December 31, 2023

My Cocoon Year

I was so hopeful at the start of 2020. I was about to get married. It was a new decade. Husband and I got through the worst thing to happen to us, plus an immediate move, while planning a wedding, in my first year at a new job. Our friends were doing well — employed, seemed to know what they wanted out of life, married or dating or happily single (for the most part). We had just had a niece. We booked our honeymoon flights.

Garmin setting the mood for 2024.

I've lost all hope going into 2024. It's going to start out hard and get harder, personally and professionally. I'm facing the loss of at least four pets, including the one who's been with me throughout my entire adulthood. I'm deeply dissatisfied with everything about my job, from my pay to my influence to my ability to do what's best for the organization, even the very role I'm in (I hated marketing, how did I end up here?). I still feel geographically stuck. And it's unlikely that husband and I will get meaningful time for travel, or even a couple of long weekends that aren't for work or weddings or family obligations. I took six trips in 2023, five of which were for a wedding, a funeral, or work. We have one fun trip in mind for 2024, but that may not happen.


One of my favorite photos from the one fun trip we took in 2023.

Worse, a lot of my friends are struggling to find something in their lives. Most are unhappy with their jobs, not finding meaning or purpose or even a decent paycheck. Some are unhappily single. Some have their own family drama. Some moved far away and feel disconnected. And some are just getting through this year, too.

I'm thinking of 2024 as my cocoon year. Not that I expect to emerge a beautiful butterfly, or even have goals for 2025, or think much of anything will get better. But I need to acknowledge that 2024 is not the year for hope or goals or progress. It will be the gross, lonely, difficult year that sometimes has to happen. And honestly, maybe just acknowledging it will help me endure it — having expectations for the year ahead will just lead to disappointment, but if my expectations are rock bottom anything unexpected will fit right in. I want to skip this year in terms of the good cheer that I've always felt at the start and hold out that maybe I can feel that way again when I welcome 2025.


Maybe I should call this my mushroom year.

Recently, husband and I had a conversation about spirituality. Neither of us believe in an after life or any kind of higher power, but we do feel connected to the universe in a way. What I've always thought of as superstition might be better categorized as spirituality: like karma, if you do something bad, something bad will find you.

Little miss Rosa holding my hand — and the ring I lost.

Over the summer I lost a ring I'd had since... jeez, at least college. It was a three-strand infinity braid that lived on my pinky. The three-strand braid was a relic of my religious past, the holy trinity, but also how my life was inextricably intertwined with the higher power I was once deeply devoted to. The lack of a visible seam, no beginning or ending, was symbolic of eternity. My wedding ring has similar symbolism: the two-strand infinity twist reminds me how my husband and I are inextricably connected. For a few months I was upset about the loss of my pinky ring and looked everywhere for it, even dug through the Roomba discards. But then I started thinking that maybe it's time to say goodbye to the symbolism that ring held. Maybe I was holding on to something that no longer served me. Maybe I should look ahead, instead. So I bought a new ring. It's one solid ring that's been hammered flat. The single, solid ring represents just me. The hammered texture and infinity style will remind me that life will give me a beating sometimes, but life goes on. I'll wear this on my right ring finger because my relationship with myself is just as important as my relationship with anyone else, arguably even more so. Hopefully this reminder through what's going to be a very challenging year will be a comfort, and will stay with me for many years to come.

Randomly, I started a small worm farm in 2023. Hello, darkness.

I have to end this with a shoutout to husband (hi, husband). When the world felt like it ended right after we had the best day ever, we had a strong feeling of togetherness, joking that we had promised to be together forever but not every minute of forever. I had big family drama in 2020 and he listened to all of it and held my hand literally and metaphorically. Then it got bad in 2021, depressing in 2022 (we started doing drugs, highly recommend) and worse in 2023. I know he must really love me because he doesn't just stick it out — he's genuinely and deeply hurt if I even joke about him leaving. He knows what he's facing in the coming year. He knows I'll need him more than I ever have in our dozen years together. I know I could do this without him if I had to, but I'm grateful I don't have to. Marriage may not be sunshine and rainbows all the time, but nothing compares to the feeling of having that person in your corner no matter what. So, thank you, husband, I love you.

