Today, over lunch, F asked me what sort of relationship I might be able to have with my mother-in-law. I found myself repulsed at the notion of letting her in more than I already have. She doesn’t have much in common with me, and she doesn’t particularly like me. I don’t need another mom. I don’t want a mentor or guru. The majority of my life has been spent trying to fix whatever went wrong. So her hamfisted attempts to heal my childhood wounds are not desired. I don’t trust a Christian woman peddling charity and goodwill. It always feels insincere. Truth be told, her actual motive is probably to find a way to get closer to her son. Which is fine. Just don’t use me to do that. I’m not his answering machine. I’m not a spy.
Also, I just don’t have the energy or inclination to let more family that deeply into my life. Building up that trust and compassion is too much. I’m not sure if I’m capable of that kind of love. More promises to everyone to maintain and, therefore, break. More guilt. More obligations. More failure. Bluh. It’s just too much. And right now, I need for that to be okay.
Call it Saturn Return. Call it Emerging Adulthood. Call it being a big, fat, ungrateful bitch. Whatever. My ability to compromise on this is non-existent. Very few people actually enjoy my company. I’m not a social delight. My interpersonal grace is faulty. Essentially, I don’t trust anyone who wants me for a friend.
Except for, you know, my existing friends. But they know what I’m talking about.
This isn’t a ploy or a plea. It’s just how it is right now.