Category Archives: stress

God, give me the strength…

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And so it begins anew.

This is a continuation of previous post, which can be found here. (I got a bit heavy-handed with my use of [Redacted] in that post, and for that I apologize, but also smile a little – I think it’s odd that I attempted to apply such civility to that post. It adds a small element of youth, of naivete, of hope, I guess.)
Again, I share the sentiments that I am entirely confused.
I guess the refrain is this: I cannot understand what I’ve done wrong.
The email came from G on Thursday, and can basically be summed up as saying, “Let’s meet in Washington Park on Sunday night to celebrate the 57th wedding anniversary.”
I was keen.
Friday night, I get a text from Aunt X saying that they’re in town. How about Saturday? I respond that I’m unable to do Saturday as I’ll be babysitting (Barney live, anyone?).

The response comes via email. Here’s my favorite line: (Katie & Mike can’t make it…understandable at it is a Saturday night and they are in their 20’s!)


I am in my 20s. But the implication lying beneath that sentence would have you believe that I was out partying, rather than helping a family with three children attend their first Barney concert. For the record, they loved it. It was a really magical experience for them, and the day went smoothly. I stayed there from 2pm until 8pm. After, I went to Aunt S’s birthday at other G’s house. I arrived in time for lemonade and cake. And then I went home and went to sleep, as I had to babysit another family the next morning.


No partying at all this weekend. Babysitting. (Just so we’re all clear about my priorities.)
I texted Aunt X and asked for a drink/coffee date so that we could have a heart-to-heart. She responded that she’d get back to me, then asked if I could let her know if Dad was going to be coming that night. (It was Saturday) I responded that I hadn’t talked to him.
At this point, I was livid. Fury. I am a passionate person, but I’m slow to anger. Once I’m there, though, is a different story. But don’t think that just because I’m angry doesn’t mean I can’t be rational – I consider myself very logical, rational, even cold, at times.

I will not relinquish a point simply because I feel pressured to do so. I don’t lie. And I’m not fake, so pretending nothing’s wrong isn’t my style, either.
And so Dad, Jeanie, Mike and I had a lovely evening in City Park last night, listening to jazz and playing frisbee. It was non-argumentative. It was light. I gushed about S and blathered on about my exciting news and future plans.
This morning, I woke up happy. Calm. Family is what you make of it, good or bad. And creating your own family is something that’s the most fun to do.
I got a text from Aunt X saying that we were meeting for a picnic at the pool at 6pm tonight. I groaned inwardly. I don’t get off of work until 6 at the earliest. I’m not trying to use that a crutch, I’ve got time quotas to meet.
So I wait, text my brother, see if he’s going. He is. I text back that Mike is in and that I’ll be there as soon as I’m off of work, what can I bring?
I am not by my phone when I get the call.
I listen to the voice mail. My stomach lurches, the hurt crawls back up into my heart. My ears ring. I turn up my music. I gulp for air.
I call her back. We exchange muted pleasantries, and then I say, “First of all, I want you to know that I’m not looking for a food hand-out. I offered to bring something, and I’d be more than happy to bring whatever you’d like. Just let me know what I can bring.”
And suddenly, she’s off on me. Talking about the medical conditions of her hostess, my G, and this and that and how she’ll take care of dinner and she’ll haul it over to the pool by herself. I cut in, “I am well aware (of the medical conditions),” I say. She tells me not to bring anything. Just to show up. The line cuts off.
My hands are shaking.
I’m more confused than ever.
I consider myself a strong woman, not one to back down from something that’s seriously upsetting me. But I’m finding myself unable to find a logical opening on the other side. It’s as though every step I try to take is a misstep.
I guess I’m not sure if this means that it’s time to stop trying so hard to be a part of a family that seems to be making it very clear that I’m not welcome.
My Aunt X once told me not to go to grad school, and then made some joke about “not everyone can be a housewife.” Well, being a housewife isn’t everyone’s dream. I mean, it must be nice. (Don’t for a second think I’m negating the stresses and workload of the domestic spouse – it’s a very necessary and overwhelming experience. The raising of children is a complicated matter.)
But for someone to question why I babysit and who I babysit for – that’s crossing lines I’m not prepared for. I don’t want a running commentary going on about the rich people I babysit for. That’s hardly the case. Sometimes two parents work – it must seem strange to someone so removed from that – but in that case, childcare becomes a very necessary, and expensive, expense.
And that’s where I come in.
I babysit for two reasons: I love it and I need the cash.

