Reflecting on 2021, truly marked the zenith of my young career. The pandemic was coming to an end, I was fresh from the hallowed halls of a prestigious but unheralded college, thrust into the corporate labyrinth where, as a mere sidekick to the big shots, I contributed to a deal of record-breaking magnitude. My modest corporate minion life was exaggerated into legend by my professors during an alumni reunion, leading to a rather embarrassing episode where I was paraded around as the poster child of their education career’s success. My parents, not ones to shy away from a bit of pomp, lauded my achievements to anyone within earshot.
But as 2022 unfurled its chaos with the epidemic, my professional life spiralled downwards as swiftly as it had risen. I was laid off, and replaced by a nepotistic hire—my boss's new mistress's nephew. During my dismal final days, my colleagues, once comrades became corporate sharks, whispers of them scheming to claim my last efforts as their own filled the empty office spaces.
Compelled by financial duress to abandon my central city dwelling, I relocated to the outskirts with two college mates, Jaz and Kath, who had similarly found themselves victims of the economic downturn. We settled into apartment 606, a unit with dubious charm, suspiciously affordable on the 13th floor of a dreary building, its corridor haunted by a flickering sensor light that was only designed to function on rare occasions. Yet, the apartment itself was surprisingly very well furnished, almost like something that jumped out from a design mag, out beating sample rooms in Ikea, boasting a spacious balcony, a living room ready for an impromptu soirée, a dining table that’s good enough to hold a banquet(became our co-working space) and a kitchen isle that became our sanctuary and curse.
When we first settled into our new abode, we discovered a trove of fine kitchen utensils, perfect for whipping up sophisticated cuisine and crafting cocktails worthy of a swanky soirée. Tucked away in the fridge, among the remnants of the previous tenants' life, was a quaint note: “The three of us really enjoyed our stay here, especially our meals and nights spent by the kitchen island. We hope you find as much joy in it as we did. Use it well.” With a casual flick of my wrist, I dismissed the note into the garbage can, oblivious to the depth of its seemingly innocuous message. Little did I know, that piece of paper was more a passing of the torch than a simple goodbye.
Our initial days in apartment 606 brimmed with camaraderie and impromptu celebrations: movie nights sprawled on the living room sofas, barbeque dinners under the stars on our balcony, and co-working sessions at the dining table, peppered with resume tweaks and contemplative conversations over cocktails. We even scored a second-hand karaoke machine, allowing me to channel my inner diva—a throwback to my musical theatre days in college and my stint as the voice of corporate presentations and negotiations at my previous job, where I was known for my resonant yet finely tuned voice.
Yet, as the months wore on and the job market remained unyielding, our early merriment slowly surrendered to a creeping anxiety. The kitchen island, once the heart of our home where laughter and shared meals flowed freely, gradually morphed into the epicenter of our collective unease, bearing silent witness to the quiet desperation settling over us.
One evening, in the suspiciously affordable yet stylish apartment, I sank into the sofa, my spirits dampened by my favorite team's disheartening loss. The mood was grim, mirroring my fears of my beloved player's potential retirement at season's end. Later, as we congregated around the kitchen island for dinner, I transformed into an impromptu sports commentator, passionately preaching about the game’s disappointing details that led to failure and my favorite player’s fine qualities. Meanwhile, Jaz updated us on a friend's melodramatic breakup, with guesses that something ugly must have happened behind the scenes. Kath, ever the culinary enthusiast, not only served up her delicious pasta but also dished out the latest celebrity gossip, each tidbit as spicy as her sauce.
The next day, during a late breakfast at the same kitchen island—our unwitting oracle—we were hit by a triple whammy of reality checks. The news of my favorite player's retirement broke, echoing my gloomy predictions from the night before. Jaz chimed in with an update that our friend had uncovered a cheating scandal worthy of its own reality TV special. And Kath, never one to be left out of the drama: her favorite celebrity was now the star of a scandal.
By the third morning, as we sipped our coffee, the newspaper slapped me with another bizarre twist. I was going through the devastating economics and politics sections, then I saw the sports section——featured an irate coach, hell-bent on convincing my favorite player to dismiss retirement plans and keep his jersey on a little longer. Meanwhile, Jaz had good news for a change: it turned out our friend's love story might have a second act after all, as misunderstandings were being cleared up. Amidst these revelations, Kath, who had been grumbling about the nearby supermarket’s inability to stock anything remotely gourmet, and hadn’t had a taste of her favorite Blue Mountain coffee since the beginning of that year, triumphantly found a can of Blue Mountain coffee, and it was on sale and therefore affordable—proof that miracles happen, and sometimes they even go on discount.
