The ineffective housewife

No matter how I try, there always seems to be something that needs to be dusted. Or vacuumed. Or cleaned. 

There seems to be a commonly held belief that parents, mothers who are at home during the day naturally have homes that are neat and tidy.
This was the belief that I bought into during my years as a stay at home mom. That one simple belief caused me so much angst, self-doubt, depression and more for many of those years.
I am not a naturally gifted housewife. I am actually pretty terrible at it. I do not rise early to prepare a breakfast spread for my family. I haven’t been caught up on laundry at any time in the past twenty years. I forget to move it out of the washer and have rewashed more loads than anyone ever should. I am forgetful at times (my oven light has been out for over a week now).
I dislike yard work, housework, and general maintenance. The parts that I do like or have the skills to accomplish, may or may not be completed, depending on my back pain level for the day.
The difference between my life now and my life then breaks down as identity.
During those days, I viewed my ability to keep an orderly home as part of my identity as a stay at home mom. Having the knowledge that you are completely failing at a task is vastly different than failing at a task that you feel is part of who you are.
At that time, I could not afford to be bad at it, because I had nothing else, was nothing else, without that label.
At my current station in life, I am a wife, a mother, a writer, a student, a friend, a candidate for office, and many other titles. I am also a bad housewife. 
I have finally been able to accept it and see it for what it is, one facet of the whole, not the defining factor.
In this season, I have unexpectedly found myself spending my days at home once more. Armed with the knowledge of myself, I attempt not correct this trait, as it is not a flaw, but to work within it. I challenge myself daily to do more, to maybe switch the laundry on the second round instead of the third. Who knows? Maybe this will be the week that the oven light gets replaced?
Through it all, I rest confidently in the knowledge that this one area does not define me.
I do.