Share Your Mess

*This post is inspired by the thoughts and words of Kitty Kistler, Aurie Good of Our Good Life and Lisa Restaino of CreativeLEI and women like them who make me feel like my mess is OK and normal.share your mess jkmcguire

We are tired of it. We are tired of Instagram feeds of perfection. We are tired of Pinterest-worthy everything.

You know what I am talking about: the perfectly staged fruit on a plate next to the recently manicured hand with the morning’s flawless journal notes.

I am seriously over it.

I love seeing your recently finished artwork and your children’s faces and that beautifully-tiled kitchen and even that staged living room has its place,

BUT could you also throw in some REAL?

Because what the world needs is MORE REAL.

I NEED to see your real.

I don’t want to see your perfect, photoshopped body -unless that is true for you. What I really need to see is your truth: lumps, bumps, scars, and stretches.

If you do not have any of those things GO YOU. Rock it.

But if you have dimples and wrinkles, thighs that touch, and freckles can we stop editing it all out?

Can we finally fight back that tendency to hide and instead show our true selves?

One of my favorite Instagram feeds to follow is the plus-sized girls – because they are rocking LIFE in lingerie, tiaras, and heels. ROCKING LIFE!

I want to see messy people – rocking dimpled butts and messy kitchens and dirt-covered children.

Life is too short for scripted perfection.

We don’t need more refined women leading fine-dining lives – WE DESPERATELY NEED REAL.

We need more meatloaf, mac-n-cheese, chicken nuggets … sometimes life is hard truth women.

a moment in my shoes jkmcguire

My Messy Life

We moved into our new house in the city of Baltimore last October it is NOT fresh and new in any sense of the word

  • the master bath is hideous (watch my instagram feed for proof),
  • the kitchen is from the 1980s (no decor from the 80s should still be an option in life)
  • the carpet in the family room used to be tan, but has faded to light green
  • the landscaping is overrun
  • the hardwood floors on the second level are OLD and creaky and so not shiny
  • there are cracks in the walls
  • the basement floods
  • the upstairs bathroom shower doesn’t even work
  • and there are mouse turds in the kitchen… mouse poop, people!

Six weeks after our move we welcomed our fifth child into our barely unpacked house it was the perfect delivery however fast-forward 12 days to my hospitalization for a Pulmonary Embolism and the slow recover that followed through December, January, February, and into March.

This is LIFE unscripted and messy.


We never do anything small or easy…. #firstbornsyndrome #itbecomesaproject #canyoufindMatt

A photo posted by Jessica K. McGuire (@jessicakmcguire) on

Learning is happening in all that chaos #homeschool #howweroll #curbingwinterboredom

A photo posted by Jessica K. McGuire (@jessicakmcguire) on

NOTHING is perfect in this house.

We can’t even begin to keep up appearances that it might be.

MY LIFE is painful and gasping breaths and grateful in the midst of messes.

In this house we do messes. And most days we do messes amazingly well.

It is the one thing we have a good grip on…

messy birthday reality jkmcguire

I grew up in a house that was perfect. EVERY room was clean, organized, recently polished and buffed. BUT my mom didn’t play with us.

She did what generations of housewives did before her… she kept up appearances.

Fast forward to the present the older, wiser women in my family do not come into my house shaming me for what it looks like.

And I have stopped needing to hide it from them.

Instead they have let me off the hook with these words, “I wish that I had played more and cleaned less.”

SO you are off the hook too. I am letting you off the hook.

Many of us grew up being raised by women whose home defined them. How clean it was – shaped what other women thought of them, what it said about their housekeeping abilities.

A whole generation of women were defined by how clean and organized their house appeared, how good their kids looked and behaved, how satisfied their menfolk were, and what they managed to put on the table every night by 5.

And then there are women like me.

Here I am shouting, “I have messes. I am OK with my mess.

And it doesn’t matter to me what my mess says about me.

OR what you think my mess says about me.”

I believe a messy house says, “Someone lives here and we have fun living.”

In this house we aren’t worried about what you think of us… because your mess is welcome too.

Bring your mess.

My door is wide open.

With that invitation in mind I encourage you to share your mess.

We’ll be gathering together on Instagram with the hashtag #shareyourmess #mondaymesses in hopes of redeeming womanhood, personhood, families, mothering and messes everywhere.

Don’t be shy. Share what you’ve got. The only rule is there are no rules.

You’ll be surprised at HOW NOT CRAZY you really are.

#becauseweNEEDeachother #redeemingthechaos




*ps no amazing housewives were harmed in the making of this post – YOU ROCK THAT TOO.

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