Life is like a washing machine – complete with cycles and plenty of agitating to get at the messy stuff. If I were a songwriter (spoiler alert: I’m not), I’d pen a catchy tune about that simile, weaving together verses and a killer refrain set to the hum of a real washing machine.

But, since I’m no Taylor Swift (sadly), I decided to Google to see if anyone had already written such a song. You know what? Someone had! Miranda Lambert’s “It All Comes Out in the Wash” is a rock-infused country anthem with sass, grit, and a heaping dose of lighthearted wisdom to make you feel like a modern-day Athena with attitude.

Lambert spins a yarn about Merlot stains, ketchup spills, men, and sin. The best part? The rousing chorus that speaks to all of us who’ve ever felt spun upside down. No worries. We’ll get to press reset and start a new cycle. It all comes out in the wash.

As someone who’s been through a few decades of life (a few more than I’d like to admit), I know a thing or two about how life can run hot or cold. Just like a washing machine, it can handle big, messy loads full of sudsy emotion and nasty stains. It can rinse off the grime and give you a fresh start when you need it most.

Take the other day, for instance. I was tossing a chaotic pile of clothes, sheets, and towels in the wash when – bam – something caught my eye. One of the towels had the name of my late husband written in permanent marker from the time he’d entered a memory-care unit for a particularly nasty form of dementia. Yep, that towel was still hanging around. In fact, I still have several of those teal-blue beauties because I bought good towels for Fred as opposed to our old, ratty ones. Should I have tossed them out six years ago? Donated them to Goodwill? Gotten rid of them somehow so I wouldn’t still be living in the shadow of grief every time I did laundry?

My mind started churning like a washing machine on the fritz. But then I made the decision. I tossed in the towel, and guess what? It was the right choice. Because life is like a cosmic laundromat – it’s hard, it’s dirty, and sometimes the most challenging stuff is what teaches you the most.

What I learned from that tumultuous time, where it felt like I was in a permanent spin cycle, getting wrung dry, is that my support system was the magical rinse. It renewed me time and again after all the agitation and churning. Without it, I’d still be sitting on a pile of dirty laundry, staring into the void.

After this laundry epiphany, I sauntered into the kitchen where my loyal hounds were waiting for me. Desi, my Latin lover named for Desi Arnaz, crawled onto my lap and licked my face like I’d been gone for 100 years. His new little sister Bella, a Cavapoo, wagged her tail like a spin cycle on steroids. Then I texted with my friends and felt as refreshed as a professionally laundered shirt.

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Sometimes I wish I could scrub out emotional grime the way my OxiClean Max Force Stain Remover Gel annihilates spaghetti-sauce stains. This gel stick comes with these little nubs to vanquish the deadliest foe. No one would mess with me. I’d be invincible. Super-human. My life would be a pristine laundry basket of perfection.

Before this stick came along, I had a vinyl tablecloth that smelled like a chemical factory. Ew! Now I’ve got a beautiful red-and-white checkered tablecloth that has defied every stain known to humankind. Grease? Check. Blood? Check. Berries? You bet. This tablecloth has seen it all and is still standing strong, a true survivor.

But let’s not forget the laundry mistakes – like the time I put a nice, white Oxford shirt into the wash with something red. My garment came out with unsightly pink streaks all over it. But, hey, that’s life, right?

Sometimes you need to pay better attention. Sometimes you stuff too much in. Sometimes you forget about the delicate cycle. Along the way, I’ve learned that apologies are like those scrubby little nubs on the Oxi stick. They can work wonders. They’re like pressing reset, one small load at a time.

As for the dryer, well, the thing is a miracle worker. It can smooth out wrinkles like it’s powered by some sort of magical fairy dust. Then again, not all wrinkles. And let’s not forget about the ever-present sock thief in there. Where do those socks go? Do they jet off to Aruba? Join the carnival? Volunteer for a mission on Mars? I’m still scratching my head about that one.

In the end, the washer-dryer combo is the perfect metaphor for life. We all tumble, spin, and sometimes get wrung out. But, no matter how many times life flips you over, it’s all about the rinse, the reset, and the new cycle starting tomorrow. And, maybe, just maybe, you’ll find that sock you lost somewhere along the way.

Joan Axelrod-Contrada is a writer who lives in Florence and is working on a collection of essays, “Rock On: A Baby Boomer’s Playlist for Life after Loss.” Reach her at joanaxelrodcontrada@gmail.com.