November 28, 2023

I Said No More Rats

A dramatic trio of rodents.

We have 6 pets: the cat, two rabbits, and three rats. The rats were pandemic pets. (The first group, anyway. The three we have now are actually our second group.) We adopted three sisters the day they were able to leave their mom. The mom was nearly a baby herself — accidental pregnancy. We had one very old gal left and I sold husband on the cuteness and chance for a stronger bond compared to the older ladies from the first group. (Side note, the humane society full-on lied about their ages online. In 2020 they only adopted small animals sight unseen, so your only information was the online profiles. They said they were 6 months but they were really 18 months, giving us only a year with them.)

The babies were so tiny the day we brought them home to Maya.

They are stinking cute. Their names are Harriett, Billie, and Rosa. You can guess where we got the names.

I'm spending a lot of time in my bathroom lately. Sitting on a blanket on the floor, next to the rat litter box, while they crawl inside my hoodie or on my shoulders or groom each other or chase each other or try to chew the baseboards or stick their noses under the door gap. We don't have a playpen or other secure area for them, and they're active, so the bathroom (between the outside door and the inner door to the toilet) is perfect. Loud, from the fan, and not fully comfortable, but otherwise perfect. They get play time, bonding time, and the cat is excluded so they feel much safer than on the couch. Right now one of them is in my hoodie on my stomach wildly gritting her little teeth in happiness. They boggle a lot in here, too. It makes me so happy and I barely even notice the fan or the hard floor for the hour. It's time to go when they are falling asleep, stretched out flat on the floor, curled up in my hoodie, or sometimes even asleep on my shoulder.

A less comfortable way I would isolate the rats for playtime.

I love having a house full of pets. I love cleaning the rat cage and the rabbit boxes and rearranging their spaces to add interest and making hiding areas and when they seek my affection (which is everyone except one bunny, who hates me). The rats especially. I adore the way their little bodies feel both lithe and round in my hands, how they wrap their tails around my finger or chin for balance, how they fling themselves up my legs or chest to climb to a better spot, how they let me cuddle them and the way they protest kisses on their heads and bellies. I don't know why, but their protests are my favorite. They dramatically thrust their whole hands, which are just tiny human hands, on our lips and push us away with their itty bitty might.

Billie on her first birthday!

There's only one downside: We miss travel. Now that it doesn't make me sick with stress, leaving for any length of time is an unfair burden. Even with a trusted friend a few blocks away and a pet sitting service I like, it's still not fair to leave the rats in cages or the cat uncuddled for more than a day. So we don't travel unless we have to. And that's meant work and weddings only. Plus, one of us has to be home every 12 hours to give the cat a pill, so even leaving for a day or having evening plans requires an almost parent level of coordination. I can't be spontaneous (though that's almost a non-issue with the friend group) or go with the flow. Which is OK. I would rather not travel right now. Even if I miss it. I'm allowed to recognize the downsides in the choices I make.

They live in a top of the line cage with lots of hiding places and newspaper to shred to bits.

Everyone is around the same point in their respective lifecycles. Chloe is 18. The rabbits are both around 7 or 8. And the rats are turning 2 in February. Husband and I have talked a lot about taking a pet break to travel. We still want to go to New Zealand (the honeymoon we never had) and at this point want at least three weeks. We want to road trip to national parks. We've talked about Germany and Tanzania and Japan and Chile.  We want to do big trips before we feel like being mostly home again for a while. So I promised, no more rats.

I made a dig box and sprouted barley for a fun playtime activity.

