There’s a certain kind of freedom that comes with living alone—a freedom I’ve grown to cherish more than anything else. At 51, I’ve created a life for myself that’s full of little rituals and pleasures, moments that are just for me. And one of those is doing laundry in my underwear.

It might seem like a small thing, but to me, it’s a symbol of the life I’ve built, a life where I can be completely and unapologetically myself. After years of living for others—raising my kids, caring for a husband, balancing work and family—I finally have the space to indulge in the things that make me feel good.

So, on Saturday mornings, when the house is quiet and the sun streams through the kitchen window, I toss my hair into a messy bun, slip into my favorite lace bra and panties, and head to the laundry room. There’s something about the cool tiles beneath my feet and the hum of the washing machine that feels both grounding and liberating.

I load the washer, feeling the soft fabric of the clothes against my skin, and then I move around the house, picking up stray towels and tossing them into the laundry basket. There’s no rush, no one to interrupt me—just the rhythmic motions of sorting, folding, and stacking. It’s a simple chore, but doing it this way, in this moment, it feels like an act of self-love.

Sometimes I’ll play music, letting the melodies drift through the house as I move from room to room. Other times, I’ll just enjoy the quiet, the steady whoosh of the washing machine the only sound in the background. It’s in these moments that I feel most at peace, most connected to myself.

I know some might find it strange, or even a little indulgent, but I don’t care. This is my space, my time, and I’ve earned the right to enjoy it in whatever way makes me happy. Doing laundry in my underwear is a small rebellion against the world’s expectations, a reminder that I’m living life on my own terms now.

And when the laundry is done, when the clothes are clean and neatly folded, I’ll often linger in the laundry room for just a moment longer, savoring the scent of fresh fabric and the feel of the cool air against my skin. It’s a simple pleasure, but it’s mine, and that’s what makes it so special.