Living Life Out of the Laundry Basket

Living Life Out of the Laundry Basket

By: Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

There is a silent despair that clings to the soul when one begins to live life out of the laundry basket. Not just in the physical sense, but spiritually, emotionally, and mentally this state of existence mirrors something far deeper than untidy habits or disorganized schedules. It reveals a life suspended between exhaustion and survival, where structure has collapsed, self-connection has frayed, and the sacred link to the Creator has been reduced to an afterthought only revisited when the stench of spiritual neglect becomes too pungent to ignore.

You wake up and reach for whatever’s on top wrinkled, worn, familiar. Not because it’s what suits you, but because it’s what’s available. That’s how many of us live: grabbing at whatever thoughts, behaviors, or temporary comforts are within reach, regardless of whether they align with our higher purpose. We live out of habit, not intention. We exist out of routine, not revelation. We speak from reaction, not reflection. The deeper folds of our being those buried pieces of insight, love, purpose, and calling remain untouched, left at the bottom of the basket, waiting to be acknowledged, waiting to be folded into something meaningful.

Living life out of the laundry basket is like wearing your soul inside out. You stop taking the time to examine yourself. You stop dressing yourself with peace, with mindfulness, with prayer. And just like that pile of clothes that builds over time tossed, crumpled, overlooked your spiritual life begins to pile up. Regrets, unspoken prayers, delayed healing, unresolved anger, ignored callings, lost intimacy with your Creator. Before you know it, your inner world smells stale, heavy, and burdensome.

You tell yourself you’ll sort it all out eventually. Maybe on Sunday. Maybe after the next mistake. Maybe when things get better. But the longer you wait, the more the pile grows. The more tangled it becomes. And the less you want to face it. And that’s the trick of living this way you get so used to disorder, you convince yourself it’s normal. You become spiritually numb. You forget the feeling of being clean not perfect, but clean. Not ironed out by life, but washed in divine grace, folded with sacred purpose.

Some of us grew up like this emotionally wearing what we were handed, never taught how to sort our feelings, never encouraged to sit still with the Creator. We were just told to keep going, keep doing, keep moving. But going and doing and moving without being rooted only leads to burnout. And soon, even the strongest faith feels like a tattered shirt full of holes, thin from wear, barely holding on.

I remember as a child, my grandmother Celestine would fold clothes with an unmatched grace, almost like a ceremony. Every wrinkle mattered, every crease was honored. She used to say, "Don't toss what still carries warmth." That stuck with me. Not just about fabric, but about people. About memories. About prayer. She saw folding as a form of love of restoration. I realize now, the same applies to our souls.

And yet, there is hope. There is always hope. Because even the laundry basket holds the truth that things can be made new again. But it takes effort. It takes intention. It takes the courage to pause and say: I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep picking up whatever’s closest whatever mindset, whatever coping mechanism, whatever lie about my worth is easiest to wear. I want to cleanse. I want to release. I want to reconnect.

The Creator is not ashamed of your laundry basket. The Divine doesn’t require you to be folded before you are embraced. But the Creator does long for your wholeness. For your peace. For your spiritual hygiene. And there is a love so tender, so patient, that it will meet you in the middle of your mess, sit with you among the pile, and help you sort through it, item by item, piece by piece, breath by breath.

Living out of the laundry basket means you’ve been functioning without structure, without intention, without reverence. But that doesn’t have to be the end of your story. The moment you return to the sacred task of caring for your inner garments your thoughts, your emotions, your time, your connection to God is the moment the energy begins to shift. You don’t have to fold everything at once. Start with one piece. Lay it out. Smooth it gently. Thank it for how it’s covered you in hard times. Then release what no longer serves. Let it go. Or wash it again, if that’s what’s needed.

Maybe you're tired. Maybe you feel like you're not even worth folding. But you are. You're worth every second of divine attention. You're worth more than a rushed rinse in regret. You are worth being restored, carefully and lovingly.

The point is: don’t keep walking past the mess. Don’t keep grabbing what’s easiest. Don’t keep pretending you don’t see the pile growing inside. Life will always get wrinkled. Your soul will always need maintenance. But disorder doesn’t have to become your identity. The laundry basket may describe where you are, but it does not define who you are. You are sacred. You are loved. You are worthy of being tended to.

So pause. Breathe. Take stock. Talk to the Creator. Fold one truth into your day. Fold one prayer into your morning. Fold one act of compassion into your interactions. And little by little, the basket becomes lighter. Your steps feel clearer. Your essence feels remembered.

You don’t have to live life out of the laundry basket anymore. You were never created to survive off spiritual leftovers. You were created to clothe yourself in purpose, in presence, in peace. And no matter how long it’s been, the Divine is still waiting, arms wide, ready to help you wash, dry, and begin again.

As I write this, I am in really heavy tears. My emotions and feelings are in this. My heart is on the table. Excuse me as I wipe my eyes. This is not just a reflection. This is my truth. I don’t write from imagination I write from experience. Every line is lived. Every word is felt. Every sentence is born from the sacred bruises and quiet breakthroughs of my life. What I share, I have walked through. And I offer it to you not from a place of having it all together, but from the same vulnerable space we all know too well.

Every proverb, every parable, every folklore, every word from the "Welcome to the Pot" series is all from my soul, my essence. These are not borrowed phrases or poetic guesses they are born from the well of my own becoming. These words come wrapped in pain, peace, growth, and grace. They are my spiritual fingerprints, pressed upon the pages I offer to the world.

A Prayer:

Creator of Order and Light, Fold me gently back into Your arms. Wash me in Your mercy, rinse me in Your grace, Dry my fears in the warmth of Your eternal love. Where I am wrinkled, press me with patience. Where I am torn, mend me with compassion. Help me no longer reach for what is merely close, but for what is holy, healing, and true.

Thank You for never walking past my mess. Thank You for sitting with me in the laundry pile of my soul. Give me the strength to sort, to cleanse, to start again with You. Amen.

Meditation Mantra: I am not my mess. I am not forgotten. I am being restored. I fold love into my spirit. I fold peace into my day. I am worthy. I am whole. I am home.

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If my words have stirred something in you, brought you comfort, or reminded you that you’re not alone, I humbly ask for your support. Please share this with someone who might need it. And if you're able, a donation no matter the size helps me continue this soul work, this calling I pour my entire being into.

Your support doesn’t just help me write it helps me breathe purpose into every line. It keeps the fire lit. It keeps the heartbeat of this mission alive.

With love, truth, and all of me,

Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar