You might think I’m behaving like a spoilt brat. You might think you’ve done nothing wrong.
Actually, I know you think you’ve done nothing wrong, and that is more important now than what made me so angry in the first place.
I’m absolutely livid that you went and completely ignored me on the weekend, once my brother and relatives showed up. You’re more than happy to talk to me when it’s just me around, happy to ask me to run around, doing this and that to give you a hand. Happy to invite me around at Christmas to help with cooking.
But how dare I try and join in conversations? Oh no, I’m not there for that.
I’m not 5, 10 or even 18. I’m 30 years old. Do you really think I’m going to be happy to receive a few presents and then sit in the fucking corner for a few hours?
Would you go and visit people if you knew they would ignore you once someone else turned up? Fuck that. I don’t mind spending time on my own, but I’d rather do that at my own house than at someone else’s.
Sure, we can “talk” about this after the party this weekend. Meaning, I can talk until I’m blue in the face, with the wall showing more empathy and understanding than you ever will.
The truth is, I don’t see any point.
You can start getting all wound up at the prospect of not seeing me again, but remember what you told me when I was a teenager? I shouldn’t spend time with people who make me upset and angry every time I see them. Unfortunately, you are the worst suspects. And it shouldn’t be any different just because you’re my parents.
I won’t be there this Christmas.
Or the next.
Or any thereafter.
Take care of yourselves.
One less daughter.