I Left the Kitchen Dirty and Went Upstairs Anyway

Dear Delyara, Not because I was lazy. Because I was becoming mean. That’s how I knew it was time to stop. There were still dishes. The cutting board. Two lunch containers. A pot soaking. Crumbs under the toaster. I could have done it all in fifteen more minutes if I was willing to pay with the last gentle part of myself. I wasn’t. So I turned the light off and went upstairs. Halfway up the stairs, the guilt rose up like it always does. The familiar voice: good mothers don’t leave work behind; responsible women finish the room they started; if you can see the mess, how can you go to bed? I kept walking. And the next morning, the kitchen was still there. So was my kindness. That is not a small victory to me.