To the friend who invited me over without picking her house up beforehand . . . thank you. 

You had no way of knowing, but I’ve been especially weighed down by the feeling of “I can’t keep up” lately—and when I walked into your beautiful home and saw dishes in the sink and laundry scattered here and there, I let out the deepest exhale I didn’t even realize I was holding in. 

Because seeing your mess? Your less-than-perfect? It didn’t make me think any differently of you, but it did allow me to give myself the grace I desperately needed.

I felt instantly lighter—almost as if someone had just whispered in my ear, “See? It’s normal. You’re doing just fine.” 

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Friend, if I’m being honest—sometimes I feel like it’s just me. 

Like I’m the only one who can’t keep my house clean while also mom-ing and wife-ing and career-ing. 

And it’s not just the physical mess. It’s the emotional and mental messes too. 

I get this idea in my head (and maybe you do too) that life is supposed to look a little more polished. 

It’s why we plaster smiles on our faces and automatically say, “Good!” when someone asks how we’re doing.

It’s why we try to say yes to too many obligations and convince ourselves that we can do it all, even though we’re actually drowning deep down inside.

It’s why we don’t tell the whole truth on the hard days—that we’re overwhelmed. We’re worried about something going on with our kids. We’re upset about a disagreement with our significant other from that morning. We’re feeling like a failure in some area of our life.

But when someone gives us a glimpse of their own truth—either their unswept floor or the chaos in their heart—it gives us permission to be real too. 

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So here’s to the friends who show their mess.

Here’s to the ones who have to move a pile of stuff out of their front seat when I climb into the car beside them.

Here’s to the friends who are vulnerable enough to admit when they’re struggling. The ones who don’t feel the need to always fake happiness. They’re the kind who look at me with genuine concern when they can tell something is off and gently say, “But how are you actually doing?” when I say I’m fine.

Here’s to the ones who show up a few minutes late to our coffee date, sometimes with a stained shirt and unwashed hair tucked under a ball cap.

Here’s to the friends who I can have real conversations with—the kind that go deeper than small talk and sometimes end in tears and snotty noses. 

Here’s to the friends who will come sit on my messy couch with me and listen as I talk about the messiest parts of my heart.

These are the friends who understand when I don’t text back right away—either because I genuinely don’t have time or because I don’t have the mental or emotional capacity at the moment.

They don’t judge. They don’t gossip. They don’t keep score.

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They give me so much grace when I mess up—the same grace I do my best to extend back to them.

I’m beyond blessed with so many wonderful people in my life, but it’s the friends who aren’t afraid to show me their messy parts who I value most. It’s with them that I can truly be myself, and that’s everything.

Here’s to the friends whose authentic presence makes me breathe a little easier. 

You bring more to my life than I can ever say, and I am forever grateful for you.