Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

In this world, we cannot deign to speak about the family as we see fit; instead, we must use a pre-established discourse regarding it, as it is precisely a terrain where experience is entirely personal. It is a joy to establish a normality through which to generalize all the experiences of all individuals within their families for their maintenance within society.

Such normality often proves completely detached, suffocating, and rather leads to viewing our family in a blind way and being permissive with its ways of operating. This normalization is proving to be a game of exclusion for those who fail to fit in, which translates into the absence of relationships based on maintaining this profile. In itself, it is encouraging the creation of criminals or suicides. There are authorities for these, however, the key is not to fall into such traps.

The society in which we operate creates extremely precise profiles, which leads to redefining the version of family members. An environment where illegal acts become routine encourages members, thanks to their surroundings, encouraging them to reflect on more complex practices, which society and the authorities face with greater difficulty, leading to imposed solutions that appear feasible at first. This spirit itself is leading to the creation of micro-states, isolated groups eager to dominate society, clearly seeking acceptance of their characteristics beyond their usual borders. In other words, this normalization is leading to discreet reactionary actions. It is a form of self-destruction, using, of course, its elements to simulate the absence of change, even when it is perceived. This leads to constant tension within society, achieving discourses of comfort or sophisticated domination, slowing the production of critical essence, and resulting in an approximate lack of development of individuals.

This development leads precisely to a society that is even more maladaptive in the face of its circumstances, such as illness or other events that deviate from the norm. In other words, it becomes disrupted into a maladaptive one, all in the name of maintaining a normal discourse that omits those elements that cause it to deviate from that format. Without a doubt, we can speak of a possible path toward the expansion of this group.

This fixation on the family as the axis to which one must adhere under all circumstances is, in turn, a desperate measure to maintain the structures that prepare the individual for the structures beyond it, to which we all succumb in some way. Its support for its hegemony, without examining relationships, can lead to the continuation of inappropriate behavior, which is precisely what is not desired. This defense seems unconscious and rather careless toward society, so we can speak of a clearly naive effort. The intention is for everyone to be well; however, the consequences are not produced by these, but by what the action does within the context.

Many people are starting from a defensive position, fearing their own family system, that it is promoting something alien to well-being. It has always been said that the family actually works for this reason; however, we know that the notion responds to the fulfillment of ideals and that it is specific to each group. There is a tendency to protect oneself within it for no other reason than its productiveness of stability, which in turn has shaped one's life's path in pursuit of it. The detachment from the idea of ​​maintaining the family results in a deep disillusionment that concretizes precisely the defensiveness of this notion of well-being within the praxis it represents. Change beyond this is not visualized, given that life was based on that conception; that is, the loss of it would be visualized.

In my case, it was necessary to do so because the well-being provided by my family was becoming detached from the social normality in which I subscribed, acting on those elements that only served as a means of gain, those that served to homogenize the feeling of detachment from others from a victimist behavior and a vision of life based on domination for the sake of survival. What my family was proposing was my isolation from society, consisting of seeking what was indispensable to it and sharing the feeling of marginalization encapsulated in a supremacy. It resulted in a driving force for me to enter into detachment with the idea because I did not want to remain under that condition, nor did the groups that supported it. I wanted a life consisting of consciousness, sustainable sociability, and bringer of calm, and of profitable subsistence, starting from any element that was not carried by my relatives, in order to diminish their tools to make me return to my previous situation thanks to their need to homogenize all individuals, with a view to safeguarding the idea that one is well and not bad for the fact of not being able to be inserted and in tune with the world beyond us.

