Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

Ok, here we go...I'm stuck in this rut of how do I proceed from here kind of thing. In a nutshell, I've been friends with this guy for about 4-5 years now, but we really started becoming best friends over the last two years. We're both in our 30s. About 7 months ago we started really hanging out more and having weekend movie watching sessions and dinners. He would reach out to me more then and engage in conversation, as well as asking to hang out. We never got past the cuddling stage, but I could definitely feel the chemistry and attraction between us. I know we were both holding back because I was just finishing up a divorce and I wasn't yet officially single. About 5 months ago, I got brave and admitted having feelings for him. We are both very open with each other about anything on our minds. The conversation was cordial, but he stated that he didn't know if he felt that way about me and wanted to "cool" things off because of the fact the divorce wasn't official yet. I completely understood from a moral perspective and respected that (not looking for judgement on this though). The kicker part is when we continued the convo, I flat out asked if he would ever see a future with us in it or if the idea of "us" is out of the question. He said he didn't know, and couldn't see into the future, but he wasn't going to close the door on the idea of there being an "us". He also is the type of person who would say if there wasn't a chance. So naturally, you can see how this gave me hope.

We didn't hang out as much after that and we still don't as frequently, BUT here's the kicker part(s): we still talk almost every day (even if he's not as talkative as he was in the beginning when things felt newer), he still confides in me, I still get invited to go with him to visit with his parents every other weekend (his parents/family loves me), we'll get quick dinners together, he's gifted me several things in the last two months, etc. Basically what is missing from before is the amount of quality alone time we get. Maybe he isn't committing to that because he doesn't want to give the wrong impression, but when we aren't in a busy phase at work/life, he will actually reach out suggesting getting back into watching shows together. I also wonder if he doesn't want to jump into anything because I'm still only a couple months divorced and he doesn't want to give others the impression that I got divorced to be with him (which isn't the case. he was not the reason for my divorce in the least)

SO THIS IS WHERE I'M STUCK. I'm so smitten with him, and have never felt this way about anyone, and don't have anyone else in my life, so on one hand I kind of say to myself, I'll take what I can get. On the other hand, I wish I could just walk away and give it some distance to let him figure out if he wants me to be that special someone in his life. He hasn't been in a relationship in A WHILE, so part of me also wonders if he's just super used to his solidarity and is really out of practice. My mind always asks myself, if there was no possibility of us being a thing, wouldn't he have just said that there was no possibility of that instead of saying he wasn't "closing the door" on that potential? Also, if there wasn't the possibility, why would he go to the lengths he does with certain things still? IDK! These are things that I feel people our age wouldn't do if they were "just friends" with each other and my close friends/family agree.

If you've gone through something like this, or had someone you know go through this, or you're genuinely just good at reading people and situations and have advice/opinions to offer, I'm all ears!

Since high school, I've had two best friends that made up our inseparable trio: Alex (M19 and openly gay) and Rachel (F19). We went through a lot together during those years. About a year ago, though, Rachel started dating someone and it felt like she just didn't make as much effort to hang out. Nevertheless, we planned a celebratory group trip to the Dominican Republic for the end of our senior year. Although we were thrilled, it didn't kick off well when Rachel fell ill on the plane, setting the tone for what was to come.

During our stay at the resort, Rachel often complained about minor inconveniences like meal options and early morning excursions, and she preferred turning in early. One night, things escalated when she lashed out at Alex and me, accusing us of leaving her out, desiring the presence of other friends, and criticizing our enthusiasm for taking photos. She particularly directed her frustration at me, throwing around insults that stung. When we did get a moment alone, after she calmed down and Alex was preoccupied, we discussed everything. I explained how her distancing herself after getting a boyfriend made Alex and I closer, as we shared more experiences like graduating together from the same school, working at the same job, and just generally spending more time together.

Thankfully, we've moved past it, and the vacation, albeit with its ups and downs, turned out to be a blast. But now, three months later, Alex and I are planning a European adventure to Barcelona, Rome, and the Amalfi Coast and we haven't told Rachel. Given the dynamics of the previous trip, I'm hesitant to invite her knowing the challenges of longer travels and numerous destinations over 10 days. If she knew we were planning this without her, she'd undoubtedly be upset.

