapped against my sweaty chest while my ears rang with the screams of my two- and three-year-old. They were fighting over the same toy for what felt like the fifth time that day. My chest tightened as I searched for the patience to teach them to love one another, but if I was honest, I felt much closer to unleashing the hurricane of stress, frustration, and exhaustion raging inside me.  

It was one of those days that are so common when you're raising young children. Sometimes it all feels like too much—the endless laundry, the meals that have to appear three times a day, the toys scattered across every room, the pressure to keep a clean house, maybe a part- or full-time job, and the constant feeling that you're somehow supposed to do it all well. Whether the expectations come from other people or from ourselves, they can be crushing.

We all navigate those seasons differently. For me, I survived them through prayer. And somewhere in those prayers, I made a decision that changed the way I approached motherhood. I stopped cleaning.

Not entirely. Don’t get me wrong, our home didn’t become disgusting, and as my children grew, they learned to help with chores, but I permitted myself to let go of perfection. One day I realized, “I’m either going to have a clean house, or I'm going to play with my kids.” During those early years, I couldn't do both without constantly feeling like I was failing at one or the other, or becoming completely overwhelmed.  

So I chose my kids. Yes, it came with moments of embarrassment. There were times I worried what people would think when they walked into my home. But the temporary discomfort of a messy house was worth the lasting gift of connection with my kids.

Now I'm five kids in—three teenagers, one preteen, and a four-year-old, I pray more than ever. I'm still in the thick of motherhood, but time has given me something I didn't have back then: perspective. As my older children have grown, they've become a reflection of the choices I made during those exhausting early years. They are, in many ways, the fruit of what worked, and the gentle reminder of what didn't.

Looking back, I have never regretted choosing relationships over perfection. I don't regret every load of laundry that sat unfolded for days or the crumbs that lingered on the kitchen floor until bedtime, or beyond. What I remember are the books we read together, the afternoons when we piled fresh laundry into a mountain and the kids climbed it like fearless mountaineers, the honest conversations that stretched past bedtime, the tickle attacks that left them breathless with laughter, and the moments when I stopped what I was doing simply to be with them.

The dishes eventually got washed. The laundry eventually got folded. The floors eventually got swept. And I created deep relationships with all of my children. Today, things aren’t perfect; my teenagers struggle, sometimes hard, but they come to me. They tell me what's on their hearts. They trust me. And that is success for me.  I could tell you many stories of the ways I failed as a mother (trust me, there are plenty). I’m grateful, though. Despite all my imperfections, I prioritized one thing that mattered most: building a relationship with my children.

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Jennifer Mikolyski

These blog posts are reflections from the Little Way community — real stories from real parents. Find out more about membership here.