A year ago, I decided never to see my mother’s family for holidays ever again. I still struggle to explain why.
The reasoning itself is the easy part: I have spent years cooking and cleaning for them, putting up with endless comments towards myself and my mother. I have laughed as my grandmother pokes my stomach and hips. I have stayed quiet as the man who calls himself my grandfather hugs me for too long to be comfortable. I have stayed peaceful when my aunts thanked God for Trump. I have cleaned up after my great-aunt who vomited on the table. I no longer wish to do this.
However, I still struggle with explaining myself. What is it that truly pushed me over the edge? Do I even deserve to be able to say no, this is enough? When I get myself out of there, who will take over my role as caregiver? Will they hate my mother? My father, my brother? Am I being selfish? And when I explain why I gave up, what will others think of me? This is the role of every woman at every family gathering, I think. I am not special. Who am I to speak poorly of the people who have given me so much?
Nonetheless, I stick to my senses. I celebrate with my dad’s family, and I celebrate with my friends. I eat what’s on my plate, no more and no less, clean my dishes and only my own, laugh and joke with people who laugh with me, not at me, and I am content. The tension is gone from my shoulders and my mother and I do not fight. I am happier this way.
I still have not cut out my mother’s family entirely, but this is a start; I am setting boundaries for the first time in my life, and to stick to them is all I can hope for.