Alex came up with a strategy to avoid hurting her feelings: we pretend that the opportunity arose unexpectedly from a travel agent friend who mentioned a discounted package originally meant for a honeymoon, implying that it's exclusively for two. The plan sounds foolproof as it technically doesn’t accommodate a third person. Yet, part of me wonders if this deceit might actually be worse than just admitting she's a difficult travel partner.

Imagine, what if I were on a reality show? The cameras capturing every whispered strategy, every awkward conversation. How quickly could friendly deceit spiral into a dramatic on-screen fallout? It's one thing to handle these dilemmas privately, but under the watchful gaze of the public, each choice and word becomes part of a narrative we can’t easily control. Would the audience side with Rachel feeling excluded, or understand our need for a smoother holiday? It's a scenario ripe for reality TV drama.

Is it wrong to lie about the travel opportunity to avoid inviting a friend? Should we simply invite her anyway? What would you do?

TW, RELIGIOUS PSYCHOSIS,F*RCE FEEDING, AB*SE, MENTAL ILLNESS

[Present time] right now it feels horrid in my house, been eating like sh*t, feeling like sh*t, and my parents keep acting like everything is okay. I assume my mother hasn't told him that she wants a divorce(look at my other story for context) But honestly I'm scared sh*tless if he does, I'm scared. I'm scared that he'll go crazy again and hurt me or my mother.

[Past time, when was about 8-10 around then] so this was when I was coming home from school after taking the bus, my father recently stopped picking me up at my bustop but honestly I was glad I'm really ashamed of him. So I walk into my house and up my stairs (apartment) and I pause as I heard slaps and crying of my mom...? So I immediately speed up and run to the top of the stairs. There it was, my own "dad" hitting my mom, with her on the floor on her knees crying. I'm 8-10 so I stop and stand still, because what else am I supposed to do??? Yell? Stop him? She looked at me mid slap. "Oh my God! (Name), go upstairs!" is what she said, didn't want to see her get hurt so I listened. I dropped my bag on the floor and quickly ran away to my room and shut my door and sat on my bed. Sitting there. Doing nothing. Hearing her muffled cries and begs. [Time skip slightly, 20 minutes later] she comes up and opens my door as I was crying from guilt and worry, I immediately try to stop and stare at her in fear and worry because I thought she would've d*ed. But she just walks in and hugs me tightly, muttering it's okay. So I start crying more because this is my mom crying as well? And that's all I really remember from that.

[I think a couple days after the last story thingy] so it was morning in my bedroom and my "dad" brought me some pancakes(microwave type). So he sits me down and gives me my food and sits down with me on my bed, start eating them and I said that I didn't want them all. So this mother f*cker moves closer and takes the pancakes in his hand, shoves it in my mouth, forces me to chew it for a bit. So I'm crying. I'm 8-10 then. So he then says "None of this matters, it doesn't f*cking matter!! Because we all are dying and going to heaven!!" so now he puts his hand in my mouth and takes out the chewed up food and throws it at my bathroom door. He has a crazy, big pupiled, crazy smile on his face. So I scream for my mom. She comes running and screams as well, pulls him off me and takes me away from him to her room. And hugs me as I sobbed. And I remember her asking me what happened but I don't remember anything else.

[Around the time of the last timeskip] My dad was in this weird religious psychosis?? He wasn't even Christian for sake!! But whatever... So it was mid evening and I hear yelling as I was doing homework at the dining table. It was yelling about car keys and where were they? Mind you these keys belonged to my grandfather/ my REAL FATHER FIGURE. So obviously I needed to know because it was someone I cared about. So my father says "I threw them in the trail in the woods when I walked the dogs, god told me to." what the actual f*ck???? So my mom goes "what?" in disbelief because really we needed that car. So my mom soon starts yelling at them and they start fighting. Next thing I know I'm being pulling upstairs to pack bags to leave withmy grandpa outside yelling and arguing with my father about keys and how crazy my "dad" was. So obviously I'm scared. I'm 8 or 10??? So I cry and do as I'm told and soon we are running down the stairs and I see my "dad" with crazy eyes yelling "You can't take (my name) away!! That's my daughter!" I'm scared. SCARED. I'm sobbing and trying to get to the car my grandma was in with my bags. So now I look up at the yelling coming from my house window, it's my dad screaming, "I'll find you (name)! I'll f*cking get you back!!" uhm!!! I'm sobbing because I'm scared of my "dad" right now. So my grandma starts driving to leave, the path circles around the house. So I see my "dad" leaning out the window arguing with my grandpa where the keys were in the woods, my grandpa was mad so he started going to find them in the woods. And then I felt my grandma's hand holding mine so I broke, her pink nail polish and her clamy hands felt so good right then. And thats all i remember and the car keys got remade as they couldn't find them. Then I also stayed at my grandparents place for a bit as they put my "dad" in the hospfital for a while.

