Up until about 2 years ago our sock life was so organised and on point. Everything matched and all was well in the world.

Up until a couple of years ago, our sock life was strong.
Organised. Matched. On point.
It brought me a tiny, consistent joy that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I had a handle on life.

Fast-forward to now and… chaos.
But a dis-ease has settled in and it sh*ts me to tears.
And yes, I’ve actually said (out loud, to a room of blankly staring children):
“Where the f*ck have all the socks gone?!” To which the children blankly stare at me.

And yes, I followed that up with the highly unhelpful, wildly illogical:
“They don’t have legs! They can’t just run away!”
(Although honestly… if they could run back into the laundry basket, I wouldn’t complain.)

Sometimes, in an act of sheer bravery, I do something wild like, lift up the mattress in the preteen and teens bedrooms… I know, I know - I’m very brave. And “Aha” Yes, there might be a sock rolled into a tiny ball to help with the dilemma. I just can’t understand it. Me, my husband and our youngest, our sock game is strong with hardly an odd sock.

Let’s talk about the mental load of motherhood for a second.

At Soul Care Healing, I hear this from women all the time, especially high-functioning mums.
It’s not just the big things that wear us down.
It’s the missing socks, the mystery laundry, the school forms, the emotional caregiving, and the invisible tabs always open in your brain.

And sometimes? The sock drawer becomes the tipping point.

I’ve traced the problem back to one very real culprit: sleepovers.
Yes, the humble sleepover, where socks go to party and never return.

I seem to often have random shorts, t-shirts and jocks in my laundry. As mums we are well aware of what we have brought from our Target trips and we know when there is something we have never seen before in the washing.

But the kids? They’re unbothered.

“Yeah I’ve got Sam’s shorts. He knows.”
And when I suggest returning them:
“I’m not handing over clothes at school in front of everyone, Mum.”

Cue: my blank stare.

But the socks… that honestly does my head in.

I have an idea.. maybe I organise a sock catch up, because I’m sure this sock situation is happening at other people’s house. I think for any of our single pringle socks we have here, there is a partner at a friends house just longing to be reunited with it’s mate.

But it’s the odd socks that do my head in the most.
I try. I really do. But the pairing process breaks me.
The double colour combo? Nope. A white and a navy? Absolutely not. Something short-circuits in my brain when my socks don’t match.

Sure, I’ve considered putting similar ones together. And yes, some people say, “It’s quirky!” But honestly? Mismatched socks give me sensory rage.

I’m also going out to say, if there is a hole, It’s going straight in the bin… no darning over here. Is anyone still repairing socks?? It’s such a weird texture once it has been repaired. Good for you if you are. Power to you :)

So here's my latest genius idea:
Everyone goes barefoot to sleepovers.
Problem solved.

Imagine a little barefoot basket at the front door.
“Shoes off, socks off, good luck and godspeed.”

The frustration isn’t just about laundry.
It’s the invisible mental load of motherhood.
It’s the slow accumulation of a thousand tiny annoyances we never signed up for but somehow became responsible for.

At Soul Care Healing, we see this kind of household chaos as more than just domestic.
It’s emotional clutter. Because this sock saga?
It’s not about socks.
It’s about how even the smallest things can tip you over the edge when you’re juggling emotional labour, household logistics, and trying to maintain some semblance of inner calm.

It’s what happens when you’re the keeper of everyone’s stuff, physical, mental, and emotional and still expected to stay calm, kind, and productive.

The sock meltdown isn’t just a joke.
It’s often the tip of the overwhelm iceberg.

This is why The Soul Care Method exists to help women like us regulate, reclaim, and release.
Because you don’t need another laundry hack. You need a soft place to land. You need space to be seen.

I’m an genius.

Gayle xoxoxoxoxo