Every self-help book seems to start with the same ritual: make your bed.

We frame it as discipline // a way to start your day with order.

But I’ve tried it, and the truth is, a neatly tucked blanket never stopped the noise. I could smooth the sheets and still feel like my brain was a hellscape. The bed looked perfect while my thoughts were scattered like so much broken glass. That mismatch gnawed at me.

This goes against the tidy gospel everyone preaches. But when I wake up, my first task isn’t folding sheets, it’s handling the chaos in my head. I sit, sometimes for just a few minutes, sometimes longer, and I face the swirl of worries, tasks, voices, guilt, and distractions. I let them surface. I write them down, or I breathe until they lose their grip. Only then do I touch the blankets. If I don’t, I’m just decorating a room while the roof is on fire.

Physical order doesn’t always fix mental noise. I’ve lived through mornings where I marched into the day with crisp sheets but carried invisible clutter that sabotaged everything I did. I snapped at people, forgot commitments, drowned in procrastination. It’s easy to point to the bed and feel proud, but pride in linen is worthless if my mind is still knotted. Making the bed can become a cover-up, a ritual that signals control while hiding the truth: that I’m still spiraling.

And this is where I become a heretic: the bed can wait. My brain can't. If I don’t clear my mind, the bed will feel like a mockery of order, and a symbol of false progress. What does a smooth blanket matter if I’m still replaying old arguments or obsessing over a half-written email? Who cares about pillows arranged at ninety degrees if I’m paralyzed by decision fatigue before breakfast?

I know some folks will argue the opposite. They’ll say the physical act creates momentum, that outer order shapes inner calm. I’ve heard the sermons. But I’ve tested them against my own life. I’ve had immaculate spaces and a wrecked mind. The tidy desk never paid my bills. The folded laundry never calmed my anxiety. The clean bed never ended the self-loathing. Mental clutter laughs at neatly stacked corners.

When I choose to clear my mind first, the day feels different. I might sit at the edge of the bed, close my eyes, and name the three thoughts pounding the loudest. I might scribble a messy page in a notebook, where every fear and unfinished task lands on paper. Sometimes I just take ten deep breaths until I remember how bloody incredible it is that I have lungs.

Some mornings, the mental clutter is so thick I don’t even have time to make the bed. And I’m fine with that. I’d rather walk into the world with a messy comforter and a clear mind than a perfect comforter and a storm in my head. The habit police will cry foul. But they can keep their photo-ready bedrooms. I’ll take sanity over aesthetics.

It shocks me how often we confuse visible order with actual progress. Offices are full of people who organize their desks instead of facing hard work. Students highlight textbooks instead of learning. Making the bed first thing in the morning can turn into the same avoidance, a socially approved distraction that looks virtuous but changes nothing where it matters.

Before I smooth anything physical, I tend to the mess that doesn’t show up in photos.

If my thoughts are clear, the rest follows naturally.

The dishes get washed faster. The emails flow. The workout happens. And if I make the bed, it feels like punctuation instead of a fake beginning. A period at the end of the mental sentence, not a headline that covers up the chaos.

I’m not telling you to abandon the bed-making ritual forever. But try flipping the sequence. Next time you wake up, resist the urge to touch the blanket. Sit there. Confront your mind. Do it cold, do it without flinching. Look into the dark corners and find out who’s there. Write one sentence in a notebook about what’s weighing on you. Or just admit you’re scared of the day ahead. See how that feels before you fold the sheets. Ask yourself: does this ritual make me present or does it make me perform? If the answer is performance, let the sheets stay messy until you’ve done the damn work.

We worship productivity hacks and morning routines like they’re sacred. But the the ugly truth is that rituals mean nothing if they’re built on unexamined clutter. Making the bed before clearing your head is like polishing your shoes while your feet bleed. The shine fools everyone but you.

Clear your mind first.

Let the bed wait.