Last weekend, in the bathroom, Billie was hanging out in my hoodie for a while. She pretty much only does that at the end of the hang when she's sleepy, and even then she'd rather stretch out on the tile. Billie is the independent spirit of the trio. She'll test limits, stick her nose in things, chew or pull at anything, and explore wherever she damn well pleases if I'm not watching. Which is why we're in the bathroom. Being that chill for no reason isn't like her. That's when I noticed her face looked odd. It was like her cheekbone was jutting out on the left side. I felt it and it was hard, like her skull. But only on that one side. I looked at Harriet and Rosa and they both had perfectly round rat faces. So this was new. I took her to the vet today worried about an abscess or tooth issue, expecting to need x-rays or surgery.

The vet inspected her and said, "oh Billie girl, I haven't seen this in a while." 

Just look at those whiskers. Criminally cute.

This vet loves rats. In our visits over the last couple of years she's taken a few extra seconds each exam for a cuddle. She's all business with the rabbits but adores the rats. I didn't want to hear her say that, especially in that resigned tone that says there's nothing we can do. The tumor is in an inoperable location next to her ear and eye. It will keep growing outward, eventually looking cauliflower-y. It's not malignant and it's not painful, though it will get uncomfortable as it grows. She told me about a couple that had a whole family of rats with this kind of tumor a few years ago. They tried all sorts of treatments hoping something would reduce the size of the tumors. But one by one they all eventually had to be euthanized. She said they kept some of them longer than was probably right. This vet was alone with me when I had to euthanize my girl Ruth unexpectedly, I'm sure she remembers that. (Interestingly, Ruth and Billie would have been kindred spirits.)

Rats are just really small puppies. You can't change my mind.

The vet then remarked on how healthy Billie is. Other than barbering, which they all do to each other relentlessly, they're the picture of health. No mammary tumors, even, which is almost a guarantee with female rats. Then I said, "well they're only 22 months." She kind of paused. The average lifespan for rats is about two years. She said she saw one once who was 4 (my Tux was just over 3, and was quite old at that point). She couldn't give me an answer to how fast the tumor will grow. I think, and hope, that we'll have a great celebration in February, when they turn 2. But all three won't be making it to their third birthday. The vet sent me home with antibiotics just in case it's some extremely aggressive ear infection ("it can't hurt").

Billie's chicken legs - bare from barbering.

So, there are two downsides to a house full of pets. I said no more rats, and immediately got a terminal diagnosis. I didn't think it would be that quick. In Friends, when Phoebe's brother wants to give her one of his kids because triplets is too much to handle, he struggles to decide which one. Each of them is his favorite for a unique reason. That's how I feel about these girls. I don't have a favorite, but Billie is a favorite. She was a little runty when we first brought her home and took longer to gain weight than her sisters. She's so curious and brave and determined. I hand fed her snacks and saved the bigger pieces for her and celebrated the first time she weighed the most at monthly weigh in. And soon I'm going to have to decide when it's her time to go.

Two of my favorite things: reading and rats.

It's a cruel joke that creatures as wonderful as rats live so short a time. Two years is nothing, yet it's everything. They bring me so much happiness some days I could cry. I understand how people have a rotating collection of rats: every year integrate one or two new rats into the group and offset the one or two you lose every year. Constant pain but also constant joy. Just thinking of losing one of my trio made me want to adopt another already, even though I promised no more. It's going to be a hard couple of years.

April 17, 2023

Stuck in Paradise

A week ago I signed a tax document sent via email. I noticed my husband had signed it a week before me, which was weird because the email had only been in my inbox for a few days. But when I checked the date of my email I realized it had been waiting in my inbox for twelve whole days. How did almost two weeks feel like just a few days? 

And why was it this mundane action that made me realize how time is slipping by? Borrowing a phrase from Queer Eye, my life has turned into wash, rinse, and repeat.