I love children. I am not making enough at my day job to sustain myself, and in order to not have terrified tears streaming down my face at the end of every month, I work extra hours to make ends meet. It’s not a new thing, the idea of two jobs has existed forever.
I’m great with children – all of my families love me, have loved me, and continue to love me. I’m engaged, polite, I uphold their disciplinary standards and their values. I’ve sat for Christians, Jews, atheists…and my manner has not wavered. Respect, I believe they call it. I’m not sure if they are teaching that in churches these days or not. (And yes, that comment was derogatory and disrespectful. I’m not turning my other damn cheek – I am no doormat. I wasn’t raised to not stand up for what I believe in and I’m sure as hell not going to back down now, especially because I am the one who has been attacked.)
I find it interesting that the financial element keeps rearing its ugly head. I’ve been told no less than three times this weekend that I’ve got a financial obligation toward my Gs. I wish I could explain that I’ve offered to bring over dinner, that I do offer consistently. I provide my G with a magazine subscription, something that I know he really appreciates. That’s a lot of money for me, and it’s something I do out of love. If I had more money, I’d be more than happy to buy groceries, to treat them to things, but the fact is, I don’t. I could start mailing some small amount every month, if they’d like. It wouldn’t be much, but maybe it would help.
But again, I’d like to reassert that I’m not asking for anything monetary or good-related. I don’t need crackers and chips or snacks or food or cash in an envelope. If that’s who they think I am, then they need to step back and reassess.
From more than one of the U or A’s, I’ve heard that someone or someone else doesn’t want to cook, or entertain, or this and that. I’m not asking to be fed (again, I don’t need a food hand-out). I’m just asking for some face time. I’m not asking for a five-course meal, or for treats, or for anything. I’m not asking for money for holidays, or my birthday.
I just want to see my family.
I want to feel like I matter to them as much as they matter to me.
But it’s clear that it doesn’t work that way.
Being rejected by people who should know you, people who you love, is really hard. And it’s tearing at me. At the very least, I’d like some closure on the subject. I’d like to be able to understand fully what I’ve done that is so reprehensible that they can’t be civil toward me. That’s all I’m asking for.
It’s one thirty now. I have four and a half hours until I leave work. Four and a half hours to decide if I should show up or not.
I’m a proud woman. I am proud of who I am, proud of what I do, proud of what I stand for. I live my life in the best way possible. I try to make sure that my actions have few ripples, and other than a few minor skirmishes with friends (no more than anyone else I know), I maintain a very balanced life. It’s full of love and loyalty, and people who genuinely care about me. I genuinely care about them as well.
I call a friend for advice:
“What are you maintaining, other than this idea of a family?…your mom’s side loves you. It’s not like vindictive and gross and vile as your dad’s side is being to you…It sounds like they can’t even pretend to be decent. Why do you keep trying to make amends? It just doesn’t sound right. If you do have this obligation toward your grandparents, then they’d better start treating you right.”
That friend is right.
I try to explain that I guess I want to stay in it for my Gs and cousins, but at the same time, I wonder if their minds have been poisoned against me as well.
This is where I’m sure that the root cause of all of this must be bigger than me. I honestly can’t believe that I could have done something so egregious as to be excommunicated from my own family.
I really hate to stir up trouble in an otherwise happy family.
So perhaps it’s time for me to back down and back away.
Family. What does that word mean to you?

From Forbes.com: Retirement is Blocked by the Revolving Door

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I did an informal poll at the office asking the following question: if you had adult children (say age 30), would you want them to live with you, or would you encourage them to get out and be independent? The answer was overwhelmingly for independence, and one man even said he’d feel like a failure if they returned home. Everyone who was available today was under 45 years old, and few actually have adult children, but their answers were interesting. Our culture fosters independence. I asked the financial planners what they were hearing in their one-on-one meetings with pre-retirees and I heard a different twist. The employees feel that they have no choice but to help out their family members during these tough economic times, and it was a drain on their finances. In an ideal world, while preparing for retirement you wouldn’t have this additional expense, but then again we are not living in an ideal world.

The planners heard these stories:

“My daughter is a very hard worker and has three jobs. Yet she never seems to get ahead. She got her wallet stolen at the pool yesterday and the thief left her wallet and ID but took her cash and her credit cards. Fifty dollars may not seem like much to some people, but it was a lot to my daughter. Couple that with no access to a credit card when she had $200 worth of school expenses (she is a teacher) and she won’t be able to make her rent. I had to loan her $400 to get by. I was not expecting that expense and it was not a trivial amount.”

“My son is working and going to school and having trouble making ends meet. When a necessary expense comes up for my ten year old granddaughter, what am I supposed to say? I can’t say no. It now costs $89 to register her for public school because I am in a state that is broke and my son doesn’t have the money. Now as a grandmother, I am ending up paying for the necessary things instead of the fun things.”

One of the biggest challenges of retirement planning is to estimate your future expenses. We assume housing costs may go down in retirement, when your mortgage is paid off and medical costs will rise, so at least some estimates can be done. Unplanned and unpredictable high and recurring expenses, such as assisting adult children and grandchildren, can certainly prevent the parent from being able to retire.

