House Of Cards

She sat on the floor, watching as her mother carefully built a house from a deck of cards, each piece delicately balanced.

“Every card must go in the perfect spot,” her mother said, her hands steady, her voice firm.

“One mistake can bring everything down.”

She placed another card, reinforcing the fragile structure, ensuring it looked just right. Then, she turned to her daughter.

“Watch closely,” she continued. “One day, you’ll build a house of your own, just like this one.”

She held her daughter’s gaze-

“And it must look perfect.”

-The House Of Cards, Inner-Sisters Secret Society

 

I can create the appearance of order without actually creating order.

This skill started early. When I was told to clean my room before I could go out, everything went under the bed. I’d pull the bedspread down as far as it would go, hiding whatever didn’t quite fit beneath the cramped space. My mother would open the door, glance in, and as long as it looked neat, I was free to leave.

Here was the takeaway: If it looks good, it must be good. If it doesn’t look good, clean it up and hide it.

I knew how to set a formal dining table before I knew how to ride a bike. Using the wrong fork wasn’t just a mistake - it meant we didn’t know better. And we were the kind of family that knew better. Details mattered because they reflected who we were… and whether we came from a “good” family.

There’s nothing wrong with manners or etiquette. Teaching children what’s socially expected is useful. Where it gets complicated is when those lessons quietly become a measuring stick - when love starts to feel conditional, earned by presenting yourself as someone else’s version of picture-perfect.

In that kind of system, there’s very little room to experiment or take chances - especially when it’s made crystal clear (Waterford, of course) that there’s only one acceptable way to be. One person stepping outside the lines can throw the whole house off balance. The work becomes managing appearances instead of asking why everything feels so precarious in the first place.

My brother was the rebel - out loud, in full color. I heard how they talked about him. I felt the judgment ripple through the room. And I knew, with absolute clarity, that I didn’t want to be him - or be treated like him.

So I adapted.

Meet Kamila.

Kamila is the inner-sister who made sure my parents saw the girl they wanted to see. She isn’t obsessed with appearances because she is vain. She’s obsessed because she learned early that appearances kept her safe - and earned praise. She kept things polished just enough to avoid scrutiny. She made sure that anything that my parents might find upsetting was tucked carefully out of sight and only seen when I was out from underneath my parents gaze.

As I got older, Kamila became very good at making my life look put together.

Marriage.
Motherhood.
Career.
Holidays.
Finances.
Feelings.

She stepped in early, smoothing my edges before they became visible. She worked overtime trying to make my home look like my version of picture-perfect - not because she was controlling, but because she remembered what happened when things weren’t.

What no one told her was this: A life organized around looking perfect leaves very little room for being real and honest.

For most of my life, I believed my role was to keep the house standing. There was always something to manage. If the foundation looked solid and the windows were clean enough to keep judgment out, everyone inside would feel safe.

But houses aren’t meant to be held up. They’re meant to be inhabited.

There are benefits to this kind of behavior, which is why it’s so hard to see - and even harder to change. When you do begin to let go, it can feel inconvenient to the people who’ve come to rely on the way you seamlessly made things run, and there’s pushback. But that’s okay.

The work now is awareness. Loosening the grip. Letting feelings be seen. Showing up messy. Showing up unprepared. Sometimes, not showing up at all.

Kamila still notices. She may always worry about how things look - but it’s not how I make decisions anymore.