Getting married and then immediately entering a global pandemic where “can’t” dominated my life erased so much possibility I thought I still had. And now still isn’t the right time to make a big change. I want so many things and no matter what decision I make I feel like I’m giving something else up. Every time I feel like I’m coming around a corner the next milestone feels like it got further away while I wasn’t watching. I’ve felt stuck for a long time, like I don’t have complete ownership over my life.


Seattle skyline from a boat tour on a very hot day.

I have this fantasy of what my life would be like if I moved. I say fantasy because husband has no desire to leave our city, and would be genuinely depressed living where I want to live, and because it's borderline impossible unless I somehow make a shit ton more money, which is unlikely even if I left the nonprofit world. But it doesn’t mean I can’t indulge myself a little here.


I imagine us buying a townhome in West Seattle, where parks and nature and the water are less than a mile away. By then we’ve adopted a dog and can take bikes or even go on a long walk to the beaches. We have a small little yard, or at least a decent balcony, and there’s space to sit and read or work and grow plants. We’d be close to the neighborhood center and walk around in evenings and weekends, getting coffee at one of the many shops around, finding new favorite Vietnamese and Thai and Chinese restaurants, and drinking on brewery patios. Husband would open a new studio nearby and he’d bring the dog with him sometimes. He has photography friends he meets up with and we regularly see my friends and cousins who live in the state. Maybe once a year we drive east to see friends just over the mountains, and we take long weekends to visit the islands, take the dog hiking, even take longer trips to Montana and the rainforests.


Fresh wild blackberries!


In the townhome we have, that we own, we’re intentional about its design and layout. We take our time finding pieces that we love that fit our needs. We install permanent solutions that work for us, because it’s ours, and we both love the space that we’ve created. We’re surrounded by tall, green trees, maybe have a view of the sound from our top floor, and have tons of windows to let in as much natural light as possible. For a while we’ll have just the dog, who runs with us (in perfect year-round running weather), because she’s portable and we want to explore this new area. We’ll foster cats and small animals as often as we can, at least until we have a network we can turn to for cat sitting (I can’t not have a cat, not for long).


Dino topiary!


I think part of what makes this fantasy so appealing is it’s something to look forward to when one of the biggest parts of my current life changes. I’m intentionally not going far, or going for long, to spend as much time as I can with Chloe. Despite her age and early kidney disease she’s in remarkably good health. And is laying across my arms as I type this (slowly). Travel will be a consolation for a while, maybe finally going on our honeymoon and taking other extended international trips.


And now I couldn’t ask my partner to change everything about his life, which he absolutely loves, to go live somewhere he would have no close friends or family, have to rebuild his business from scratch, and feel isolated and lonely. After the wet and gloomy winter we had this year, I know that this move will remain a fantasy. It wouldn’t be a fantasy if my partner was miserable.


Seattle is not lacking in amazing beer.

Which means I need to figure out how to be happy living where I am. I didn’t want to live in one place my whole life, but practically speaking it’s not really feasible to move states, much less move countries (I have a similar fantasy about moving to the UK). But this is why we have fantasies, right? It'll be interesting to look back on this in a few years and see what's changed, what new fantasies I have, or what parts of this one might have come true.

November 20, 2022

You're So Lucky

Strangers like to tell me how lucky I am. They say it at events, out of earshot of anyone else, when they learn I am my husband’s wife. These strangers are always women, and are not strangers to my husband. They also often fawn over me, as if we’re besties, even though we just met. Even men insinuate my luckiness: one man told me to “take good care of him”.

What am I supposed to say in response? I default to “yes, I am lucky” and hope they drop it.


I’ve never understood their meaning. What makes me so lucky? Is it that I’m married to my husband, who they presumably think is just the best? Are they envious, secretly hoping he’ll be back on the market? Or is it simply that I have a husband, because being a single woman is the worst at this age (and perhaps a little also that my husband is not an asshole)? Or could some of them be hoping for gossip? How would they react if I told them his farts don’t smell like roses? It makes me uncomfortable.