This is a growing phenomenon. As I mentioned in a blog a few weeks ago, the number of adult children between the ages of 25 and 34 living with their parents has exploded in recent years, going from a little over 10% in 2003 to 13% in 2010. Unemployment certainly is a big factor. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics the unemployment rate for 20-24 year olds in 2010 was 15.5% and for 25-29 year olds it was 10.9%. With the economy struggling to produce jobs, this is a problem that pre-retirees with adult children and grandchildren can’t ignore.

Many will argue that families should take care of each other and that is what family is for. In other cultures, families have been living together in multi-generational households for centuries, so we are the odd culture in encouraging our family members to live separately. That may all be true, but the key isn’t so much where they live, it is the support they need when the pre-retiree still has to fund their own retirement, and that support is often an unexpected high expense. The challenge is to manage the pull of caring for your family without sacrificing your own retirement.

Ideas on how to help adult children without going broke:

Rethink your emergency fund. Carry a high emergency fund balance even in retirement. We normally think of the emergency fund to replace 3 – 6 months of income if you lose your job. In retirement, we used to be able to keep less in liquid savings because of steady retirement income. Consider keeping additional liquid dollars available for unexpected expenses.

Lend rather than give. The teaching goes, “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” A gift or a hand out can turn into a steady stream of support. Lend your children money with a clear payback structure at a low interest rate rather than a hand out. This sets a clear boundary with your adult children and shows mutual respect.

Ask that they contribute. If they are living with you, ask that they contribute to the household by paying rent and helping with other household expenses. Even if the rent is a nominal amount, it sets up an expectation and lessens any financial drain on you. Set a time limit if that is appropriate under the circumstances.

Make sure they make the most of the situation. This is a time for them to improve their financial literacy by sticking to a bare-bones budget, getting out of debt and living within their means. Financial lessons they learn from the economic downturn can be an incredible opportunity for them to realize how valuable the cash flow of a job is or how expensive it is just to run a household.

Don’t sacrifice your own financial future. In our college planning workshops, we always remind parents there are no grants or scholarships for retirement. Set limits with your children if you plan on helping them or supporting them until they get their feet on the ground. Determine what you can afford and have a meeting with your child to make it very clear.

During the Great Depression families stuck together and they did without. Stella Anderson is 97 years old today, and she is one of six sisters who grew up on an almond ranch in Northern California. During the depression, her parents couldn’t afford to send her to college (they sent her older sisters before her) but she didn’t complain. She delayed her education, stayed at home and helped out on the ranch for two years before moving on to obtain her college degree. She and her parents took the practical approach and did what they could at the time. That kind of practical mentality will serve our families well today while getting through tough times together. It may even make the family bonds stronger. Plus, in your later years, you can lean on them like they leaned on you. That is what family is for.

by Liz Davidson link to article here

Self-sufficient

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I’ve decided that I’m sick of hearing that I don’t do enough.

That I go out too much.
During the month of July, I went out 2x on a “school night,” not counting trivia on Thursdays.
I hardly think that’s excessive.
I work my regular, full-time 40+ hour/week job. I show up, I work, I go home.
On top of that, I regularly babysit for 3 families (others are in the rotation, but I’ve got three regulars). There are weeks that I’ll be at the office five days and babysit five nights, including the weekend.
I don’t have time to breathe, let alone party.
It’s not fair for people with combined household incomes far exceeding mine to tell me what I can and cannot do with my money. I work damn hard. Most Friday and Saturday nights, I’m more than happy to sleep rather than going out. Why? Because I am either exhausted or poor or both.
So if I want to go to Chicago, then I will. Trust me, I make up for the financial cut in other ways.
For example, when I was in Chicago earlier this month, we went to the grocery store and got food/beer for the weekend. I made no meal outside of the home. I bought no beer at a bar.
I manage to pay all of my bills on time. I’m more self-sufficient than a lot of people I know. And it’s not like I expect anything to come easy, but I would just to wake up one day and not have to juggle fifteen different schedules. It’d be nice to have a free afternoon, just saying.
I’d one day like to have a job where I don’t have to work like a madman outside of work to make ends meet.
I’d like to not have to keep pushing out starting my IRA.
I’d like to be able to save a little bit each month.
I’d like to have a “just in case” fund for when I need new brakes.
I’m sick of worrying about it constantly and I’m even sicker of hearing about it from other people. I’m doing what I have to do, thank you very much. I realize that part of being 23 is about being poor and making sacrifices, but this isn’t healthy.
It’s time for a change.

"That that is just the person that you are."

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There are moments, usually quiet moments in the dead of night, when the world shifts. I found myself relaxed, calm, anxious for my phone to buzz with the continuation of the nightly conversation that I look so forward to.

I sat and heard her start to tell me a story. I wasn’t all there, my mind drifting off to Chicago while maintaining some semblance of concentration.

