Debby Does…

The other day I shared about my need to home-ify every place I go. Yesterday, we moved out of our sixth temporary location and into our seventh—five hours north in Michigan. This does not count my own two trips to New Jersey in the past month or so. It’s been a lot of packing, unpacking, negotiating, and dog wrangling.

It’s been exhausting.

I took to social media and talked about how I am feeling. I was grateful that people finally seemed to understand that I didn’t need a cheerleader; I needed an empath, a mom, a friend. I did not sign up for a Tony Robbins seminar or a session with your most toxically positive cousin.

I just wanted someone to understand, to validate the struggle, and to send me a virtual squeeze.

I got a lot of that, plus the promise of a real squeeze when this “adventure” lands me in Bath, Maine.

I also got the dreaded response that goes like this: “At least it’s not…”

This is where you fill in the blank—Gaza, Haiti, Ukraine, Israel, Mar a Lago.

When we were first married, we were hosting an actor who was a member of a cast with which we were working at the time. We fed him, watered him, and provided him with anything he needed, while we worked full time at our real jobs and then rehearsed/performed at night. One day, I came home from work, complaining about my day, my job, and myriad other work related things.

He said, “At least it’s not Bosnia.”

Thanks, Todd. At least.

That was my first time being “at least”-ed at the ripe age of 25.

My 54 year old response: “Shut your pie hole, Todd.”

I get it. As I have said over and over, these are first world problems of privileged people. I am the first to admit that. Still, it doesn’t mean that things aren’t hard. Even if you have money to throw at problems, things can still be hard. Really hard. Really frustrating. Absolutely maddening.

The only thing that makes it worse is the “at least” crowd.

We get it. The world is a shit show, filled with tragedy and sadness. If we don’t live in the midst of that horror, we are lucky. Duh. I’m not tone deaf. I’m not out of the loop. I’m just having a hard time.

When I had breast cancer, people relentlessly told me “you’ve got this” and it made me nuts. I was living with and caring for my mom who had dementia, trying to teach high school virtually, and going through appointments, surgeries, and radiation. I needed to know that I did not have to “got this” and that someone else would “got this” for me this time. I could pick it up for them when it was their turn. I understand that people wanted me to be positive and strong because they loved me and wanted me to be healthy. Still, telling people they have to be strong when they just need to let go and let God, let Jesus take the wheel, or whatever your belief system tells you, is brutal.

Meet people where they are. Let them wallow in the muck of their sorrows. Just show up for the clean up. It’s that simple.

The next time you think that your best bet is to tell people how much worse it could be for them, shut your stinking pie hole.

Love, Debby