I can clearly see how people are trying to be nice to me. Trying as best they know how. They want me to learn how to conform. They want me to learn how to be nice.
Trouble is… I’ve got an alternate plan.
Thing is, when you are a guest… you must play nice.
This is the trouble I’ve been in since I was a little girl. I am not good enough. I don’t please people enough. I don’t read the signals right.
In some places cleaning is a sign of deep love and respect and service. It is honored and cherished.
In some places I am disrespectful and rude and I am insulting them.
For the exact same behavior.
This is part of why I flip out and feel like I am losing control sometimes. It’s hard to know what the right thing to do is. Sometimes it is ok to ask and sometimes I get in trouble for even asking. I’m supposed to just know what is acceptable.
I feel so tired.
I’m so tired of doing everything wrong and insulting people. When I’m on my best behavior.
I haz the big feelings. I’m super anxious and watching a fabulous show called Strange Empire. It’s working for me. I like thrilling (but not scary), violent movies about women who are happy to shoot you if that is what needs to be done today.
I just like that in a woman.
Adventures aren’t that fun when you are on them. But I long for them and have fun talking about them for years afterwards.
I like talking and dreaming about adventure more than doing. Cause I’m a twerp. I’m an ungrateful twat.
Feels.
Since I may forget to say it tomorrow… thank you for putting up with me so long Noah. Happy Anniversary. I’m really glad I’m with you.
Happy anniversary!
I am very curious which state you were in where this happened.
That was a huge source of conflict for me with friends and with dating in Tennessee. I was raised that especially if you are a guest in someone’s home, the polite thing is to do dishes or generally help clean. Then I moved and it flipped- most folks were very deeply insulted if I tried to clean or help in any way, as it was explained to me, it felt like I was making a statement that their houses weren’t clean, *and* insulting their womanhood. There was also weird judgement over my inability to cook some things, (though I learned as fast as I could), and judgement if we took too much of things that were loudly, repeatedly offered. I couldn’t even tell you how many times I cried myself to sleep over this, trying to figure out how to not insult people as a guest or as a host. I hope you get room to breathe soon.
I was in Virginia. Her point was that I was crossing the Mason Dixon line and people are going to respond to me as if I have to accept guess culture and she was trying to warn me.
If I lived near this I would cry a lot too.