As I fold my clothes, this is something I have made time for, some sweet self care. I had left my basket of clothes in the furthest corner of my room. Close to my bed but furthest from my door, I only notice them when I sit and relax. All jumbled together in a medium sized basket, it starts to overflow on the carpet like a boiling pot left on the stove too long.
So much to say, so much running through. It just overflows like the clothes in my basket. Washed and dried multiple times but picked through only when in need. Today I came home and said “I need to fold my clothes, I’m exhausted”. Organized by delicates, shorts and extras. Present moments connected to past memories. I ask God for perseverance and discipline. I refuse to let the Devil tell my God, “see, I told you she was not strong enough”. Denied him that delight, so I poured my basket of clothes on my bed and popped soulful tunes in my head. Rapsody, speaking her damn good truth, per ush, I kinda think we’re the same. Cleanin’ up my dirty laundry, washin’ my thoughts, it’s the same. I’ve forgiven myself a million times and others plenty more, it’s called grace. If not grace, then what am I here for? We all need it. We all need love and grace and safe spaces for when our heart is at its faintest. When J.Cole said he liked foldin’ clothes, he wasn’t really talkin’ about clothes. It took me 5 hours to fold my clothes. 5 hours digesting my soul.
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