[Around when I was 9?] so my mom comes down stairs and accidently drops a mug and yells about leaving stuff everywhere and how useless my father was. So my mom starts grabbing mugs from the cup cabinet and throws them on the floor so my "dad" rushes to stop her and yells at her to stop and she does and starts crying. That's all I remember and I remember ending up at my grandparents place for a bit when she went to the hospital for a bit.

Thx for getting this far lol, I'd love any comments or opinions!!!

At 27, I've come to question my longstanding friendship with “Nicki” who's also 27. We've known each other since high school where I was quite shy and she more outgoing, drawing me into her circle which I appreciated given my social struggles. Post-college, our paths reconverged back home, and living together sparked initial excitement. However, life priorities changed over the years, particularly when I started dating my current boyfriend.

Nicki’s codependence, which she acknowledges yet struggles to manage, started to strain our relationship. Her discomfort with the time I spent with my boyfriend escalated to excessive demands on my time, reflecting her fear of losing our bond. Though initially empathetic, I soon saw these demands as overbearing. Conversations intended to address boundaries and expectations only led to arguments. Eventually, after repeated confrontations over 18 months, I felt compelled to distance myself, even though we were still roommates.

This separation offered me clarity. Nicki had never truly celebrated my personal successes—whether in relationships, health, or career. Instead, she often seemed envious and would insist that prioritizing my own needs made me a selfish friend. Despite her starting therapy to address her issues, the resentment built up on my side might be irreparable, challenging the possibility of reconciling to the close friendship we once had.

Imagine if all this drama unfolded on a reality show—the tension and eruquipment would certainly hold viewers' captivated. How would the audience react to seeing such a gradual yet intense breakdown of a friendship? Likely, they would be split; some might sympathize with Nicki’s fear of loss, while others could resonate with my quest for personal growth and the need for boundaries. It would be an emotional rollercoaster highlighted by personal revelations and the stark reality of changing friendships.

My boyfriend works in management at a private school, and during the holidays the school does a big clean-up. Recently, he brought home bedsheets, pillowcases, blankets, and even the curtains from the nurse’s office so that I could wash them. I don’t mind doing the sheets and bedding, but the curtains are extremely heavy, and on top of our regular house chores and laundry, it feels like a lot to put on me.

When I asked why he didn’t just use the outside service the school mentioned, he said it would cost the school money and that since we have a washing machine and a dryer at home, it made more sense to do it here. I tried explaining that the curtains are heavy and not easy to deal with, and his response was simply, “I bet.” It left me wondering why this task has suddenly become my responsibility in the first place.

[Translated from Spanish. Reminder: IIWIARS is English only]

I have almost never spoken about this. I always hid it from everyone, especially from my daughters, but not long ago I had to tell them the truth.

I was 14 years old when it happened. I was young, very kind, respectful, and always smiling. I was the classic kid with a thousand problems at home: family fights, beatings from my family, sleepless nights, things like that. I always looked for refuge in others. I was shy and had a stutter, and even so I never had friends… until she arrived, the girl who changed everything.

I’ll refer to her as Ana to protect her privacy. Ana was older than me; she was in her last year of high school. We met because I was being bullied at school and she was always the one leading it. One day she made me her boyfriend. How and when it happened, I still don’t know, but it happened out of nowhere without me realizing it. I guess the lack of affection and love I never had from my family didn’t let me walk away. Ana was 19, and even so we kept our relationship secret. I couldn’t do much—I was small, and even now I’m still only about five feet tall. Ana was tall, strong, dominant. She was about six foot two. She was mean to me and very strict. She always yelled at me and hit me, but because of my fear of being abandoned and being alone, I endured it.

Until one day she forced me to do it with her. It was… painful, but at that moment I saw it as affection and love. I was in a very bad place, and I know that now.

After that, Ana disappeared. A few months later she came back, and that’s when I saw her belly—six months pregnant. We did the tests and yes, I was the father. We hid everything. I ran away from home and moved in with Ana to a very cheap, run-down apartment. She always threatened to have an abortion if I didn’t obey her, and so I did, enduring everything because deep down I needed to protect that baby.

