I only realized this after applications were done.
Care and Feeding is Slate’s parenting advice column. Have a question for Care and Feeding? Submit it here.
Dear Care and Feeding,
I’m a teen who’s just graduated from high school, living in a small town where everyone knows everyone. Early in high school, I had been friends with a group of girls I’d known since elementary school. We did basically everything together, and I was closest to two of them in particular. I also made another friend, “Sasha,” through cross country, and we became best friends, which initially caused me to drift apart from the other girls, but eventually, she sort of joined the group as well. Then, at the beginning of sophomore year, I really prioritized school and extracurriculars, because I wanted to get into a specific dream college across the country. Junior year, I was really stressed and didn’t hang out with anyone other than Sasha, and was curt and dismissive with my other friends (which I really regret).
I only realized after college applications were done and I had gotten into my dream school that I was all alone except for Sasha and a very tenuous connection with my old friend group—which Sasha had by then been absorbed into. I worked hard to make amends with my two closest friends in the group, and we’ve spent time together this summer (I even went to prom with everyone), but they’re all going on a big camping trip in August for a week (Sasha included) that was planned last summer while I was away at an academic program, and I just feel sick thinking about it. I’m fearful that this is going to make them impenetrably close, that I’ll never be able to be friends with all of them again, that I’ll cease being Sasha’s best friend, that I won’t be invited for get-togethers during winter breaks or any other time we’re all at home. The trip was planned and paid for last fall, so there’s no way I can join them, and just thinking about how I’ll have to see all of them on social media having fun without me makes me anxious. I don’t regret getting into my dream college, but I feel awful about being such a bad friend while I was laser-focused on that goal. How can I cope with this? Should I talk to Sasha about it? Is it true that there really isn’t a way to rejoin the group after this trip? I can’t stop thinking about what I’ve lost.
—Bad Friend in the Bay Area
Dear Friend,
First, some news: This friend group, no matter how tight-knit—or how much more tightly knit it may become in August—is not going to remain so closely woven once you all go your own ways to college. Even if everyone else in the group goes to the same college (and as far as I know, that’s not the case here), it’s not likely to remain unchanged by what’s ahead. (I teach a seminar for first-year students at Ohio State, where I taught full time for many years, and a common refrain among these new-to-the-campus folks is that their high school friends are becoming confusingly less important to them—even if they chose to room with them—while they make new friends with whom they feel they have more in common.)
I can promise you that you will soon have new friends, and that you will become as close to them as you once were to your high school group of friends, even the ones you felt particularly close to. I’m not saying that you’ll lose interest in your old friends; I’m just letting you know that the sense you have right now that you are all alone, and these people are your only people, will not last forever. So try to keep this in perspective: Your life is about to change in a big way (in many big ways!).
In the meantime, please make plans of your own for the week of your friends’ camping trip—even if “plans” just means a list of things you’ll do. Also: Stay off social media during that week (and if you can’t do that, at least mute all of them; it will be hard, I know, but it will be worth it). And be a good friend to them now, while you’ve got the chance. There are weeks between today and that camping trip. Keep doing things together—not frantically, but because you want to, if you want to. This will remind you that these people are still your friends. I wouldn’t burden Sasha with your jealousy, fear, and anxiety—that’s not going to help the situation in any way—and I would have a celebration that includes everybody before the Big Separation comes.
Here’s a little advice for the future, too. When you’re home for breaks from college, don’t wait for invitations. Call your old friends yourself. You may not even have the same breaks—and by sophomore year some of you may not be coming home for breaks. But those of you who will be home at matching times will want someone to hang out with.
The bottom line: Try to rein in the drama, even though this is a dramatic time in your life. Leaning into it will make you feel worse. And please, please, don’t waste your energy on regrets (or jealousy!). Remember that the camping trip is only a week long. Don’t let that one week ruin your whole summer.
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Dear Care and Feeding,
How do you manage balancing your kid’s medical privacy with being open and unashamed about stigma? I have a 5-year-old who has had several surgeries as a result of medical conditions with which she was born. She has been in and out of the hospital most of her life. For some of this time, she received homeschooling from an outside agency, and the teachers as well as her doctors have recommended early intervention services for speech and physical therapy, which she has been receiving intermittently, working around her medical problems. I should mention that most of her medical problems are resolved, and while she will need more monitoring than most kids, her prognoses are positive and her medical team is optimistic that her next surgery won’t be needed until she is a teen, if ever. Thankfully they should not have an impact on her day-to-day life or her life expectancy. We are very grateful, but needless to say her early years have been marked by a lot of stress and difficulty.
Next year, she will be in first grade in public school, and the school will be providing her with a behavioral aide to help the transition. When we are in groups with other kids (she attended preschool briefly during one of her healthier times), she isn’t physically aggressive, but she has issues with boundaries. She will grab things from kids, touch their hair, etc. The whole team is hopeful that with more experience in group settings, this will quickly get better. I am relieved to have the aide in place to help teach her appropriateness and to intervene when necessary.