What she said broke my reverie and brought me swiftly back to my body, sitting on the steps staring across the darkened street.
No, what?
And there it was.
The reasoning, his version of the truth, conveyed to me via her. The nerve of this slimy coward. To later tell a mutual friend that it wasn’t his fight to fight, yet to have never even told me about it.
It.
Allegedly.
Apparently, it – that alleged indiscretion – happened on the fourth of July. Happened when I, the sober driver, was saying goodbye. Well here’s a sweet goodbye for you…
It was an anger I have not felt in some time. My jaw clenched, my eyes narrowed, I was, in that moment, comprised solely of steel and tingling fingertips.
Untruths!
Annoyance filled my steel-skeleton, and I drove home in a concentrated rage. I grabbed my phone and sent a message – abrupt, rude, sharply displaying my acute disapproval.
I did not expect a response, but when I saw it, my anger flared past steel. I am molten iron now, white hot.
I still am. It’s been some hours now, edging toward twenty four, yet I cannot break the script from my mind.
“…everyone conceded that that is just the person that you are.”
What am I?
I have lists of occasions I could reference, all to refute this claim that “that that is just the person that” I am.
But they fall far short of the damage I wish to inflict.
Self-control serves me well, but in all honesty, I am so hurt by this assertion, this accusation, the untruth of it all, that if we come face to face, I won’t hesitate to show him just what kind of person I am.

Dreams

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It’s been one of those weeks where your dreams are too real. I am living in those moments, making conscious decisions, and ultimately, freely thinking my own thoughts.

That’s the weirdest part for me. The thoughts.
I woke up startled, not quite terrified, on Thursday morning. I’d just had a pregnancy-labor dream. I realize I’ve probably just been reading too much of NPR’s Baby Project (it’s sort of cute; if you’re into that sort of thing, you should check it out).
In my dream, I was in labor, at the hospital, walking around with my mom and wearing one of those horrible hospital gowns. But the strangest part of the dream was that I kept thinking how I was only x amount of time into labor and already bored.
I sincerely hope that someday, my worst fear for childbirth is how bored I am. I reached down and felt my flat stomach and breathed a sigh of relief. Carlos meowed as he usually does when I bother him too early in the morning, and then came up to snuggle me, and I fell back asleep just as the sunlight was starting to creep through the trees that shelter my window from the street.
And last night, again. But nothing like babies this time. Last night I was an assassin. Don’t ask – it was one of those vivid, shifting dreams where it’s suddenly winter and you’re in Minnesota and then you’re creeping around a house/building/warehouse and you’re killing people. I went down a faux-grass (astroturf) slide like a fish and killed a Japanese guy with crazy hair and a nice suit who happened to be a better at imitating fish movements than me.
That was probably really weird for you, so: Imagine a dark room with a giant, twisty slide that’s not a slide at all, but rather an astroturf covered ramp, and in order to get down it with your gun in your hand, you have to flop like a fish. (I’m not even graceful in my dreams. Great.)
This is the prime example of why I’ll never work for the CIA. I’m not graceful, I’m bad at stealthily fish-flopping, and I have a conscience.
Usually, these wild dreams mean I have a lot on my mind and that I’m overtired. Surprise! Guess what? Both are correct.
The Chicago trip was so worth it, but it nearly killed me, even though I got to spend most of Monday asleep on the couch (as much as I hated missing work, it was so nice to veg out and watch bad television).
Anyway, I’m hoping to get caught up on my sleep this weekend. Babysitting means I’m usually exhausted by the time I get done, so there’s little chance I’ll want to go out dancing (which so bums me out – I haven’t had one of those wild, reckless and possible regrettable [just kidding] nights in ages). Which means sleep – definitely necessary since I have to work essentially a full day tomorrow. The 9-5 hours I missed on Monday and then more babysitting!
Maybe I’ll be able to get to the park before I babysit on Sunday. Or maybe I’ll get to work and log more hours! (That’s ambitious – it won’t really happen and we all know it. I’ll sleep, I’ll probably make some pasta, I’ll be slow to get going – and by then, my weekend will be over.)
But I’m excited for real work tomorrow because I am in creativity mode and thus more prone to devoting my attention to the task of brochure creation. We’ll see how it actually turns out.

Relationships

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This article in the New York Times is well worth your time.