WHen did I become so numb? When did I lose myself? All the words that leave my tongue are like they came from someone else... I'm paralysed... Where are my feelings? I no longer feel things, I know I should... I'm paralysed... Where is the real me? I'm lost, and it kills me inside... I'm paralysed... When did I become so cold? When did I become ashamed? WHERE'S THE PERSON THAT I KNOW? THEY MUST'VE LEFT. They must've left with all my strength. I'm paralysed, I'm scared to live, but I'm scared to die. And if life is pain, then I buried mine a long time ago, but it's still alive. And it's taking over me. Where am I? I wanna feel something, I'm numb inside. But I don't feel nothing, I wonder why. I'm in the race of life, and time passed by. Look, I sit back and I watch it, hands in my pockets. Waves come crashing over me, but I just watch them. I just watch 'em. I'm underwater, but I feel like I'm on top of it. I'm at the bottom, but I don't know what the problem is. I'm in a box, but I'm the one who locked me in it. I'm suffocating, I'm running out of oxygen.

First off, this isn't my own experience... I saw it/heard it while at Blaze Pizza.

I was eating some pizza with my good friend/neighbor. When all of a sudden... My neighbor started chuckling outta the blue. I ask her why she was laughing. She discreetly pointed to a table sorta behind us adjacent.

I then listened in. It was a younger couple around early 20's. I was in High School at the time. But the couples conversation was hilarious!!

Obviously the conversation was more hilarious for me and my companion. But they also seemed like they were on a first date. It definitely seemed like the most awkward date ever!

The dude was going on and on about toilet plumbing!! Something about how to properly make a toilet and the best methods to not clog the toilet! The girl looked like she wanted to be swallowed into a whole, or I guess... She wanted to be flushed down the toilet with how the date she was having was going!

My good friendo ended our meal before we could hear the end of how the date went... So I don't know if they had a second date... But who knows?

so here's the thing, I'm just trying to find a way to make some decent money while I'm still stuck in this endless cycle of textbooks, exams, and the overwhelming stress that comes with being a 22-year-old college student. you know the drill; trying to juggle studies, a social life that’s barely alive, and the never-ending pressure of student loans and bills sneaking up on me like a damn ninja in the dark. we're all just trying to get by, right? but damn, it's like a twisted game of survival out here and lately, I've stumbled upon something that's got me seriously scratching my head.

apparently, there's this whole gig where you can get paid to talk to lonely guys online. sounds sketchy as hell, doesn't it? i mean, is it really just talking, or does it quickly take a turn into a steaming pile of regret? i'm sitting here wondering if this is some kind of smooth-talking nightmare or if it's genuinely something I could do without losing my damn mind. the idea of talking to random dudes might not sound too bad at first glance. hell, i could earn some cash and maybe even forget that mountain of student loan debt breathing down my neck, but is it worth the potential weirdness? and honestly, what’s stopping some creepos from crossing the boundaries? i mean, let's get real for a second. remember that episode of 'black mirror' with the wholly unintended consequences? it doesn’t take a genius to foresee how things can go south in a heartbeat with people hidden behind screens, safe in their anonymity while i'm just trying to break free from my broke-ass situation. i'm definitely not about to turn into a digital therapist for some dudes who can't seem to function in society without playing therapist myself afterwards. no thanks. have any of you brave souls tried this? any horror stories that could save my naive ass from taking a misstep here? also, wasn't there a time when people paid for other more substantial, face-to-face things instead of just cheap talk on the internet? seems like we're living in some bizarre-ass timeline.

the whole "get-paid-to-chat" thing makes me wonder if i've somehow walked into the twilight zone, while also making me panic just a tad about the ease of virtual manipulation. sure, this could be harmless and maybe even hilariously entertaining, but i can't shake off the feeling that it could be slippery as hell. is this just a slightly more sanitized version of the classic 'sugar daddy' scenario minus the sugar? can't help but think about stories you hear in the news about people getting doxxed and dragged through the mud because they thought they could make a few bucks chatting away online. and do these guys really get anything out of it besides emptying their wallets for the promise of a meaningful connection? makes me think of Taylor Swift's "Blank Space" with its themes of failed illusions. i find it mind-numbingly bizarre that there’s a market for this at all, though i guess loneliness itself is an equally intense, bizarre thing. just seems like there should be about a thousand exclamatory signs warning people off from it. if you’ve done this gig, how the hell did it play out for you? no bs, give me the raw truth. because that's honestly what I'm craving right now. should i take the leap, or just continue to silently freak out about my impending financial doom? what's the worst that could happen, right? or does trying to justify it only mean risking what's left of my sanity and three shredded strands of dignity? and this low-key ruminating is not even out of desperation—just sheer curiosity, because a girl needs options in this financially unstable world of ours. let's not sugarcoat it, we’re all looking for that side hustle that doesn’t make us hate waking up in the morning more than we already do. if you've managed to survive or thrive in this, spill the beans.