My question is this: As a parent of a kid who currently is (and possibly always will be) classified as having a disability, how much do I disclose to the parents of the other children in her class? Do I explain why she has an aide? How much do I tell them? I would hope that they would be understanding and compassionate if the transition doesn’t go as smoothly as we’ve hoped, and I think that an information vacuum would not be congruent with that aim. On the other hand, I’m conscious that my daughter’s past medical history as well as any diagnoses (currently it’s a speech and language delay) are private; they should be up to her to disclose as she chooses. I don’t want my daughter or other parents to get the impression that I am ashamed of her (I am not! I am so proud of her resilience and happy spirit). But if we keep silent in order to respect her privacy, I’m worried that will be the impression we give. How do we navigate this? I’ve been baptized by fire as a medical parent but don’t have much experience having a kid with an individualized education program (IEP)!
—Trepidatious in Berkeley
Dear Trepidatious,
My instinct, as I read your letter, was to urge you to share information with the other parents not only as an insurance policy for their compassion and patience but also so they could talk to their children about the presence of your daughter’s aide and be available to field questions their kids might have. But I didn’t altogether trust myself, as I have no experience in this area. So I contacted someone who is something of an expert: Heather Lanier, the author of the wise and brilliant, moving Raising a Rare Girl (a book I recommend to any parent, whether they are raising a child with a disability or not).
Lanier told me she very much respected your desire to honor your daughter’s privacy. But, she went on to say, “We, as parents, serve as the bridge between our children and the world. This is especially true for kids with disabilities.” With a child as young as yours, it’s up to you to do all the “explaining and advocating.” It’s also up to you to “set the tone for how the world should respond to our kids. The trick is to explain our kids’ disabilities and needs with zero shame, with a total acceptance of our children as they are, and with the overarching attitude that disability is normal, natural, and just fine,” she added.
Lanier pointed out that she is not suggesting you owe anyone your child’s whole story. Her advice is that you speak matter-of-factly and briefly, saying outright what the disability is, what she needs, and how those she interacts with can be supportive. And she mentioned that this approach comes with a bonus: “Helping others around us adopt the same attitude we have: one of total acceptance and OK-ness.” I think this bonus can be a far-reaching one, too: Parents who have this attitude around disability will model it for their children—who will model it for other children. So don’t stay silent. Take the first step toward creating a supportive, loving village for your child. And let that village spread.
Catch Up on Care and Feeding
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Dear Care and Feeding,
I am the youngest of five. For my whole life, the older kids have picked our family vacation spots, restaurants, what to order, what game to play, etc. My parents would say, “That’s just how it is, being the youngest.” What I wanted was never taken into consideration. Even when I was in my 20s, they said my wishes didn’t count because I was the only one without a spouse or kids. Now we’re all in our 40s and 50s and I’ve got a husband and kids, so I need to change this dynamic. But every year, the same thing happens: The older kids pick the vacation spot and date. I throw in my preference. The date and spot selected is one of the older kids’ choices. When I say I have a conflict on that date, I get told to “roll with it,” and I find out later that no one remembered what I said, so I end up being the only one not going. No one even notices, and everyone has memories of me being there, so it was no great loss for them.
However, the years of this have worn me down: family pictures without me, the insistence that I was present, etc. If I say something, I’m told I need to stop being so sensitive and dramatic, to stop acting like a baby. I feel like Adam Sandler’s character in Punch Drunk Love, wanting to smash the patio door window. What do I do? I’m not close to any of them. They never truly showed up for me (unless you count my wedding day—and even then they bitched about the date being inconvenient). They think we’re closer than we are. They can never remember my birthday or my married name. They continually screw up my husband’s name (think Mark when his name is Mike), and we’ve been married for over 15 years. My husband is getting tired of being treated like crap because he married the youngest of the bunch. (I guess my problem isn’t about vacations, is it?) I think I’m ready for estrangement from my family. I’m pretty sure no one would notice anyway.
—I’d Estrange You, But You Wouldn’t Notice
Dear You Wouldn’t Notice,
For starters: Why go on vacations with your family if you’re “not close with any of them”? Why have you been going on these vacations—or, I guess, hoping to and then not going because your family makes plans without accounting for your availability—all these years? Why didn’t you quit once you were grown and didn’t have to anymore?
It seems to me the only possible answers to these questions are:
-
You hoped vacationing with them would make you closer (but surely you learned long ago that this wasn’t true)
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You’d feel left out if you didn’t (but you feel left out anyway)
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You’ve felt obliged to (but why?)
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See #3, and you are so conflict-averse you haven’t been able to bring yourself to say “count me out” (for fear they’d gang up on you, resort to childish name-calling, or otherwise rattle, upset, or hurt you?)
None of these are good reasons not to bow out now, while the bowing’s good.
I’ll confess to being mystified, myself, by the very concept of a big, all-the-members-of-family vacation. I have friends who do it and don’t hate it (I don’t know anyone who loves it; at best, they tolerate it for the sake of their mothers, usually). It makes sense in situations in which the whole family is very close (emotionally) and at a great distance from each other (geographically), and a week together in the summertime is the only chance they have to be together all at once—and is something everyone looks forward to all year. Is this true of everybody in your family but you? Wouldn’t that alone be reason to step away from the vacations?