Dan Savage is an advice columnist whose columns deal primarily with sub-cultural relationship problems. I don’t always agree with him, but his advice is generally pretty solid and backed up by a wide knowledge base.
This particular article questions the point of a relationship: stability rather than monogamy, perhaps? Everyone does it differently, but I think it’s important to realize that people have different needs. 
I’ve been spending a lot of time lately thinking about what makes a relationship and what kind of relationship I’d want. (I can see you rolling your eyes right now. It’s fine. I rolled mine when I started writing this and rolled them again upon re-reading.)
I’ve been more or less single since my last serious relationship came to its natural conclusion in January 2010. So a year and a half. I’ve had plenty of dates, and semi-boyfriends, in the months since, but no one has ever materialized as potential-long-term-partner material. 
I’d desperately wanted freedom. I found that, and have loved it immensely. I love being able to fall asleep knowing that I don’t have to move my computer, or the stack of books I share a bed with. 
And yet lately, I’ve been starting to really question the idea of “partner.” Through that questioning, I’ve begun to crave it. But perhaps with age comes selectivity, because people aren’t managing to hold my attention as they should, or as I’d like them to.
The biggest test for me is errands. I find it romantic. I want someone who I will enjoy going to Costco with, someone who makes buying a blender exciting, or at the very least, less mundane. 
Of course, there are the few that manage to keep reappearing in my life. From a December party, at a friend of my then-boyfriend’s apartment until now, we’ve maintained this strange and delicate relationship. It began with harsh words, thrown out off-handedly, then my answering, equally harsh lecture, then Mexican food, then this or that and a few other things. Flash forward to this January, actual consumption of Mexican food and then the strange events of that evening and Englewood. Then to April. I flew off to Chicago with few expectations, no presumptions, and came away tear-stained and puffy, joyous and fulfilled, hauling a backpack full of clean clothes. It was wonderful and terrifying because the glimpse of what I could have had screamed of normalcy. Here I am, off again, to walk on the edge of expectations and to figure out if my future lies therein. Is that the normalcy I’ve been seeking?
But what am I getting myself into? What is this? What will it be? We can’t answer these questions because we’re not sure if that’s even where we want to go. “We”? Is there a we? Could there be one someday? What if it fails? The phone conversations are growing in length, in depth. What do I want? What does he want? I fall asleep with tired smiles on my face. I feel like he shares that (unless he doesn’t, so that’d be awkward). It’s weird to be on the same page, to have somehow gotten lost and landed there, separately. 
Jesus, this is ridiculous. 
But I like it. 
So I guess it’s going to be alright. Or at least an adventure.

Ten days.

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Ferocity.

Something I’m learning from Carlos.

Act preemptively and base everything on your gut.

Your past guides you more than you think but shouldn’t affect anyone’s future perceptions of you.

I’m hurt; I’m annoyed; I’m angry.

No one should make me feel like I’m less than a human being, whether it’s intentional or not.

I am Katie Barry and I do what I want.

Odds and Ends and Saturdays

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I got an email from Mama P this morning. You’ll remember Priscilla, my absolutely insanely wonderful host mother in South Africa.
Her emails are always short and to the point. They never say much, but I’m grateful for them. Today she said that the weather is turning cold, and to say hello to Mike and James Dean for her. I laughed out loud when I read the last bit; I had completely forgotten about that. So here’s how it goes:

The night that James was coming to pick me up for our first date, I realized I had no idea what his name was. I knew it was either James or Dean. So we had all just referred to him as James Dean the entire week. I realized that this was eventually going to present a problem, so I called him, and luckily, he didn’t answer his phone. Voicemail clued me in on his real name and that was that. But we still called James Dean.

It’s amazing how much I miss that place. I know it will never be the same, but it will always have a beautiful place in my heart. I want to get back there, to stand at Muizenberg Beach and feel the waves crash against my feet and fight my way onto the train and off again.

However, my life here is growing daily. While I like that I’m learning a lot at my current job, I’m not satisfied with the compensation and have taken on babysitting to make extra cash. (This supports my lifestyle, which you may be surprised to hear isn’t quite as wild as you might think.) Anyway, I’ve got four families in the rotation and the balancing act is getting a bit hectic.

This week, for example, I will be working all seven days. And twice this week I had to go straight from work to babysit. The other nights I went directly home and was in bed relatively early. It’s all fine and well, but I’m not getting any decompression time and am beginning to get a bit stressed.
Hopefully this week will provide ample opportunity for sleep as I’m not scheduled to work any week days.

Alas, today brings more babysitting, volunteering at a choir concert that one of my co-workers is singing in, and then date night. And tomorrow brings babysitting.
I really love the families that I’m sitting for this weekend – I find it much easier to babysit when I’m actually enjoying myself as well. One family has three little girls, and then, of course, there are the twins.   I find myself hoping the symphony season won’t end!

Last night, Jacob and I went to see a production of Macbeth at UCD. Jacob was personally invested – he did the music for the show. I went because I waffle back and forth on my hate/love of Shakespeare. This play was pretty well done. The costuming choices were interesting – mostly just corsets – and the cast was tiny, but the leads delivered their lines really well.
After that, we went to an art gallery where they were serving pancakes and alcohol (strange combination, but hey, whatever). After paying $5 to get in and being told that drinks were free – we ended up having to pay $4 for a small cup. Ridiculous. The gallery was cute, but it was trying too hard to replicate the scene in New York. There were topless models being spraypainted (when done properly, it’s actually really beautiful), but it just felt like an afterthought, especially as the crowd began to diminish.  After meeting up with our friend Claire and her girlfriend and wandering around looking at some art, we bailed to go dancing.