Recently, I tied the knot. My sister Sabrina and I have always had a rocky relationship; she's seemed insecure for as long as I can recall, and that strain grew during our upbringing. Despite my efforts to be considerate of her feelings, she often reacts in subtly aggressive manners. This tension amplified after I was accepted into a university she was rejected from.

At my wedding, while I was conversing with guests, Sabrina approached me and commented that I should have worn red instead of white. Insinuating that a bride wearing red denotes promiscuity was clearly meant to be a jibe. Upset, I responded somewhat sharply, "I understand, Sabrina. You're jealous, perhaps because of your own issues, but please, this isn't the time to project your insecurities onto me." I didn't raise my voice, but my frustration was evident.

Sabrina left in a huff, and I noticed that a few of our relatives caught the exchange. Later, my brother criticized my handling of the situation and suggested I owe her an apology for embarrassing her publicly. My parents, on the other hand, felt that Sabrina needed to address her ongoing behavior issues instead.

Imagining this scenario unfolding in a reality show setting adds another layer of drama. Under the relentless scrutiny and judgment of cameras and a live audience, the emotional impact could intensify dramatically. Audience reactions might fluctuate between sympathy for Sabrina's hurt feelings to support for my frustrations with her behavioral patterns. The tightrope walk of family dynamics, especially in such a public and pressurized environment, could certainly spark heated debates and viewers' alignment along contrasting perspectives.

How should I respond to my sister's comment?

So we have been on a roller coaster with my epilepsy. But as a separate issue, I also struggle with incontinence at night. I haven't told anyone this because I know it's due to my autism and my body being so relaxed at night that I don't get the proper cues that I need to go. Well my mom finally found out when doing the washing, but now she thinks it's linked to my epilepsy, which means it will be brought up at every appointment. Even though that's not true. I've tried to tell her I didn't pee myself during a seizure, but she doesn't believe me and now she's going to expect that for every seizure.

I feel like today was a day of hell. Everything was so disorganized. I felt like I was skipping work since I only showed up two out of three days this week. I don't want to show up on other days, but I feel a very uncomfortable level of responsibility, especially when it comes to birthday celebrations and other things. I don't want to attend celebrations; I'm there to do a great job, not to integrate in such a friendly way. I like my solitude.

I feel like I regained my solitude today. I don't know, I felt like I was getting my life back after a long time. I don't like the country I live in; there are difficulties and so on, but I feel like everything is bearable. I had to manage the psychiatrist in detail; she was influenced by my father, as I thought. She took it seriously, thank goodness, that I didn't stop the treatment; I feel good because she's attentive and also, she admits, the effect of my routine on the healing of the issue. I feel very valued by the psychiatrist, but it's difficult for her; nevertheless, we're on the journey together. It's not the best I ever hoped for.

For some reason, I feel like I've returned to normal because I feel like I can tolerate the world as it is, imperfect from my perspective and like everyone else's. I feel like I can tolerate everything now, and I'm happy about it. I was also happy to see my stepmother and her father. I don't know, all in all, I had a normal day and I was able to tolerate it well; I didn't expect that. Maybe it's because I was also able to get away from the psychiatrist and her influence. Seeing that we were able to handle ourselves, I feel like everything is fine now. It was always my life's goal to be able to manage with a psychologist, or a psychiatrist. I felt welcomed back into the world, into society itself.

