When Conrad got Covid I sat outside the door, on the couch, at loose ends. Starting to feel sick but I didn’t know if it was my body or my heart.

I did the research to see how much it would cost to go home early. I didn’t not want to be here anymore. A burden. Powerless. A nuisance.

Mom and her daughters help each other picking up groceries and they pay each other back. When Christmas passed mom asked us to help out with the cooking. We have offered early on actually.
But as we decided on the meals we will cook, went shopping and mom sorted out the grocery bill, highlighting the groceries purchased for the meals I was going to cook and wrote my name, just as she did with the few things she bought for Maggie to be paid back for. It makes total sense. I get it. But as we haven’t been here in two years, and we are visiting for the holidays, having groceries be put on my tab felt sad, distancing, and I felt so ashamed for hoping we aren’t paying for groceries. Food is so much more expensive than home and I felt trapped. What did I expect? A free ride?

Is it fair to eat for free at your parents’ house?

I want to do what’s best for my family. And at times I think financial independence, abundance, would solve all these issues. I applied for a full time job outside of home and Conrad and our friends we work with often, got worried I’ll never see them. That is the reality of full time work. I would not drive the kids home mid day and I would not cook lunch for them. If I go on business trips I would not see them days on end. That made us all sad. And as we looked at out finances we realized we had enough to ride the wave still and do what we do for a lot less money but be present. That was great while we were in Romania, but as we are in Austin for the holidays, our limited finances put so much stress on me that I want out. I don’t want to compete and compare, I can’t be equal in spending with my in laws. But I have the freedom to be myself, on my own terms… at home. Not here. So I want to leave. And not look back. It’s past midnight as I write this and hot tears stream down my face. I know the solution is to speak up. And clear the air, but I don’t want handouts, I don’t want to be pity hosted, I don’t want to come across as a beggar. I want out.