23/09/2025
Who Would Fill the Soap?
Sometimes as a woman, I question myself. I question if I give enough, am I pretty enough, do I work enough? Do I love enough? Am I kind enough? Am I strict enough? Do I sleep enough? Am I... enough?
With these and thousands more swirling in my mind as I try to sleep, or as I cook, clean, work, live, tend, care, try, do, learn, and look at the clock as if one day it'll surprise me and I'll have enough time.
Enough... that word again.
Is it depression? Am I burnt out? Do I need a break, or a strong drink? Is this self-care or is it indulgence? Am I selfish? Am I a trope? Is this project my hobby? Should my hobby make profits? What is a hobby? When asked what I like to do... I have nothing to say. I mention the things I do well, as surely you should enjoy what you excel at... but do I like it? I'm not sure.
A loving husband, what a blessing. I am blessed beyond compare. He works, he loves, he tries, he makes me laugh.
But he didn’t take out the trash again... even if he did, he would have forgotten the bag anyway, and always when I have raw chicken wrapping to discard and nowhere to place it. The children, ever so wonderful and in my eyes perfection... but that is simply a lie my heart loves to believe, when I use my mind I know they are far from it. Is it biological that I love them so? Is it just something there from day one of my own life? Was it when I held my younger sibling for the first time? Or when my older sibling made me feel absolutely unwanted, unnecessary, and unloved in every way for the first time? Was it when I was given my first doll and was told this little thing is my baby? As if little babies come from stores... if they did, it would have saved me a lot of heartache. Just add one to the shopping list. My husband would need a photo to get the right one, just like with oil, or the flour I want. I want... what a funny thing to say. It's the one that is cheapest and the best quality for our budget. But why explain it? Maybe I should, maybe I would feel happier if he asked "which one do we buy?" instead of "which one do you want?"
So many little things... little things, the details.
My mother used to talk about attention to detail as if it mattered more than anything. I tell women now, if you want it done your way, do it yourself, if you just want it done, ask a man and give him four to five business days. Not because he is lazy, he's actually right, the world will keep spinning if the dishes aren't done, time won't stop if the ice cube tray isn't filled, or if we wait another day to clean out the fridge, the fridge... the leftovers they swear they'll eat, from the meals they say they love. It will be fine. It will always be fine. But why is fine good enough, when life could be great? What is great? Is great knowing every detail about each heart you care for to a point where you can manage anything and almost everything?
The question that plays in my mind again and again... if not me then who? If I never existed, if I took a nap, if I was gone in a flash...
Who would fill the soap?
It's never filled by anyone but me. I know it wouldn't be done right. They wouldn't overfill it, of course not. They would even be proud the pump went in it without any spilling out. But that's the trick isn't it? When a little spills out you can use it to wash the pump and wash the bottle, because the dirtiest things touch those.
The recycling stacks. The garbage stacks. The laundry stacks.
Who would play the conductor of the orchestra that is our lives? Who makes sure lunches aren't just packed, but packed with love. One doesn't like raisins... they'll go to waste. One will throw fruit away as if it's free.
Who reminds them that dishes go in the sink... in the sink. They go in the cabinets... after they have been cleaned. That's where they go.
The bathroom needs a scrub and if I don't do it today... it'll be too much work tomorrow, and I, and we... can't waste time... the floors are due for a mop, it's time to unload and reload the dishes, if we're unloading we better empty the fridge, the water needs to be filled, but the water jug is due to be washed, the kettle could use some citric acid to remove the water marks, since I am cleaning the kettle I may as well wash everyone's bottle, I'll gather those throughout the house, but then I see laundry and I'm now gathering that, the last load wasn't hung and is sour, and the garage needs to be swept, and we're almost out of detergent I better add to the list by the pantry, if I don't write it down now, I know I'll forget, because of course by nature, I am also flawed... only to end up back in the kitchen and realise... we never started the dishes and there's no room to wash bottles, or jugs, or anything else.
While I think of all these things, I see it clearly, in all its details, in all its flickering touches of myself poured into every task. It would still be done. It would be fine. But it would not be the way I know is best, not that I am so brilliant, I just know from experience. And others would learn to, or not, maybe hair wouldn't be washed on time, or muddy boots would be on the floor, they'd say "they'll have a great immune system" and it's true, it would be fine.
But in all this... when I ask that horrible string of questions... when I ask myself, am I enough?
I know.... I am not enough...
I am more than I ever could have imagined, or will ever be able to articulate.
My fingerprints are on every picture, every moment, every little detail.
And while I would write more... I need to go fill the soap.
A poem - Liv Bensberg