I have to confess, out of all this adventure I went through, I feel like I finally got what I wanted. To be able to deal with a therapist, to work as a team in some way, not just one person on one side and me on the other. That's why, I confess, my dental treatment didn't work, in any way, that was it. Since I left my therapist, I felt like the world had turned its back on me because there was no way out of my environment; that's how I understood it. Feeling like I've finally entered, entered the world, is simply fantastic, sensational. I feel like I can walk the streets again completely normally, tolerate the day, write many things, many ideas, but always with the feeling that my efforts in mental health, if they're welcomed by anyone, well, actually by everyone now, but mainly by those who consist of the mental health aspect. That support, that verification, makes me feel like I'm on the right track, or at least, seen by someone beyond myself, and I like that, I have to confess.

I have to confess it. I feel like that was the cure for my entire illness. Just that. I feel like I'm finally believed, taken seriously, that I see beyond, that I can handle the treatment. That I can finally handle treatment, that I'm taken into account within it, that I, as a patient, deserve respect for myself and my processes—I finally achieved that. I have to confess: The only cure was having someone check on me with my mental health, working as a team. That was it. I can't do that with anyone in my circle, because no one takes care of their mental health, that's the pure truth. So, it's feeling an immense burden.

I feel that the cure, moreover, was always returning to a mental health professional, but one that truly exists. That they don't abandon you, that they're not a scam, that they don't leave you stranded, that they don't act on behalf of others but on behalf of you, that there is a therapy given for me, given by another, that you can be supported by another. Not help, I didn't want help, support, support to keep me going. That was all I needed to get back to life, to go back to my life as before. That was it. Not someone coming and doing my job. The fact that I can't do it, that was the worst part. That's why dental treatment became pure hell for me. I understand everything now.

How difficult was this for those around me? A little support, so I could do my thing my way, without changing my routine unless it was for support. This, I insist, and I think it sums it all up, was the cure. A feeling that my life could be accepted by others based on my well-being and not theirs, and even so, it produces well-being for them, perhaps not giving them what they want, but by setting an example of being in context and not unconsciously destroying a world in unrecognizable ways. How difficult was it for everyone to see that? It was too simple. How hard was it to find a psychiatrist? Too hard. In the end, he was the only savior of everything because he was the only one around me who could do that. Does that make sense? That he's the only one? The problem with the psychiatrist is that everyone had the blessed humility to say they didn't know how to treat me. But was there any? Barely one and a half people, although my mental health was pushed aside during treatment. How difficult was it for others to see that? Honestly, the dental treatment was the least of my worries, from every point of view. Rightfully so, and I understand wholeheartedly, I ended up exploding at everyone.

Ironically, right now, the psychiatrist is the one putting the pieces together. She barely does six minutes of treatment, and she does so much more than the others. In addition to one person, whose example lifts heaven and earth and changes my life. From the smallest details, I categorically say, these people saved my life. In the dental service too, listening to me for a while, playing for a while, caring for me, being present, making the effort. That also did something very meaningful for me, and I'm not going to just give up. I can't do it. Also, damn, another doctor who supported me with the psychological aspect took it seriously, and in a way that I didn't get carried away with illusions. That one also deserves my award. These people, who did something, because those who operated didn't do a thing, except move some teeth with sophisticated and useless methods because they didn't attack anything, I can't let them be left aside in any way.

So, here's a thing I've been trying to wrap my head around recently—I like men. 😅 I'm 23, chill guy, and for the longest time, I thought I was supposed to be interested in women. You know, the usual societal expectations and all. I've had girlfriends before, crushes I thought were intense, and those typical high school flings. Still, over the past few months, something shifted within me. It's like unveiling a new layer of my identity; something that's been shadowed for a while. I guess I've been living under a heteronormative assumption all these years, thinking that's where my affinities lied. But, now... it's like, WOW!