In any case, you don’t have to “estrange” yourself from them (I mean, you can—who’s stopping you?—if you feel it’s essential for your mental health overall). You just have to, well, grow up. You’ve been playing the role of “youngest child” for far too long. Because you’re right, of course: Your question isn’t really about vacations. It’s about a family dynamic that, as you describe it, borders on abusive. And because I fear that “simply” cutting them off will change nothing about the way you feel—you’ll still be sad, aggrieved, and hurt—and telling them off seems to be out of your wheelhouse, I think your best bet is to focus on what you can do to interrupt the cycle of their emotional abuse. Do you need to stop speaking to all of them? How will that make you feel? If the answer is relieved, then yeah, maybe it’s time—whether they seem to notice or not.
If you want to try instead to assert yourself, without participating in their bullying version of a “conversation” with you, go ahead and use the vacation as a synecdoche for the relationship: Next time they ask what a good time is/where you’d like to go on the upcoming family vacation, just say calmly that you won’t be joining them, but you hope they have fun. If this is met with insults, or thinly veiled derisive questions (trust me, they’ll know why you are declining this “invitation” that’s more like a subpoena), politely excuse yourself: The doorbell’s ringing! The oven timer has gone off! You need to wash your hair! while you silently remind yourself that you will not be participating in this charade anymore.
In other words: You change the terms of your relationship. And if that doesn’t make you feel any better after you have done this multiple times, you may find you have to withdraw from them. Or perhaps one of them will come to you for an honest, mature conversation—one can always hope. If you did decide to cut the cord, you’d be doing so intentionally—not petulantly.
Dear Care and Feeding,
I became unexpectedly pregnant very early in my marriage—a contraception failure with a method we thought was completely effective (turns out there’s no such thing as “completely” and that in fact—here’s a PSA—the shot has an effectiveness rate of 94 percent). We were willing to start our family earlier than we’d hoped to, but we also knew we’d need more help than we would have if we’d been able to wait, primarily because we didn’t have much money. After a thorough conversation with his parents and siblings, we decided to move closer to them, and the family network and childcare they provided offset the higher cost of living. Fifteen-plus years later, we’re very happy we made that decision. We love it here and so our kids. My husband and I help care for our kids’ cousins, and being part of a big crowd made it easy to settle in and make friends too.
My parents are decent people but have very different values and personalities than mine. They are extremely self-reliant and independent. Neither maintained family ties after marriage, and the only time they ever talk to my sister or me is when we call them. They both have intense solo projects and can be wrapped up in them for months at a time, a habit dating before my birth. They were clear that they were excited to be grandparents but weren’t interested in taking on any of the work that might be associated with that. That’s fine! It’s not for everyone, I know. But it seems they have never fully forgiven me for moving so far away. Our visits have been full of little underhanded comments and complaints about how we “took the kids away” from them. Our kids (11, 12, 15) pick up on this, and collectively asked to skip our planned December trip after we came home from our June one. My parents aren’t mean or abusive, they’re just hurt and a little cold. How do I handle this? My husband says, “Your parents, your rules,” so he’ll back me whatever I choose to do.
—Conflicted Daughter
Dear Daughter,
You seem to have a pretty good handle on the situation overall, but I think if your parents are talking (however subtle they may think they’re being) about their bitterness in a way that makes your kids uncomfortable, it’s time for you to say something. As you may know, I like letters for this sort of thing. A letter would give your parents a chance to take in (and then reread, as many times as necessary) what you’re telling them, without the opportunity to jump in reactively and derail you; it would also give you a chance to put all your thoughts in order, and to revise and clarify until you’re sure you’ve said everything you want and need to say. I would tell them everything you’ve told me (except for the PSA about birth control and the part about them being “cold”).
It seems odd to me that they can’t forgive you for moving away, when they made it clear they weren’t going to give you the kind of support you needed, but perhaps they’ve never really understood the connection between the two? At all events, it’s time for them to cut the underhanded comments. If they have something to say to you, tell them to say it outright. Do they regret not stepping up when you needed them? Do they begrudge you the life you and your children have where you live? A letter telling them that you understand that they feel hurt and that you’d like to get that out into the open where you can deal with it, and that lays out everything that’s happened from your point of view—and invites them to talk this through with you (I’m willing to bet that their version of the story of your relationship with them will be different from yours)—could go a long way to repairing things between you.
Meanwhile, talk frankly to your kids, too. Tell them why it’s important to you to see your parents, and why you want them to have a relationship with their grandparents. Tell them you’re working on making things better with them, and suggest that you all go in December and see if any of this helps make the next visit nicer than the previous one. I think it’s OK to insist that they go even if they don’t want to—at least one more time. If that visit is miserable, you can revisit the question. And tell your parents that you are, and why.
—Michelle
More Advice From Slate
I have a 2-year-old son who recently developed a problem going to sleep in his own bed. One night, after our bedtime routine of reading stories, his dad and I were saying good night and his dad added the “don’t let the bedbugs bite!” saying. Immediately, a look of horror crossed my son’s face and he sat up and pointed at the bed asking “Bite? Bite?” over and over.
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