The Vanity Under My Sink (and the One in My Head)

As part of my daily grooming routine, I open the vanity cabinet under my bathroom sink,

and every morning, I’m greeted by the same scene: a dark, chaotic underworld of body‑care products and hair tools living in what can only be described as a lawless society.

I stare into the abyss at the hundreds of products I’ve collected. Some are shoved so far into the back that they’re basically in the witness protection program. Others sit proudly at the front, practically waving at me like that one kid in class who always has their hand raised because they know that they are the teacher’s pet, the chosen ones—the lotions and sprays that get used regularly.

Then there are the abused ones. The poor, battered bottles that get knocked over every time I reach for something else. They have lost their shine, have dents and flaws, are taken for granted, and never get placed back in their proper spot. Some mornings they wake up on the left side of the cabinet, some mornings on the right, and on the darkest mornings of all, they’ve rolled behind the blow dryer and curling iron, trapped in a tangle of cords like they’re being held hostage.

And those hair appliances? Yeah, that’s a whole other level of chaos. And I mean that literally. If you’ve ever grabbed one worm from a can and accidentally pulled out twelve, you understand my morning routine. That’s me, every day, trying to choose the tool that will create the hairstyle of the day.

At last count, I own thirteen different hair appliances: one blow dryer, two flat irons, two heated brushes, and eight curling irons in every size known to womankind.

And before you ask—yes, I need all of them.

Some days I want a sleek and casual look. Some days I want beachy waves. Some days I want a full‑on “southern aunt who knows everybody’s business” bouffant. I never know which version of myself is showing up until I pick my outfit, so that means every appliance must be ready at a moment’s notice to create magic.

After working hard to create the perfect hairdo, I intend on being an organized girl, wrapping the cords neatly around the handles, placing everything gently in its designated basket, and closing the cabinet gently, because it makes me feel like I have my life together. But oddly, despite my desire to live this well-ordered life, it never happens that way.

Instead, knowing I am doing it wrong, I open the vanity door, launch the cooled hair styling aid towards the back of the cabinet, then slam the door before anything pops back out at me.

Once the appliances are alone in the dark, they apparently provide comfort to each other, twisting their wires into tiny embraces with their heatable friends. This hugfest must be the case, because when I awaken the next day and reopen the cabinet, I pull out my blow dryer, and three other appliances with braided cords, leap out with it and crash onto the floor.

Every. Single. Morning

And because chaos loves company, those falling appliances knock over two hairsprays, a lotion, a powder, and sometimes a rogue bath gel as they exit. I never know what’s going to come flying out when all I wanted was one little thing. I clench my teeth every time, wondering why seven items are now lying at my feet when I only needed one.

I recently realized that this daily battle with my vanity is basically a metaphor for my brain.

If you could peek inside my mind, you’d see the same thing—hundreds of thoughts like bottles, ideas like curling irons, memories like lotions, and worries like hair product all jumbling together in the dark space. Some of the things are useful. Some are exciting. Some are shoved so far into the back that I forget they exist. And some—usually the loud, dramatic ones—jump to the front at the worst possible moment, waving their hands like the teacher’s pet.

When I try to pull out one simple, helpful thought—my “blow dryer thought”—it’s attached to three others that have absolutely nothing to do with what I’m trying to accomplish. Like when I need my bank password, and suddenly, I’m thinking about my grocery list, a childhood memory, a random song lyric, and whether I remembered to switch the laundry. My thoughts are just like those tangled cords. I don't know where one ends and the other begins. I just keep pulling, hoping something comes out right.

About twice a year, frustration overtakes me, usually after something falls out of the cabinet onto my toe and I want to cuss, and I go on a purge of my vanity. I put everything in its place, and once it is completed, for at least three glorious days, the space under my sink will look like a department store display. Everything lined up by category and color, and I feel like a woman who has her act together.

This current purge, I decided to add to it. It is no longer just about throwing away expired mousse and bath salts that smell like "the 1920's called, and they want your grandma's perfume back." This time, I've added a mental purge to my cleanse to get my act together.

I am tossing out some of the things my mind thinks about that are really unnecessary, like the lyrics to "Baby Shark", and what the steps to the Hustle were. I am unraveling the "curling irons of my mind," being more intentional with using my day planner, and being more thoughtful and organized, not just slamming the proverbial door on things I find unpleasant to look at.

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I'm sorry, where was I?