The revelation came rather subtly, through a series of enlightening experiences that could rival a coming-of-age movie. Like, who would have thought that a simple conversation with this guy I met at a coffee shop could spark such introspection? We clicked instantly, sharing thoughts on everything from existentialism to astrophysics. Once, he quoted Oscar Wilde, saying, "To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance," and it hit me hard! 🧐 It wasn't just admiration for his intellect, but there was something more profound, an attraction that felt... right? I started recognizing these feelings weren't anomalous but rather indicative of a broader truth;

Anyway, I've been exploring LGBTQ+ resources and forums to understand this better. You know how it is... investigation mode activated! I've learned about Kinsey's scale of sexual orientation and how sexuality is fluid, not fixed—fascinating stuff, really! It's like reading through 'The Hidden History of Homosexuality' and realizing that this isn't new or weird but part of a continuum of human experience. 🤔 That was quite comforting to discover, knowing that others have traversed this path before me and come out (pardon the pun) just fine. Yet, it’s foreign ground for me and kind of daunting. Do I need to label myself now, or can I just, I don't know, be??? Love is a spectrum, right???

I don't know what to do.

I'm FTM and I don't think my parents fully understand what's going on or what could happen. They're great supporters, but most of the time when I'm around them (or any other people in my family for that matter) my dysphoria is at it's worst. They'll do things that very obviously show they still see me as a girl and it makes me feel terrible. I don't know if I should bring up how I want to get on puberty blockers because of how they've said binding will damage (even though I have brought up on many occasions I know how to do it safely) and I'm scared they might also say that for the blockers. I think they know how at risk trans people are for su!c!de but aren't willing to accept that I could possibly end up having those thoughts in the future. This type of stuff is called life saving for a reason, and just because I'm not having those thoughts now doesn't mean I won't in the future. I also think they might be completely oblivious to the fact I have dysphoria (and I have brought it up with my mom before).

Honestly I just get exhausted around them. Usually, when I'm having fun with them they'll randomly bring something up that reminds me of how they still view me. My dad still deadnames me a ton, even right after he corrects himself, and both my mom and dad just misgender me in general. My little sister is the only one in the house that kind of understands who I am and actually repsects that (she was the first one I came out to for a good reason). I don't know what to do, especially since serious sit-down talks mess with a lot of my emotions and I have no idea how to bring this stuff up.

I've been in a happily married life with my spouse Dan for over five years now. We both have solid careers and, thanks to our combined efforts, we're quite secure financially. While it's true that Dan earns a bit more than I do, we've never seen our finances as anything but shared. We work as a team and distribute our responsibilities fairly.

However, there's a persistent issue that has been bothering me; it involves Dan's brother, Joel. Over the years, Joel has repeatedly made snide remarks, labeling me a "gold digger" under the guise of humor because I earn less than Dan. He mostly does this in social settings, and while I usually brush it off with a laugh to keep the peace, it's become increasingly irksome. Despite my consistent contributions to our household, Joel's jokes suggest I'm merely living off Dan's earnings.

The situation escalated when Joel, along with his wife, asked us to financially assist them with their share for a family vacation, citing their inability to afford it. After discussing it with Dan, we decided against providing the help. Given Joel's ongoing disrespect towards me, supporting their leisure didn't feel right.

Upon our refusal, Joel attempted to dismiss my feelings by claiming I was overreacting and that his comments were just harmless fun. But I'm fed up. Now, Joel is upset, and some relatives are echoing the sentiment that I'm blowing things out of proportion and that "family should help each other." Though Dan supports me, part of me still doubts my decision. Am I just being overly sensitive?

Now, imagine if this whole scenario played out on a reality TV show. Camera crews capturing every sneer and comment from Joel, the tense discussions with family, and the dramatic showdown of our refusal to fund their vacation trip. Viewers would likely be polarized. Some might sympathize with my irritation at being unfairly labeled, while others could perceive my reaction as too harsh, perhaps urging more family solidarity despite the personal digs.

Am I wrong for not helping because of ongoing disrespect?

