I used to dread laundry day. Not in a dramatic way. Just that kind of low-level “ugh” that floats around certain chores. Socks gone missing. Towels that never really smell clean. Folding the same pair of jeans for the tenth time and wondering how long I’ve actually had them.
But then I moved into an apartment building with one washer. One. Shared by everyone on the floor. So now laundry day is more of a competitive sport. You have to spot the open window, carry your load like it’s a mission, and pray nobody steals your dryer time.
Weirdly, it made the whole thing more… intentional? Like, I have to plan now. I can’t just throw stuff in the machine while binge-watching something. I set aside time. I sort. I think about what’s worth washing and what I can wear again (hello, flannel shirt #3).
And somewhere in that shift, I got picky about laundry things. In a good way.
Not fancy stuff. But the kind of stuff that makes it easier, or nicer, or just kind of satisfying in a dumb little way. Like the mesh bag I keep for socks now. Life-changing. I didn’t expect to become a person who says “life-changing” about a sock bag, but here we are.
I also stopped buying giant jugs of detergent. I got tired of the mess and the weight and the fact that they always seemed to leak a little. So now I use strips. Just pull one, toss it in. Done. No plastic. No gooey blue drips. They smell like nothing, which I love.
Also: wool dryer balls. Yes, I was skeptical. No, they don’t make everything magically soft and wrinkle-free. But they work. And they don’t smell like synthetic “fresh breeze,” which is a fake smell I think only exists in detergent marketing labs.
One small thing I added recently that made a weirdly big difference: a soap saver bag. Not for me — for the hand-wash stuff. I had a few sweaters and sports bras that I used to ruin in the sink. Either I’d over-scrub or not rinse enough. But this little bag just holds the soap chunk, lets me suds stuff gently, and saves my hands from drying out too. I didn’t think I needed one until I had it. Now I’m annoyed I didn’t get one sooner.
Laundry day is also now the day I clean out my tote bag. It’s become a thing. I dump it out, sort receipts, shake out crumbs (how do they get in there?), and re-pack it with only what I want to carry that week. One pen. Sunglasses. My little pouch with floss, hair ties, and backup lip balm.
Speaking of: I’ve also made a habit of giving my reusable gear a rinse on laundry day. Water bottles. Snack containers. Even my plastic free razor, which usually lives in a drawer I forget about. It’s like, if I’m already cleaning stuff, might as well do a little reset elsewhere. Clean gear makes you feel put together even when you’re not.
There’s something about handling fabric that feels grounding. Folding towels isn’t exciting, but it’s rhythmic. Matching socks is a small victory. Even hanging clothes to dry — there’s a quiet to it. I don’t always have music playing. Sometimes I just listen to the squeaky pulley on the clothesline outside and pretend I live in a novel.
I also noticed that the more I pared down my wardrobe, the more I actually liked doing laundry. Fewer items, but all things I like wearing. It means I notice when something’s missing. It makes the act of washing feel less like a reset and more like a refresh.
And okay, here’s something slightly embarrassing but real: I talk to my clothes sometimes. Not in a full-sentence way. Just little mutterings like “you’ve done good, buddy” to my hoodie or “please don’t shrink” to my one good pair of black jeans.
I also started air drying more stuff, not out of eco guilt (though that’s a plus) but because I kept ruining clothes in the dryer. Now I have one of those folding racks that feels very adult but also kind of grandma-core. It lives behind my bedroom door and unfolds with a satisfying click.
There’s something really lovely about seeing your clean clothes hanging neatly. Makes you feel like you’ve got your life together for five minutes, even if you ate cereal for dinner. Again.
Anyway, I don’t think laundry day will ever be my favorite day. But it’s not the “ugh” day anymore. It’s a day with small rituals, weird comforts, and a little more mindfulness than I expected.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