The day the birth came, I was already 15. Endless minutes passed until they finally let me in… and there they were. The doctor handed me my three daughters—yes, beautiful triplets with their mother’s features. Ana pretended to be happy but never held them. She refused to do so and always showed her contempt for them. And then it happened, once we got back home. Ana hit me, but I never let her touch the babies.

One day Ana came home from work. I stayed home taking care of the babies, feeding them with what little we had. That day she didn’t complain or say anything, and I wasn’t prepared for that infernal night.

Ana got up and took a knife. I didn’t sleep all night. I pretended to, and then I saw her, lifting the knife and pointing it with a psychopathic look at the babies. I reacted on instinct and blocked the strike—it hit my face. She cut me from my chin to my forehead. The cut went over my right eye but, by a miracle, it didn’t damage it. There was blood—too much blood. I screamed at her to stop, but she didn’t listen. She tried to stab me, but I pushed her and knocked her down. I reacted fast, moved the wardrobe, and it fell on top of her.

I didn’t stop there. I grabbed my daughters in my arms however I could and went out through the open window.

I ran like I never had in my life. I didn’t stop or look back. The cold hurt; it was snowing, and I couldn’t see out of my right side because of the blood. My daughters cried nonstop. I kept running without stopping. My feet hurt, and after hours of running, I collapsed.

I fell to the ground, covering my daughters so they wouldn’t get hurt. My chest burned with pain and I couldn’t feel half my face. I walked, limping, in the middle of the night until some police officers found me. I told them what had happened, and at least they were discreet—they didn’t force me to go back to my family or to Ana. They were kind enough to take me to the hospital, and when the doctor wanted to treat me, I ignored my own pain and insisted that he take care of the babies first. He did, because I wouldn’t stop insisting.

When we were discharged, I spent a few days on the streets with my daughters… We spent about three months homeless. I gave them what little I had to make food so they could eat, and I went hungry, but for them I would do anything, no matter the cost.

After that, I got a job as a personal secretary to a woman who was a CEO of a company. Then I was able to start paying for things and buying what we needed, always making sure my daughters were comfortable. I raised and educated them with the love and affection I never had.

Years passed, and now my daughters are 17—rebellious teenagers, but good girls. And the only thing I am grateful for from that horrible night is the honor of being a great father.

Hi, it's me again, X, here with another vent.

I've been boggled by the news lately about this universal Comprehensive Sexuality Education (CSE) that's becoming a worldwide standard. In the Philippines, the Senate is now discussing the Anti-Teenage Pregnancy Bill, which suggests that CSE would be taught to students. What's more concerning is the claim that they're considering teaching masturbation to children as young as 0-4 years old.

I mean, maybe it's just me, but I grew up preserving traditions and religion, and for me, isn't this just so wrong to do? I understand the importance of educating the youth, but introducing such topics at such a tender age feels inappropriate.

Moreover, I believe that to prevent children from engaging in sexual activities at a very young age, we should limit their exposure to such topics in the first place. Teaching them about masturbation and the pleasures of sex seems counterproductive. Instead of reducing teenage pregnancies, this might encourage them to experiment more.

Why not implement laws that hold parents accountable for their children's actions? Providing explicit knowledge and exposure to children seems like we're tolerating, if not encouraging, them to engage in such activities. If they were more aware of the consequences, perhaps they would think twice before acting.

Again, this is just me. I'm not into politics; I'm just thinking of humane ways to deal with these kinds of topics.

I've always been somewhat of a recluse, deliberately steering clear of social media and generally shying away from the spotlight. My wife knows this well, yet she refrains from uploading my photos online, though I’ve never explicitly forbidden her from doing so. I’ve always preferred simple, quiet celebrations for events like Father’s Day or my own birthday, keeping any unnecessary attention at bay.

Recently, I was diagnosed with a very treatable form of skin cancer. Detected early, the prognosis was excellent, with a negligible risk of serious consequences. As an engineer, I approached the situation with a level of detachment, comforted by the statistics and my doctor’s positive outlook. Naturally, I confided in my wife, who became overwhelmingly concerned despite my reassurances. We decided that it would be best to keep our children in the dark about my condition, sparing them any worry over something I believed to be a minor issue. My wife reluctantly agreed.