And so we danced. The night drew to a close, and I was grateful, because the tired had begun creeping through my bones. I went home, said hello to Carlos and Mike, and was asleep nearly immediately. I woke up tired – I didn’t get nearly enough sleep. I’m hoping for a nap while I do my laundry.

Tonight, once my obligations are over, I’ve got a wild night planned (as usual). The guy that I guess I’m dating (I don’t know – we eat dinner together sometimes. He made me waffles. I think that counts as sort of edging toward dating?) is going to come down from Boulder (and maybe bring his adorable dog!) and we’re going to go see Claire’s band play and then (depending on how tired I am or how bored he is) head to a weird art gallery/warehouse for a space party ordeal.

Jacob is super into the electronic scene, which means I find myself at a lot of events. I joking called it a “space cult” based on the theme of the first party he invited me to. Now, we call them space parties. They’re not really – just a bunch of people in a room listening to really good (or really bad, depending) music and maybe drinking.

And yes, we may have to relocate Carlos for the evening. Jacob is more than happy to babysit and Carlos has been itching to get out and explore.

Wikileaks: Or, How My Nuclear/Extended Family Fell Apart

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It’s been awhile since you’ve been party to an angry rant directed at someone you’re familiar with, so get ready:

Preface: I understand that the airing of “dirty laundry” in the internet is frowned upon. I thought about that for a long time before I did this. It’s all based on the lack of transparency. I don’t want anyone to question where I’m coming from or think that I’m neglecting my duties.

I don’t have a solution to the problem below. I’m just thinking thoughts. I do my thinking when I’m typing. I like to record bouts of emotional turmoil for reflection and later, growth.

I love everyone in this post. I’ve taken out names. I want the same things they want. A husband, a family, a full life.

I have a very full life. I am very loved. Don’t question that for a minute.

So what if I like “alternative” culture? We can’t all live in polo shirts in plaid (it makes my thighs look fat). Black is much more slimming. And the vampire look is all the rage these days. (Ew)

Of course, this is very personal. But it involves me, too. And yes, it’s incredibly self-centered. It’s how I feel. This is my space. I can write about whatever I want, and that’s what I’ve chosen to do.

I’m pissed, so this might lack the eloquence I’d usually try to use to cloak the emotions I’m feeling.

I don’t sleep well; I have dreams about this situation all the time; I’m generally annoyed.

For once, I’m at a loss for words. I’ve let an email reply sit out there on the interwebs for more than two months because I literally cannot think of a suitable reply to that reply. I’m stumped by the inability to respond without losing my dignity by accepting a weak excuse, or without burning a bridge, or grovelling. And if there’s one thing I don’t do, it’s grovel.

It’s been a long time coming.

It started long ago. It’s part of who Dad is. Weird.

I get that, and I understand that sometimes it’s hard to be around him. But my argument against that is thus: You’re his family. You can stand to be around him for four hours at a time, like four times a year. It’s much harder to be his daughter than to be his brother, or his sister, or his mother.

Your counter-argument: But, our children!

I counter like this: He’s not a sexual predator. He’s not on drugs. He’s not a drunk. Yes, he’s a completely degenerate bum, but he’s not (at heart) a bad man. Your kids will have to learn how to interact with people who aren’t as affluent or as socially graceful as you someday, they might as well start now.

I’ve been talking to Mom about this for awhile now, trying to puzzle out why we’re so often excluded from Barry family events.

And then Christmas happened.

The text message came in just before 7pm Christmas Eve. “We now have other plans tomorrow. Hope to see you soon.”

Burn. Well played, Uncle [redacted]. The smoothest dis-invite I’ve ever had, without any admission of the actual invite ever existing. (Actually, the only one. I don’t think I’ve ever been dis-invited from anything.)

Here’s the email I sent:

Hello,
I hope you’re all having a good start to the year.
Now that all the holiday rush has died down, I just wanted to drop you
a note to let you know how incredibly disappointed I was in the way
that Christmas was handled this year, and in the way that many
family/holiday events are often handled.
In the future, if you choose to renege on invitations at 6 o’clock the
night before a major holiday, please just don’t bother inviting me at
all.
I can’t speak for [redacted], so I won’t, but I am incredibly hurt. It’s not
that I minded crying a little bit, but even worse was having to listen
to [redacted] cry on the other end of the phone the day after Christmas.
While I hope that I am correct in assuming that you didn’t want to
have any contact with [redacted], I also hope you understand that [redacted] and I
are both independent adults who are capable of social interaction
without him. We haven’t lived with him on any consistent basis since
we were 16 and have displayed none of his odd social proclivities.
If that’s not the case, and there’s something wrong with the two of us
or with me personally, I’d prefer to address it now rather than be
continually excluded from Barry family events.
Sincerely,
Katie

However, it turns out that I was incorrect. I spent hour agonizing over the text of that email. I consulted. I edited. I won’t post the entire response, because I consider myself to be not that much of an asshole, but here are specific excerpts that relate to my post today. And I don’t consider them privileged.

