Laundry, We Will Always Have Laundry

There is a woman—me—
with a house full of twelve people.
Alhamdulillah.
It is loud.
It is full.
It is alive.

And always—
we have a hill of laundry.

I fold. I sort.
I have my kids on folding duties.
Small hands matching socks,
older ones complaining in silence,
everyone moving somewhere between help and chaos.

And somehow,
it still multiplies in the dark.

Sometimes we fold as best as we can
and just tuck things into drawers
the ones we promise
we will revisit in six months.
Maybe.

We fold once a week,
on the weekend.
Five, six, seven,
basketfuls of clothing.
It is an everlasting job.

Sometimes, I just close my eyes
and pretend not to see it.
Sometimes, I tighten my corset
and call in my army.

In this house,
laundry is not a task.
It is a constant.
A quiet rhythm that never really ends.

But lately,
I’ve stopped fighting it.

Laundry, we will always have.
Not as a burden, but as a sign
that this house is lived in,
that bodies are growing,
that days are being used.
That life is happening here.

And maybe,
on the days when everything feels like too much,
it is enough to fold one shirt.

What is one “repeating thing” in your life that you are learning to make peace with? Sometimes, Barakah isn’t in finishing—it’s in returning, again and again, without judgment and with gentleness.