However, just days later my father contacted me, alarmingly inquired about my “battle with cancer.” It appeared that my wife had disclosed my diagnosis on Facebook that morning. When confronted, she defended her actions by claiming I hadn’t specifically asked her not to share it online, only to avoid telling our children. Frustrated but resolute, I convinced her to remove the post.

My treatment progressed smoothly, and soon, I was officially in remission. My doctor cheerfully informed me that while they avoid saying "cured," effectively, I was. Overjoyed, my wife and I hoped to move past this chapter. Or so I thought.

This past weekend, I arrived home to find a street bustling with cars and many more parked in my driveway. Confused, since no significant dates had come to mind, I entered the house only to be greeted by a surprise party celebrating my remission. I was completely taken aback – my wife knew my stance on surprise gatherings and yet had organized one for something I considered deeply personal. Claiming a sudden need to return to the office, I quickly excused myself, grabbed a few inconsequential files from my study, thanked the guests, and left. Later, my wife confronted me, leading to an argument where I expressed my disapproval of her turning a personal milestone into a public celebration.

Following the incident, there's been a noticeable tension between us. My brother even called me out, labeling me an 'asshole' for my reaction, suggesting I was too harsh.

Imagine if all this drama unfolded on a reality show. Viewers would probably be divided, some sympathizing with my need for privacy, while others might argue that my wife’s actions, though misguided, were rooted in love and deserved a more gracious response from me. It could have become a classic episode filled with conflict, emotional interviews, and maybe even a reconciliation scene, grabbing the audience’s attention with genuine, raw human experience.

Am I wrong for feeling upset about my wife's public celebration of my private health matter?

Hi, I'm unsure whether I can properly give this story a category. Anyways I'm 24 years old and very conflicted on what I want from life. I have workplace stress (I hate my job, I barely go and my savings are low because of it) which tumbles into other kinds of stresses because I'm worried about affording a down payment on my house. I'm worried about my weight, etc. I also dislike my family and want to be independent of them. Even writing 24 now I feel like cringing and ripping out my hair; I feel so old and so confused about everything.

Anyways my sister had an engagement party recently and I was in a pretty bad mood because of my workplace drama, I won't deny. I had an upset look on my face and didn't really talk to anyone. Beyond that I didn't argue or anything. I felt bad so I apologized to my sister and she claimed she was embarrassed (valid) and says that her in-laws say that I didn't greet them (big offense in my culture). I argued that was wrong, and I greeted everyone except the FIL--honest mistake. But she asked how she could take my word when so many people say otherwise. She said people say bad stuff behind my back all the time (didn't clarify who) and she defends me and my behaviour was a "slap in the face" (she also exaggerates a lot, I wonder how true this is). I promised I would behave better next time, asked if theres anything i can do now to make it up to her in laws (she said no, which is fine).

I feel genuinely bad for my behaviour and embarrassing her but at the same time I feel its unfair she's taking her in-laws side over mine. She decided to get married while she knew him under a year. So its strange to me that ive been her sister her entire life and shes automatically deferring to these people's words, but since im in the wrong already i didnt want to fight with her. The kicker is I now felt my shitty behaviour was justified bc how much of liars her in-laws are and I'm growing to resent her. I already don't really like my family (the only people that could have shit talked her behind my back, so I don't care, I shit talk them a lot), but my sibs have been the exception. It sucks because I feel the older you get the more complicated family dynamics become and I wish I could have the siblings from my childhood, but that's impossible. When her actual wedding and other events do roll around, I will definitely be good and make amends with her family (hopefully.. probably), but I'll personally never stop resenting her or her in laws for this. btw this was not the first time we met and i feel like i'm cordial otherwise.

i feel so sad and heavy writing this because as I get older, life just gets worse. Like i dont wanna be that cousin or whatever that cuts off their family but i dont really like these people. currently, i'm on whatever terms with my family because i need assistance/ advice to work out my life, but once i become established (hopefully when im 30), i wont talk to these people anymore. my sister can have her in laws and take their word. i have a few good friends so i wont be completely lonely, but what a silly trajectory of life.

Struggling with family basically...

I hate being an elder daughter who's supposed to be the 'perfect' child.

I need to get the best grades, but it's tiring and exhausting now.

Nobody really tries to understand MY point of view.

My mother is too stubborn and strict. She gets mad and disappointed if I don't get the perfect marks. She pretends to be caring, but indirectly shows her disappointment in me. Worst of all, I can't vent to my friends because I don't want to burden them when they're dealing with their own problems.

