Sometimes when I get a little sad I remember the things that once made me the saddest of all:
One time my family took a family vacation and didn’t invite me. In fact, it gets worse than that. In my opinion anyhow. My sisters ex-boyfriend (who was an ex at the time of the vacation) was invited to come along. But I was not. Why not me? Not all of Paul’s kids went but they were all invited to come along.
I had just moved to Chicago about 8 months before the vacation. It was to San Francisco to visit Paul’s family. They rented a big van and everyone piled in and they drove across the country to California. And to one of the most magical places in California…San Francisco. A place I had dreamed of going. A place I knew I would feel at home as soon as I went there.
My sister tells me not to feel sad about it because it wasn’t THAT great of a trip. She told me once about them driving in the mountains. Paul was driving, as he always does, and they were going up a very steep and winding mountain ridge with no barriers to prevent the car from going over the edge. Paul was driving very fast, as he always does, and my mom and Ellie were yelling at him to slow down. But Paul just laughed and kept going. At the top of the mountain they stopped at a little gas station. My mom walked very briskily into the gas station, bought a cheap bottle of wine, and Ellie and my mom sat on a concrete curb and drank straight from the bottle.
I know that story was intended to make me feel better about not having to deal with the scary driving. But, instead, it just makes me really sad to have not been a part of that shared experience with my mom and sister. To sit on that concrete curb, hot from the sun, and pass a bottle of cheap wine between us, commiserating with each other.
I wrote an angry letter to my mother a few months later telling her why I was upset. I suggested a few reasons why she might not have invited me. She wrote me back and confirmed my suggestions. 1. That I was older and not living in Springfield anymore. I had moved to Chicago and was an adult, I could plan my own trips now. And 2. That I owed her around $800 dollars, which I had borrowed to move to Chicago and had not yet paid her back.
Some people might find the fact that my not being invited on a family trip, especially with me being an adult/having moved away/owing my mother money, might seem like it wasn’t a big deal. That I’m overreacting by being hurt.
Maybe I am. I don’t know. But nevertheless, I was very hurt. I continue to feel hurt even though I do my best to understand and forgive and let go.
The problem is, I don’t see the reasoning my mother’s reasoning. I know lots of people who take family trips that aren’t living under their parents roofs. In fact, Ellie wasn’t living with my mom and Paul at the time of the trip. I know I owed her money and she probably didn’t want to reward my owing money by spending more money on me. I did end up paying her back but only after I had found a job and saved up. At the time of the vacation I had only had a full time job for about 4 months and hadn’t been able to save anything.
The fact that a non family member was invited is probably the hardest pill to swallow. Because, in a way, it proves her logic is faulted. She paid the expenses for Ellie’s ex-boyfriend (again, ex-boyfriend at the time) to go on the family vacation. Even if I owed her money she still paid for someone to go. Why not me?
Why not me? Why wasn’t that person me?
Someone else was invited to go and becasue of that I know there is another reason I wasn’t chosen to go. A reason that doesn’t have to do with money or with me having moved away. I might never know what that reason was. But I fear many reason. I fear not being liked. I fear not being loved. I fear not being fun enough. I fear not being responsible enough. I fear not living up to expectations. I fear not fitting in.
Unfortunately, this family vacation has effected me for much longer and much deeper than I thought it ever would. For most of my life I have had a pretty good self esteem. I have at times been overly critical of myself and I’ve never thought I was the best, or most beautiful, or most talented, etc. But there was a time when I knew who I was and I believed in myself.
This family vacation, along with a really detrimintal friendship in college, I began doubting myself. I began to fear that people didn’t like me. I began to fear that people didn’t love me. I began to fear that I wasn’t fun enough. I began to fear that I wasn’t responsible enough. I began to fear I didn’t lvie up to expectations. I began to fear that I didn’t actually fit in anywhere.
I have been trying to overcome this. “Any belief worth having must survive doubt.” And so, I’ll just keep trying. And forgiving. And letting go.
