Dear Diary,
My niece, Evelyn, turned up at my flat in London for a short stay, hoping to sort out a few things before she heads off to university in the same city. Shell be moving into a hall of residence soon, but for now shes here for a couple of weekssome paperwork, perhaps a few exams, the usual preterm hustle. My sister, who lives in Manchester, arranged for Evelyn to crash on my couch while shes away.
We never talked about who would foot the bill for meals. When I noticed Evelyn sulking in the lounge, I asked what was wrong. She said shed assumed Id put a proper lunch on the table for her. I snapped back, Im not going to feed you, and Ive got my own schedule to keep. I need to dash now, so call your mum and have her transfer some cash to your account. Grab a packet of biscuits, a few rolls, and a cuppadont forget the tea, Im out of it. Youre eighteen, you can manage that yourself.
Her mother hasnt spoken to me in ages, and she doesnt know that since the kids left the nest my husband vanished into a job that kept him away, leaving me to throw myself into work. My days are a blur of meetings and deadlines, and I barely have the energy for household chores. Sleep is a luxury I can only afford on weekends.
Seeing Evelyn again was a pleasure, though shes grown into a graceful young lady. Im no longer the carefree Auntie Lou who could whip up a feast in a flash. I told her to handle the grocery run, slice, boil, fry or even buy something readymade so she wouldnt end up wrecking the stoveor my flat. She fell into a sulky silence, clearly expecting a full board and motherly pampering. Its hard to switch off the always helpful mode after years of keeping the peace around the family. I even booked a session with a therapist to learn how to explain gently that Im not as functional as I used to be and that people should lower their expectations of me.
Lesson learned: kindness doesnt mean you have to lose yourself, and its perfectly alright to set boundaries, even with family.