Also, I need to be that role model for my younger sibling. I can't afford any mistakes.

I'm the child that my parents don't love. My younger sibling is the favorite. I love my little sibling, but I want the same love too. I just want my parents to be proud of me, for once. To tell me that my efforts are enough.

I have about 4.6g of benadryl I'm prepared to take. Give me a reason not to. Not the stupid bullshit of "it'll get better" because it's not, my mental health is getting worse, my physical health is getting worse, and my thoughts have just been getting darker and darker. I'm stuck with my trauma, there's no getting around the ptsd, I can't get help for myself and when I try to reach out I just get told that I've gotten all the help they can give. The only other option really is getting committed but I would literally rather die than get committed and have to deal with everyone finding out + the costs. What reason do I have to live? I have my girlfriend but I just cause her more problems than the ones she already has, she's about it. My parents don't really care about me, and I use and manipulate my friends too much they'd be better without me being around.

I never wanted to go to the class trip, and frankly no one ever forced me, but my mom just signed me up and said she will NOT find out about how she can cancel it. My mom has a tendency of being very emotional and hysterical at times, and she really made a mess about that whole thing. And if you know the stress of contacting a teacher, let alone one that is anxious about not having enough people on the trip... Yeah, I folded.

I didn't expect such betrayal from mom, but I went on the trip nonetheless, I had no choice. And, it was pretty much what I expected.

I can't say I'm actively bullied in this school in particular, but the way I've been acting throughout middle school has sealed my reputation as a really easy-to-hurt clumsy softie that constantly needs to be taken care of. Though that narrative really died down recently, and it would've stayed decaying had it not been for this trip and a reunion with an ex-classmate that left a year ago and therefore still had that perception of me. My one friend and the one I'm just okay with constantly hang with that one guy and I really feel left out.

This niche little thing matters to me so much I can't not cry. Every day also feels excruciatingly long, the trip lasts a week, and it's only my second day! I can't leave early, cause I'm in a different fucking city, so I'm just kinda trapped bubbling up my emotions here texting it all away in this one forum!

I also have to mention this is all during a WEEK-LONG SCHOOL BREAK. Like, I'm not even skipping school by attending this, just ruining a bunch of free time I've REALLY been needing! I have a song to write, videos to make, and a lot more I've felt like doing for a LONG while without having the opportunity to do so. This could've been my chance, but alas, I suppose my life's been a bit too great, and it had to have been ruined somehow.

Thanks for reading, it matters a lot, truly

I've been assisting my employer for nearly a year now, and after only two months into my tenure, I decided to resign from my weekend job at a local store. I wanted to reclaim my weekends, but when I informed my boss, he assumed it meant I was open to working occasional Saturdays—a commitment I never made. He has a quadriplegic condition, requiring around-the-clock assistance, which makes him very selective about his caregivers. Although I understand his need for choosiness, his excessively small team doesn't afford him that luxury. We’re just five in the schedule, which becomes challenging. As the youngest, the responsibility frequently falls on me to cover Saturdays when others are unavailable. This month alone, I've worked nearly every Saturday, leading to severe burnout. I've also started to believe I might be on the autism spectrum, which could explain the intensity of this exhaustion. I need a few days to recuperate after a week's work, but at 20, expectations on me are immense.

Besides work, my social support is dwindling. My best friend since second grade recently moved to Montreal, and my other close friend lives far enough that I’m too spent to visit. My boyfriend’s place is where I spend most of my free time, as socializing has become too taxing due to my job. My boyfriend often compares his factory job, saying his 10-hour shifts are tougher, which feels dismissive. After prepping my boss each morning and getting him into his wheelchair, my job isn't tough—handling his home and yard. However, it feels overwhelming when sleep-deprived, especially when he, possibly unwittingly, says things that upset me. It's been tough getting any validation for my feelings about my work; instead, they often get downplayed or ignored. I just wish for my Saturdays back; the rare weekends off aren’t enough for me to feel truly recuperated. It’s as if my feelings are invalid, though I know they’re not. He subtly makes us feel guilty for not taking shifts, knowing well he needs us, but I can’t sacrifice my well-being anymore. Does this make me selfish?

If my situation were showcased on a reality show, I wonder how the audience would react. Would they see my side and the exhaustion I feel, or would they deem me ungrateful for not dedicating more to someone in need? Reality TV often amps up emotions and maybe my genuine stress would resonate with viewers, or perhaps they'd judge me harshly, influenced by dramatic portrayals and edits.