No one tells my husband, or any man, that he’s so lucky. If anyone pays my husband a compliment about me it’s regarding my looks. But even still, he’s not lucky to have a pretty wife, since he's too attractive himself to have an unattractive wife. It’s expected. Of course she’s beautiful.


My husband hears how great he is in some capacity every day. His clients rave about his work, colleagues he mentors look up to him, his former boss has told him (indirectly, but still) he’s a better photographer, even the little kids we know talk about him to their parents. He makes an impression and there’s no one who doesn’t love him. But he rarely hears from me how great he is.


Instead, I keep the domestic sphere going to he can devote himself to his craft. I make sure the animals are cared for, supplies stocked, and entertain them (including bonding a new rabbit, which I said I’d never do again). Lately I’ve cooked dinner, ate alone, and cleaned up, making sure he has dinner waiting for him after a late shoot. The last two months I’ve spent a whole day off deep cleaning alone, and always during the week do the smaller tasks, like run the roomba and wash the sheets and towels.


Maybe it’s just because those are the expected tasks for a wife, even in whatever this day and age is (where quite a few people would love to have us go back to traditional gender roles). Maybe it’s because I work from home and can wash some dishes on a break or vacuum while listening to a meeting. Maybe it’s because I care more about a clean and well-kept home than my husband, so it makes sense that I spend more of my energies that way.


It’s a lonely life, though. But I don't think the people who tell me I’m so lucky would like to hear that. Shouldn’t a little loneliness be worth the sacrifice to be married to such greatness? Shouldn't I be eagerly awaiting his arrival at night, happy I'm the one he comes home to?


My husband doesn’t know people say this to me. All he knows is that everyone except his wife tells him he’s wonderful. I know it frustrates him because he says things loud enough for me to hear. Like how he knows not to expect support from me (said in reference to fantasy football, which I started doing to spend more time with him, but the wording was “in anything ever”). Or when I didn’t know what I wanted to eat and he muttered I never do (despite him also not having an answer). Or when I brought up that something (can’t even remember what) upset me and he said it’s always something.


I’ve thought what our relationship might be like if we shifted to traditional gender roles. We don’t have kids so it would never fly, plus we couldn’t afford to live here without my income. But if I wasn’t working full time of course I’d take complete care of the home. The grocery shopping, the cleaning, the cooking, the animals, arranging our social life and travel, all of it would be done without him lifting a finger, me being mad that the workload is unequally distributed, and might even mean I have more energy and desire for intimacy.


Or, more likely, our relationship would implode. If I already feel worth less despite all I contribute, how worthless would I feel if I contributed nothing financially? I’d need to be medicated, and then I’d really be a stereotype. On his end, he would be working more than ever to support two people and we likely wouldn’t see each other any more than we do now with opposite schedules.


If I wanted that life, I could have had it. My high school boyfriend’s plan was to be a lawyer, or some other super high paying career, where he would work long hours so I could have the luxury of staying home to raise our kids (in his plan, we’d have two). He said this to me in a sad, determined kind of way. This was his sacrifice.


I rejected that life immediately. Even then, when I assumed I’d have kids because it’s what you do after getting married, being a stay at home mom was not for me. Further, why would I go into a marriage knowing my husband was going to be working all the time and we’d rarely see each other? I wanted to get married because I loved my spouse and wanted to spend time with him. Marriage was never a means to an end for me. Yet he wasn’t the last boyfriend to pitch this life to me.


Of course, that life required having kids. When I got married—to someone who also didn’t want kids and valued an equal partnership—I was excited about creating a different kind of life. Having the flexibility to move around, live in other cities and countries. Travel where and when we want, not when school schedules dictate. Taking the fulfilling job even if it didn’t pay that well.


But so far we haven’t done this. Husband says someday, even soon. I have doubts. Looking back on our 11 years together there’s always been something: stress and unhappiness with jobs that underpaid and overworked, grad school, sick pets, planning and paying for a wedding, not working for 5 months and then taking every job possible in case the pandemic gets worse.


