I hate feeling questioned and judged and envied and doubted and pressured to provide answers and explanations to calm individual and societal judgements, so this post is to all the religious proponents, church inviters, misdirected court officers, water testers, movers, contractors, delivery people, and even some friends and aquaintances, who have visited this house since I moved in this past spring.
Yes, it's a beautiful home, thank you.
Yes, it certainly is large.
I'm sorry you couldn't afford to live here.
How I afford to live here is actually pretty personal.
Yes, I do mind telling you what I paid.
Actually, I don't work.
It's none of your business where my money comes from.
Yes, I'm sure you would like to be able to not work. You know what though? I bet you'd hate to not be *able* to work.
It's none of your business what I did when I did work; especially when you're asking to try to figure out if that's where my money came from.
Yes, I am very lucky to live here.
Yes, it's nice that I don't have to work. Since, you know, I am physically and mentally unable to.
Why, would the number of inhabitants make it ok for you that I live here?
Yes, she's a border collie.
No, she's pure bred.
Yes, she's beautiful, thank you.
No, I'd rather not say what I paid for her.
No, I do not work.
Yes, she's my service dog. Does that make this more or less comfortable for you?
Thanks I guess, but I assure you I can feel quite sick despite how I may or may not look. What exactly does "sick" look like anyway?
(Bonus answers to a parking lot stranger:
Yes, that's my car in the handicapped spot.
Actually, it's hanging up on the mirror.
No, it's mine.
Well, my doctor thinks I'm disabled, so...)
The scars are none of your business. Ask again and I'm likely to just go ahead and tell you and based on past reactions, you'll wish I hadn't.
....I still don't work. No, I'm not between jobs. No, I'm not looking for work. Thanks for thinking of me but I'm not looking for ways to make money.
I understand that your continued suggestions about what I should do seem reasonable and easy to you; please trust me as a forty-something year old woman to make my own decisions regarding my personal life. Please don't make me say this again; maybe I'll just get some cards made up to hand out instead.
I have set some clear boundaries in this conversation; if you continue to ignore and push them, I'm happy to stonewall this topic with you for as long as feel like it.
Ok, I've gone ahead and trusted you enough to say my money is an inheritance. If you say one more time that I'm lucky I've had people leave me money, I'll tell you about how it feels to have no grandparents and only one parent by age forty. I'll replay you the week of watching my mother actively die. Don't you think I'd drain every bank account I've ever had, for one more day with her? But gosh, I sure am lucky.
Yeah, I know you didn't mean it "like that," but maybe stop and think a minute before you speak.
Curiosity is a thing. I get it. But like we tell preshoolers, please listen to and respect other people's words.
Yes, it's a beautiful home, thank you.
Yes, it certainly is large.
I'm sorry you couldn't afford to live here.
How I afford to live here is actually pretty personal.
Yes, I do mind telling you what I paid.
Actually, I don't work.
It's none of your business where my money comes from.
Yes, I'm sure you would like to be able to not work. You know what though? I bet you'd hate to not be *able* to work.
It's none of your business what I did when I did work; especially when you're asking to try to figure out if that's where my money came from.
Yes, I am very lucky to live here.
Yes, it's nice that I don't have to work. Since, you know, I am physically and mentally unable to.
Why, would the number of inhabitants make it ok for you that I live here?
Yes, she's a border collie.
No, she's pure bred.
Yes, she's beautiful, thank you.
No, I'd rather not say what I paid for her.
No, I do not work.
Yes, she's my service dog. Does that make this more or less comfortable for you?
Thanks I guess, but I assure you I can feel quite sick despite how I may or may not look. What exactly does "sick" look like anyway?
(Bonus answers to a parking lot stranger:
Yes, that's my car in the handicapped spot.
Actually, it's hanging up on the mirror.
No, it's mine.
Well, my doctor thinks I'm disabled, so...)
The scars are none of your business. Ask again and I'm likely to just go ahead and tell you and based on past reactions, you'll wish I hadn't.
....I still don't work. No, I'm not between jobs. No, I'm not looking for work. Thanks for thinking of me but I'm not looking for ways to make money.
I understand that your continued suggestions about what I should do seem reasonable and easy to you; please trust me as a forty-something year old woman to make my own decisions regarding my personal life. Please don't make me say this again; maybe I'll just get some cards made up to hand out instead.
I have set some clear boundaries in this conversation; if you continue to ignore and push them, I'm happy to stonewall this topic with you for as long as feel like it.
Ok, I've gone ahead and trusted you enough to say my money is an inheritance. If you say one more time that I'm lucky I've had people leave me money, I'll tell you about how it feels to have no grandparents and only one parent by age forty. I'll replay you the week of watching my mother actively die. Don't you think I'd drain every bank account I've ever had, for one more day with her? But gosh, I sure am lucky.
Yeah, I know you didn't mean it "like that," but maybe stop and think a minute before you speak.
Curiosity is a thing. I get it. But like we tell preshoolers, please listen to and respect other people's words.
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