My text the night before was to make sure nothing was
“assumed” even though we hadn’t discussed anything firm and to get [redacted]’s
number. The only way this was triggered was that [redacted] had begun to leave
several messages indicating he wanted to come over.
Another point that disappoints us is that you make no mention of the
numerous holiday events over the years in which you were included.
Often times those events were adjusted to fit your schedule with your
Mom’s side of the family. We were happy to do this, but to be told that
we’ve “continuously excluded” you confuses us.
You mention [redacted] in your note. Right or wrong, holidays and family
events have certainly been impacted due to [redacted]’s behavior. For all of
his great qualities, it’s no secret that his behavior can often times
add stress, drama, etc. I really hate pointing this out since he is
your Dad, but I want to be fair to you and as an “adult.” I don’t think
you’d find this surprising. Unfortunately, his impact has played a role
in not spending more time with you and [redacted] over the years. For so long
it was always a “package deal.” I’m truly sorry that you’ve been
“caught in the middle” in so many instances. Thanks for pointing out
(right or wrong) that it’s no longer the case.


I cried when I read this email.
But then I got mad. That’s why I haven’t been able to respond. I have nothing to say. I do, but I can’t say it. I don’t know. And now it’s just too late to say anything.

RENEGE! (I’m not going to respond to that bit. I’m biting my tongue.)
I don’t talk to Dad. I see him maybe once every couple of months. I’m not a pipeline of Barry family information that goes directly to him. I’m not inviting him to events. 
I was a child when they rearranged all of their schedules. I’m not the one who made up that horrible divorce custody schedule; I’m just the one who got dragged along for the ride.
You do realize I hate Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, etc? The only consolation is that divorce brought double the Thanksgiving dinners and two distinct styles of cranberries. I’m pro-divorce as far as Thanksgiving goes, and very thankful for them.
And I’m also thankful for all the rough rearranging that was done, but I apologize for it. If I had known it was such a problem, I guess I could have….wait a minute, done nothing. I was twelve. I don’t want to hear about it.
Now, of course, complain. If we were demanding change now, you shouldn’t have to acquiese. Don’t rearrange anything for us. We’re autonomous adults (“adults” is a term of debate for another day, but we’re self-sufficient, theoretically productive members of society, which in today’s world, qualifies us as adult). We are capable of handling ourselves in public, in private, wherever. We are capable of managing a schedule. I recently synced my Outlook calendar with my phone calendar and began actually logging dates in there. I’m legit. (Small step for me, large eye-roll for the rest of you.)
I don’t manage Dad! It’s not my fault he calls you!
I would also like to address the part where (you don’t get to read that part) Uncle [redacted] says that he’d like me to list family events that I’ve been excluded from.
Let’s start now.
The day after Christmas I’m housesitting. I get a call from [redacted]. She’s nonchalant. We talk. She asks me how yesterday went, we’re both tip-toeing around what we know is about to come up. She tells me that it was nice, they opened presents, they did this and that and the kids played with this and that. Pretty soon, we’re both crying. I have to hang up because this is bullshit.

[Redacted] and I are both pretty chill people. We don’t expect big dinners. I’ll host! I’ll cook (badly). [Redacted] will cook (better). We’ll put on the dinner, we’ll have a cold cut and cheese platter. I don’t want to see you for your food, I want to see you for you. I love pajamas. I own a bunch, for all occasions, even Christmas.