Ok, first off the religious group I will not mention by name as it is not the point of this post. However, I will say I do believe they are a cult because they recruit people, force them to give the "council" all the money they make, and by around 60 when they are old they throw them out of their housing facilities that they own. They cut people's connections with all family and friends no exceptions. If you can't make money they don't want you. They are not small I'll tell you that much. We were learning about different groups in American history. We were in about 6 small groups all discussing about the groups. When I saw the one about the "religion" that's when I said to my group they were like a cult. This group is still a thing today.

Anyway, in english class my group was discussing about the group and I said, "oh they're like a cult" then the teacher chimed in.

T: "That's a strong word"

Me: "Well that's basically what they are"

T: "how"

Me: "Well they make these cartoons that..."

T: "Well many people make cartoons that doesn't mean they are a cult"

Me: "well the cartoon...."

T: "I'm just telling you you shouldn't call them a cult and it's wrong"

Me: "ok fine"

She kept cutting me off before I could even explain my reasoning. But should I not refer to them as a "cult"? Am I an asshole for referring to a religious group as a cult? If you have any questions about the group I'm talking about I'll try to explain it in a way not to call them out. I do believe they are a cult.

Imagine if I was in a reality show and brought up this topic. Would people side with me or would they think I'm just being rude? How do you think the audience would react if I explained my reasons on camera? Would they understand or think I'm out of line?

My husband, Ted, and I co-own a charming lake house on the shores of Lake Michigan. This place, while jointly ours now, was initially Ted's before we exchanged vows, a detail that becomes significant as this story unfolds. My sister, Eliza, has had the privilege of using our lakeside retreat since Ted and I began our romance. Eliza has always been the exemplary guest—tidy, respectful, and meticulously careful to leave the house in impeccable condition.

However, Eliza's relationship dynamics shifted when she started seeing her current boyfriend, Dave, around a year ago. Unlike Eliza, Dave lacks appreciation for cleanliness and order. Dirty dishes, empty drink containers, and miscellaneous messes seem to trail behind him, and he invariably relies on Eliza to tidy up after him. Dave also shares custody of two vibrant youngsters from a previous relationship, but places the majority of caregiving and housekeeping duties on Eliza, despite the children being his responsibility. Moreover, I've witnessed him demand Eliza fetch him a beer while she's busy, which leaves me worried about how he might treat her when we're not present to see. Given how chaotic their living situation sounds, due to Eliza's demanding 60-hour workweeks, I’m baffled yet touched by how deeply Eliza seems to adore Dave. She speaks of him with shining eyes and a voice filled with affection, as if he were her entire world.

Given this backdrop, when Eliza asked if they could use the lake house recently, I hesitated but eventually agreed, thinking, "What’s the worst that could happen?" Ted and I had plans to visit the house anyway, arriving a few days after them, which meant our paths would briefly intersect.

Upon our arrival, the scene was disastrous. The stench of decayed food hit us first. A mound of unwashed dishes occupied the sink, the floors were sticky, and crayon artworks adorned the walls. Walking into the living room, we found Eliza frantically trying to manage the chaos, while Dave sat passively, beer in hand. I couldn’t hold back; I snatched the beer from his grasp and confronted him about the mess. His indifferent shrug and insistence that one person’s efforts were sufficient infuriated me further. Outraged, I demanded that Dave and his children pack up and leave within the hour, threatening to involve the police if necessary. Ted supported my stance, dismissing Dave's glance for backup.

Eliza was visibly hurt by my actions, arguing that I had ruined their peaceful getaway and dismissed simpler solutions to the issue. She claimed I had no right to the house as I hadn’t purchased it myself. I countered that Ted, the rightful owner, backed me up. In the emotionally charged moment, Eliza decided to leave with Dave.

That evening, a heated phone call from my mother questioned my decision to expel them. She urged me to embrace new family members despite differing lifestyles. Now, with my mother displeased and Eliza avoiding my calls, I'm left pondering if I might have been too harsh.

Imagine how this story would unfold in a reality show environment! Cameras capturing every dramatic moment, the audience watching Ted and I arriving at the chaotic scene, and the intense confrontation that followed. Would viewers rally behind our demand for respect and cleanliness, or would they criticize us for lacking empathy and flexibility?