Well compared to my previous vents i feel like im starting to find peace within my self little by little right but aside from that theres this gal shes cool same humor as me and is overall cool but when we hung out with all of our friends and later on that day she also said that she was looking for a person to tick this box slash thing and i hit that box but what im so confused is that well idk how i see her as for the first time im genuinely confused about my feelings because inwas sure i saw her as just a friends and now that the person said that im self conscious do like her or do i see her as a friend and then i start imagining things so im confused and i got rejected from this one girl but it didnt hurt me much i was ok its just turned awkward so we dont talkmuch even tho i still want to hang to not turn it awkward but thats the main reason for this other girl im genuinely afraid that if i do pursue it it fucks up the friendship i had and then they leave like that awkward girl is doing right nowits just weird and still sorting through my feelings just a rsnt but wanted some advice

There's a face I put on all my life

The face of an angel

I look in the mirror only to find

The face of a stranger

So, I think some of read my vent in https://iiwiars.com/school/i-m-a-failure-long-version

And I showed it to my mom. She said it was nonsense of me to keep dragging this now because it already finished 2 days ago. She told me that the family still loves me, and no other family can ever love me the same way. What if she's lying? She said in life you shouldn't feel miserable and still allow yourself to change. I told her I can't change, and that I wish I could be faster because I'm slow compared to many others, but Moomy told me that it doesn't matter and I will still change and be good. What if she's lying? She also said that she can be my friend because she's my mom and so far she's been understanding. What if she's lying? She says that we all have a good time until I remember that we had a horrible argument/misunderstanding the night before, which she said she didn't forget, but she didn't wanna let it define her. What if she's lying? I'm hurt by the argument that day, and I feel like I was turned into a clown-like caricature, a "child creating her own problems to seek attention from others".

Surely I'm Belle Gibson, the Instagram lady who almost convinced the world she had cancer and they believed her genuinely (you should read the website above to know what I mean). My mom said that I shouldn't vent anymore and I should delete the thing, the big paragraphs I showed her, because it's not true. I told her that's not the point of a vent, and she said vents are apparently some stuff "people shove their ass in". Fuck her so much. I told her whenever I get angry, I wanna murder people, like, literally, and she called me a psycho. I told her I should've never said that and kept it in, but for some reason, bloody whore tells me to tell her EVERYTHING because she won't leave me behind! Bitch, you're lying, I know you are! Shut the fuck up, Moomy! Should I even call her that? It sounds wrong. Imagine having your mother as a friend, it'd be humiliating if any of my classmates saw me walk with my mom and brother in malls and not my friends, because I lack them. She told me I was good enough for now and I can improve, but not by "being miserable" because "I'm digging a deep hole I can't get out of".

I know she's been in many hardships, her parents divorced, financial issues, she couldn't have her dream job of being a doctor (she's an engineer now), yet she's never vented, because she's always been positive? That's some anime BS where the main guy says that! BS! I'm not digging a hole, am I? I'm telling the truth. Cynicism and hopelessness works because I'm not chasing fake happiness, I'm seeking the real truth. Again, it's embarrassing I'm having a "friendship" with my Moomy and not another person from class! Who even does that now? I don't even know anyone online! She's lying!

for the last couple of years, i’ve found myself stuck in this cycle—i keep asking myself how can i help? i’m spending 2-3 nights a week volunteering, mostly with food distribution and a bit of crisis helpline support, and while i know these things matter in a broader sense, i can’t shake the feeling that it’s just a drop in an ocean that keeps rising. i log off or pack up at the end of my shift, exhausted, but with this nagging voice in my head: did i really make any difference today?? it’s hard to measure impact when the problems seem to grow faster than the solutions we’re offering. sometimes, it feels like i’m patching up a leak with a bandaid while the whole dam’s about to burst; do you ever feel like that? it’s not like i’m looking for praise or thanks, just… wondering if the hours i give, the energy i pour in, really move the needle at all.