I cry. That’s when I know everything is really broken.
It’s a Tuesday. I have dinner plans with Mom. I get a call from Aunt [redacted] saying that they’re in town and want to have dinner. I call Mom and cancel.
At dinner, [redacted: cousin] asks me if I’m going to California. I ask, why? She tells me they’re all going to see [redacted: other cousin] graduate from high school. Oh, I say, I’m sorry, I have to work. Inside, I’m thinking, huh, definitely wasn’t invited to that.
Throughout the meal, Aunt [redacted] is constantly saying how nice it is that we’re so flexible, and blathering on about how it’s so nice that we can just be spontaneous. It’s all for Dad’s benefit, because he’s complaining and pressing them for details.
I get that.
Then I find out that they’ve been in town since Friday. Then I find out that we both went to the parade downtown on Saturday. I would have liked to have seen them. I was sober.
I bring that up because I believe that my father’s side of the family has not received the most accurate information about me since I stopped living with my father. He’s got a set of assumptions about my behavior that are entirely incorrect.
Yes, I drink. Yes, I go out.
Yes, I’m 22, and I have a full-time job and I babysit on the side. I have responsibilities and I’m not neglecting any of them. I have a cat-son and a dilapidated car that I love. I get regular oil changes. I vote. I can pretend to be Catholic when necessary. I’m spiritual. I believe in a g-d. I’ve never been arrested. I’m going to stop. This is getting weird.
(I don’t know, what makes a person a good role model?)
Those are two recent examples, but I can dig further if necessary. I’d prefer not to, though.
I would like to have a good relationship with my younger cousins, but it’s very difficult. I was really excited about this summer, when I had the opportunity to drive through the state where some of them live (most awkward attempt to talk around that ever) and stay with them. I had hoped that I was able to leave a positive impression and set a good example for my cousins. I talked with my Aunt and Uncle and was grateful for their hospitality and their generosity.
The base of the problem here is that I wouldn’t be so upset if I didn’t genuinely care. These people are my family, and just because I’m now mostly estranged from my father (for my own personal sanity), I don’t understand why I’ve been shut out as well.
When I was a teenager, and just starting to have problems with my dad, I spent nearly every weekend at [redacted]’s house. She really saved me, and those are some really nice memories. We would go get our toes done, or we’d cook dinner, or we’d run errands together. I cherish those times and am eternally grateful to have had somewhere else to go when things weren’t great. She never said anything about it, but I respect her for understanding that I needed somewhere to go.
When we didn’t have any furniture or good sheets, she took me out and we bought flannel sheets, a comforter, and a rug for Christmas one year. I still have all of that (except the comforter). I still remember how excited I was to decorate my rom.

That same year, in what I now know was an attempt to pull my struggling self-esteem up, she and Aunt [redacted] took me to buy makeup. Oh my g-d, I still have dreams about that stuff. I was so genuinely happy. And I am still genuinely grateful. I love my Mom but she’s not great at super girly stuff that like, and I really looked up to Aunt [redacted] because to me, she was epitome of what a woman should be. She was funny, smart, happy. I wanted all of that, too.
But now I realize that I’m not exactly like them. I have literally been racking my brain for months (years, really) to try and figure out what it is about me that doesn’t jive.
I honestly don’t know.
I think it’s that sometimes I forget to send out thank you notes. I really do write them. Every time I move, I find a bunch of thank you notes that have been addressed, sealed, the whole works, just not sent. I’m sorry about that.
Or maybe it’s that I don’t send enough gifts. I want to blame Dad on this one, but here I am trying to assert my independence, so obviously that’s not going to work. I’ll try harder.
Or maybe it’s that I’m not Catholic. But I went to Catholic grade schools, a Catholic high school, a Catholic university. I graduated. I did what they wanted. I’m not a heathen, I’m just not a Christian. But I don’t tell their kids that. I answer their questions honestly but sometimes I do lie just to protect their upbringings. I know Catholicism in and out. I’m good.
Once, when I was like fifteen, Uncle [redacted] and Aunt [redacted] found a lighter at their house. At that time, I had just become a black-cotton-clad child and was expressing my inner rage, so naturally, they thought it was mine. I denied it, because it wasn’t. I later found out it belonged to [redacted] but he was too scared to say anything. Maybe that was where it all started to go wrong. I’m sorry. I didn’t lie.
I don’t lie. I don’t cheat. I don’t steal.
(That’s my life philosophy. It’s not that hard to do, really. I feel like aiming for those goals is good. From there, you can expand yourself into the best person you can be.)
Anyway, those are my theories. I’m sorry my father is a nut. It’s not all his fault. It’s the [redacted] syndrome. It affects him socially. Granted, even after the mitigating circumstances, he’s still a lot to handle, but a lot of that is also generated when the people who are supposed to love him unconditionally get irritated. (I’m guilty of being the ultimate hypocrite here, I realize that. But seriously, if there’s a group, four hours doesn’t seem so bad, does it? I manage dinners, coffees, whatever. It’s not going to kill you.)
I’m not invited to Easter, go figure.
Let’s just all be estranged and call it good.
I will at least say that my mom’s side of the family is always willing to rearrange things for us as necessary. And sometimes they even go out of their way to see us. It’s nice. I know that if I call Aunt [redacted] for something, a favor, or a plan, or an activity, she’ll respond. In a timely manner. Who’d have thought?
I guess it comes down to this: you can’t choose your family (even when you’re adopted), but you can choose to interact for the better or the worst. Some people love me for who I am, even if I’m not following their idea of the perfect life path. Some don’t, I guess. It hurts. I’m not good at conflict; I’m not good at trying to figure out why I don’t belong. But I guess this is a chance for me to get better at it.
Ugh, Easter. People wonder why I get so agitated around the holiday season. Wouldn’t you?