Work will always take priority for my husband. It took me a long time to realize that, longer than it should have. I’ll still be disappointed but I no longer expect him to block off time if there's even a chance he could book work. I can count on my birthday, his birthday, and our wedding anniversary. Even this year, for his 40th, he took the day of off but worked the following day.


It’s time for me to get used to the idea that I’ll need to do more things on my own. Which honestly should be my ideal, because I enjoy my alone time and enjoy traveling solo. If he can swing a day or two of a trip, like he did last year when I went to Seattle for a week, great. I married him because I love him and want to spend more time together, but I’m not doing our relationship any favors by waiting around for him to block off potential work time.


So, yeah, it’s been lonely. I have some loose plans for the next couple of years that involve short trips to see friends, focusing on my old and at-risk pets, and doing some volunteering and possibly freelancing to stay busy and earn extra income. I’m starting to form a longer-term plan, too, which is dependent on that extra income. Maybe having something to look forward to that’s all for me will help.


In the meantime, people should stop telling others how lucky they are. The grass is always greener, and I’m worried one of these times I’ll tell some unsuspecting woman the reality of living with greatness.

June 10, 2022

Guilt and Judgment

Most teens and young adults go through a period of feeling isolated, misunderstood, alone, or just plain different from everyone else. Some people don't grow out of this entirely. I might be one of those people, but I'm not sure why, exactly.

I don't always feel this way, but the isolating periods last a long time. Or maybe my baseline is a depression and I have long periods of happiness. Whichever it is, this depressive period started sometime last summer. I may have put too much stock in the vaccine ending the pandemic. I definitely put too much stock in the changing administration (I never thought we'd go back to being united, if we even ever were, but I did think something would change). It was this time in 2021 that we were double vaxxed and feeling good about spending time back in the world after a year of "apart together". In fact, it was exactly one year ago as I type that I had my first beer in a brewery since 2019.

A theatre marquis sign: 'Life is hard the best thing we can do is pick each other up.' Eric Nam.
Some uplifting words on the closed theatre marquis.

It's the loss of human kindness, I think, that did it for me this time. In early 2020 most people were all about beating the virus, doing our part, supporting the frontline and essential workers and small businesses. Then we got tired of our homes and all that pent up energy came out as anger and frustration. The pandemic was politicized immediately but we hadn't had a chance to see that in each other in person until the lockdowns ended. It was like everyone had a point to prove and were going to prove it as often as possible at all costs. I can scroll or swipe past something I don't like on social media but it's harder to avoid in person. Those interactions stayed with me a lot longer.

And a lot happened in the last year personally, too. I lost Gandalf (I was alone for that), then Ruth (I was alone for that, too), then Amelia, then Maya. Chloe was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and, later, early kidney disease, though she's doing well with both. Instead of going wine tasting on my birthday I marched for reproductive rights (I mean, I still had wine, just not with friends at a winery). There's a 50% chance I had Covid. Even if it wasn't Covid, I still passed whatever illness I had on to medically fragile Ruthie, causing her death. A couple of weeks ago, I watched a man die in my alley after efforts to resuscitate him failed. All this in addition to social unrest, racist mass shootings, racist mass shootings of children, inflation, Russia starting a war, abortion rights ending in the US (at the same time as a baby formula shortage), renewed LGBTQ+ violence and discrimination, and a few particularly damning climate reports.

Me holding a cardboard sign: It's my birthday and I want reproductive freedom.
My birthday morning activity.


Clearly, I don't feel anxious or isolated or judged or different solely because of the pandemic. The sheer number of things I feel judged for or guilty about surprised me, as has how long I've felt this way. Some of these may be in my head, some of them are not. The very first thing I do most days is go on a run, which often is the only alone time I get. So by 8am the good part of my day is over with. Then the judgment starts:

Judged for needing caffeine every day. Husband does not need caffeine and will comment on how I drink tea all day (though all I do is refill the water with the same leaves, so the caffeine level is zero after a few cups) or need coffee on weekends. It got me in trouble once when we had planned to get fancy coffees at a shop before going somewhere, but ran out of time and I was worried about getting a headache if I didn't have something. Now I make sure I have caffeine before I leave the house or go alone to a shop.