at the helpline, we’re trained to listen without judgment, to offer support and guidance without crossing professional boundaries. i think i’m good at that—keeping my voice steady, offering practical resources, knowing when to gently nudge a caller towards seeking professional help or when to just listen. but when i hang up, there’s this wave of doubt that hits me: what if i missed something important? what if i could’ve done more? the same happens during food distribution; i hand over bags of essentials, smile, say a few words of encouragement, but then i wonder if it’s enough to keep someone afloat, even for a few days. there’s this constant tension between the immediate need in front of me and the bigger, systemic issues that make people need those services in the first place. how do you balance that?

sometimes, after a particularly tough shift, i’ll get home, sit down with a cup of tea, and my mind just races. it’s not always the stories i’ve heard—though those stay with me—it’s more this underlying frustration that keeps bubbling up. i’m so aware of how small my role is in the grand scheme of things, and yet, the emotional toll it takes feels disproportionately heavy. am i doing this for them, or for myself? does volunteering ease my own conscience more than it eases their burdens? that’s a question i keep coming back to, and it’s uncomfortable. 😔 i think most people who volunteer ask themselves this at some point, right? it’s human to want to feel useful, to feel like we’re part of the solution. but when the scale of the problem is so massive, is it arrogant to think i’m making a dent at all?

the people i work alongside are some of the most dedicated, compassionate, and resilient folks i’ve ever met. we share a quiet solidarity, a kind of unspoken understanding that what we’re doing matters, even if we don’t always see the results. we joke, we vent, we lift each other up during tough shifts, but we also carry the weight of knowing that there’s always more to be done. i’ve seen colleagues burn out, step away, because the load became too heavy to bear. and honestly, i’ve felt that pull myself—there are nights when i think about just stopping, just reclaiming those hours for rest or personal time. yet, i keep showing up. not because i think i’m some hero, but because, despite everything, there’s this stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight’s shift will make a difference for someone.

i guess what i’m trying to say is, i don’t have the answers. i don’t know if what i’m doing is enough, or if it ever will be. but i know that doing nothing isn’t an option i can live with. it’s not about fixing everything—that’s impossible. it’s about doing what i can, with what i have, for as long as i can. still, i wonder: is that enough? does any of this resonate with you? do you ever ask yourself how you can help, and if the help you offer really matters in the end? 🥺 maybe the real question is, how do we keep going when it feels like we’re not getting anywhere?

After dating for three years and facing financial difficulties that forced us to live separately with roommates, my partner (32F) and I (27F) are thrilled to finally move in together. This marks the first time both of us will create a living space that's entirely our own, without having to share it with others.

Raised in a staunchly Catholic household, I was exposed to rigorous religious practices from a very young age, which included church every Sunday and frequent prayers. Despite resisting confirmation and enduring my mother's disapproval of my bisexuality—strangely enough, she seems more accepting of homosexuality generally—I eventually moved out at 18 and maintained a cautious relationship with her. She has somewhat softened over the years but still persists in inviting me to church weekly, even though I've expressly asked her not to.

She's polite to my girlfriend largely because she knows I would prioritize my partner over her, especially after my girlfriend was unjustly labeled as a predator due to our age difference. My girlfriend herself has had a painful history with religion, having suffered abuse at the hands of her family after being outed at a young age, all justified by religious beliefs. Her faith in a higher power remains, although she rejects organized religion and worship.

Our collective experiences have led us to establish our new home as a sanctuary free from religious influences. This includes prohibitions on praying, displaying religious symbols, proselytizing, and even discussing religion-related topics. This decision is particularly irksome to my mother, who finds it difficult to abstain from sharing church-related stories with us, and bristles at our rule to conceal her cross necklace while visiting. She accuses us of hypocrisy, but I've stood firm, reminding her of her fortunate position in my life despite our strained relations. Even some friends suggest we might be acting excessively, twisting our traumas into a form of retribution.

Imagining if our life was a part of a reality TV show, I wonder how viewers would perceive our strict no-religion policy in our home. Likely, it would polarize opinions, with some sympathizing with our need to create a safe, secular space due to our past traumas, while others might view us as overbearing or intolerant towards my mother's expressions of faith.

Is the no-religion rule in our home too strict?