A reusable coffee cup with a unicorn sticker that says 'I believe'.
I was very happy when reusable cups came back!

Judged and guilty for going to coffee shops. In addition to my need for caffeine, coffee shops are expensive. It's like the number one thing the boomers tell the millennials to skip if we want to afford things like housing and healthcare (or is it avocado toast now?). And it is expensive: after non-dairy milk and tip (I'm still tipping like it's 2020) I spend up to $7 for a mocha. I bought a grinder and pitcher and learned to make cold brew, but I love the experience of going to a shop and sometimes justify it by using their wifi for a couple of hours. I felt extra guilty going to coffee shops in 2020 and 2021 when reusable cups weren't allowed. So in addition to feeling guilty spending $7 for a coffee I also felt guilty for getting a disposable cup I didn't need. But somehow also guilty for not supporting my local coffee shops more often. Guilty no matter what I do.

Judged for eating three meals a day during the week. Though I don't often feel judged for what I eat or how much I eat, husband doesn't eat much more than a small bowl of cereal during the day (except when he gets lunch out after doing the grocery shopping) and it sometimes makes me feel I shouldn't need as much food. If I were more active I probably wouldn't need to eat, but I've never been able to sit at a desk and not think about food. However, the guilt and judgment comes from the extra dishes more than the food itself. I complain about dishes being left in the sink for extended periods of time, which makes me feel I must clean everything the moment I'm done using it. When I'm the only one eating during the week I'm the only one dirtying dishes, so I must maintain a perfectly clean kitchen or hear about how I don't follow my own rules. You can't complain about something and then do that thing yourself without being a hypocrite. Also, the only reason I don't feel judged for my eating habits outside my home is because I'm relatively thin and athletic, which makes me feel guilty: if I had different genetics and ate like I do I wouldn't be as thin.

A cookie sheet of nachos.
The thing that makes me happiest.

Judged for my recommendations at work. I try (and sometimes fail) to choose my words extremely carefully and back up every suggestion and recommendation with outside sources and data as insurance against pushback. I fear that every word I say or type is scrutinized. I'm a relatively low level employee trying to make recommendations above my pay grade since there's literally no one else to do it for my field. I have a strong impression that, while I'm liked my most of my coworkers, my direct superiors think I need to stay in my place. Plus, I'm a full-time remote employee and didn't fly out a few weeks ago when most of the team got together informally (I didn't want to risk Covid to sit in an office), so I didn't get the chance to be charming and personable (as much as I can be, which isn't much) to my superiors.

Judged and guilty for showing affection to my pets because I don't show the same level of affection to husband. I'm not a kissy person or a huggy person or one to show physical affection very often. In a lot of ways (romantic and otherwise) I'm not an initiator. This is understandably very frustrating to someone whose love language is physical touch. But I am this way with animals. I will do the baby voice and tell my girls how pretty and smart they are and force kisses on their bellies and foreheads and go out of my way to give them anything they want, whenever they want it. I thought a lot about why this is and I think it's because animals are the only ones that don't judge me. They're always happy and excited to see me, even if only because I'm about to feed them. There's not a human on this earth that's always happy or excited to see me. I also feel guilty when I don't spend as much time with my pets. The rats need free roam time every day but, since they're rats, it has to be in a contained area. So I lock myself with them in the bathroom which is admittedly not the most fun way to spend time with them. I can't multitask very well like that, so it's an hour of not spending time with husband, not doing other household tasks, and not working, and I feel guilt for all of the things I'm not doing and judged for choosing the rats.

Three rats cuddled in a basket together.
My old girls, Amelia, Maya, and Ruth, who passed within months of each other.

Judged for buying, keeping, and caring for houseplants. I admit I have quite a lot and it's probably annoying that they're all in one part of the apartment (only one halfway decent window). A couple I rescued from a trash pile in the alley, a few were gifts, I've propagated several, three were wedding leftovers, and the rest were purchased very cheaply at grocery stores or second hand. I even obtained most of the pots cheaply: terra cotta pots that I painted myself (which allows me to be creative, something I lack in my life), gifts, or repurposed items. If I could spread them around the apartment without killing them they might not be so noticeable. It's probably because houseplants became the trend after breadmaking in 2020. I always liked plants but now when you can buy them at coffee shops and gift shops and grocery stores and the corner shop it's easier and more affordable to have some greenery around. Plus, plants are proven to improve moods and it's something to care for and pay attention to outside of the rest of the world.

Judged and guilty for wanting things that don't fit into husband's lifestyle. Before I got into grad school I planned to move to a new city. I got in and had to commit to where I was for three years. After I graduated we immediately got engaged, so moving didn't make sense. Then Argo got sick. Then we got married. Then there was a pandemic. Now we can't afford to move because husband's work connections are here and I don't make enough to support us long term, and I'm worried we can't afford to stay here because housing prices have skyrocketed. During the pandemic I decided that if we are going to stay here forever I'd like to buy a place, but husband wasn't ready in the brief window I could afford it. Now condos are $200k+ more and if we ever want a second bathroom or in-unit laundry or a dishwasher we'll be paying at least $1,500 extra rent each month and buying will be an even more distant dream.

Judged for wearing a mask indoors, guilty and afraid when I don't. Everyone is over masks and the pandemic in general, even though cases are rising again. I avoid eye contact when I wear a mask just so I won't see if anyone looks at me with judgment. I skip it sometimes if I'm in and out in under two minutes, like grabbing takeout, but whenever I'm inside without a mask I get this queasy feeling in my stomach. I'm so fortunate to live in an area where so much is outside that it's really felt like the good parts of the old normal are back and I'm not sacrificing, but every now and then an invitation will come along and I'll have to assess whether it's worth the risk. The big thing is going to movies: it's husband's favorite thing to do but now that no one is wearing a mask it's less fun for me. Only going when it's a really important movie that won't be streaming isn't the compromise he wanted.

Me double masking with a cloth and a hospital mask.
Hospital staff didn't trust my cloth mask so they gave me a fresh disposable one, even though I never even went inside.

Guilty for not making enough money. I used to make more than husband but he outpaced me last year. Yet he's more content to stay at the level we're currently at and have more day to day luxuries than I am. He's less interested in upgrading our housing, which makes me feel that if I want it I need to figure out how to get it. I also don't want to say no to the little things that make us happy, like take out and brewery visits, so I feel guilty saying yes and spending the money when I know it's not contributing to my long term goals. Plus, I have very expensive pets. Old animals require so much more medical care and rats are not cheap. I'm trying to mitigate this with a separate savings account so their expenses don't come from my regular checking or savings.

Judged by my family for my appearance. I don't see either of my parents so there isn't as much judgment anymore, but I still fret over what clothes I'll wear, if I'll do my hair, of how much makeup to wear. During the pandemic, makeup became a special occasion look. I only wear it now when seeing people I don't see often or doing things I don't do often. I have trouble deciding if family should fall into the "people I'm comfortable with" category or "people I don't see often" category, since both are accurate. Last time I didn't do either hair or makeup and it was fine, so maybe this is a worry I can somewhat put to rest.

I've been told I don't find joy, which I don't think is true (see: photos). So many of the things I'm judged for bring me joy by myself: my pets, coffee, plants, food, having goals and dreams. But I don't exist alone. I'm great at projecting a fuck off attitude towards strangers and acquaintances, but when I feel judgment from the people closest to me or the ones I interact with the most, I want to escape into the woods where I know no one.