As I sat there, absorbing the serendipity of our discussions manifesting into real-world events, I couldn't help but marvel at the mysterious knack of our kitchen island. Was it merely a coincidence, or had this stylish piece of decor become the unlikely conductor of our lives symphony? One thing was certain: life in apartment 606 was never dull, and our kitchen island seemed to be more than just a place to eat—it was a place where, apparently, you could stir the pot of fate.
I decided to conduct a whimsical experiment with our now seemingly magical kitchen island. Clearing my throat theatrically, I declared, "I should be interviewed for a director position." To my sheer astonishment, the next day a headhunter rang me up, claiming I was the ideal candidate for a directorial role at a prestigious corporation in my field. Despite the other candidates possessing decades more experience which defeated me with no effort, and my own lingering self-doubt from months of unemployment, I sailed to the final interview round with the company's executives.
Upon returning to our apartment, I found Kath flaunting a chic dress from a designer brand brand she’d snagged on clearance—a little luxury courtesy of our wish-granting island. Inspired, I approached the island and cheekily requested, "Get us jobs. Something fun." Lo and behold, the following day was spent lounging and binge-watching Netflix, only to be interrupted by a call from a former bigwig at my old job. He was venturing into a more illustrious company and wanted me onboard. The informal chat that followed was a breeze, and just like that, I was back in the game with a fancier title and a fatter paycheck.
The subsequent week was a flurry of celebrations. Jaz secured a senior-level position, and Kath landed her dream job at an influencer management agency. Feeling triumphant, we decided to indulge in a night of fine dining—our first in months. That Friday evening when I went from office to restaurant, on a whim, stopped at a convenience store to grab snacks and cigarettes for our post-dinner revelry. Outside, I encountered a homeless person. After offering him a sandwich (which he traded for a cigarette instead), he took a drag, peered into my eyes, and ominously muttered, “Look, young lady, this isn’t my business, but be wary of what you wish for; everything comes with a price. Good luck and god bless you.”
His words barely registered until later that evening when a mishap occurred that seemed to underline his warning. As we enjoyed syphon coffee post-dinner, a barista accidentally tripped over Kath’s flowing dress. The resulting spill left her with first-degree burns, abruptly ending our night as we rushed to the emergency room. Though it was "just" a first-degree burn, the pain was significant enough to require several days off for Kath’s recovery. Amid the drama, I couldn't help but wonder about the cryptic caution from the man outside the store—had our fortunate streak come with a hidden cost?
We chalked up the coffee calamity to bad luck. The next month flowed smoothly: Kath's fingers healed, she returned to work, and I quickly found my groove at the new job. With all of us gainfully employed, our communal meals at the kitchen island became rare. My mornings were a whirlwind of grabbing breakfast and coffee on the go, followed by an hour's commute to a job that had me scarfing down instant noodles by nightfall, just in time for a quick shower.
As the busy season kicked in, my workload ballooned—not just from the seasonal uptick, but because I was hell-bent on proving my mettle. I quickly outshone most of my peers, and my employer, recognizing a budding overachiever, piled on major tasks, which I eagerly accepted. What started as the occasional hour of overtime soon devoured my weekends. Unpaid overtime, as the fine print in my contract gleefully noted, became my new norm. Driven by a mix of ambition and expectation, I had become the go-to young hotshot, the erstwhile record-breaker now expected to continually outdo myself.
Mentally, I was too swamped to entertain thoughts of anything beyond work, which, in a twisted way, felt like a break. Physically, however, the strain began to show. A bout of flu caught on a business trip escalated into a fever. Sick as I was, deadlines waited for no one, and I soldiered on medicated and miserable. By the time I made it home, my voice had abandoned me. Unable to utter a word the next morning, I resorted to emailing my manager about my sorry state.
That week, robbed of my voice, I mused that it was perhaps a well-deserved hiatus for my overworked vocal cords—a silent retreat if you will. But when my voice did return, it was as a raspy whisper, a shadow of its former crisp and melodious timbre. My doctor offered a grim prognosis: slight improvement might come, but the golden tones were gone for good—scarred by the relentless grind. Ah, the price of ambition—a scratchy throat as a permanent reminder of my corporate conquests.
It seemed I had unwittingly exchanged the clarity of my voice for the tumult of career success. In the midst of our domestic enchantment with the possibly mystical kitchen island, Kath unearthed the contact of a reputed psychic, hailed as the finest in the land. However, the consultation fee was nothing short of princely, and with Jaz vehemently dismissing anything that couldn't be explained by cold, hard science, she promptly opted out of splitting the bill. Kath and I, unwilling to drain our wallets on what could be mere phantasmagoria, reluctantly let the opportunity pass.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but notice a curious change in Jaz’s routine. She had ceased dining at the kitchen island, avoiding it as if it were cursed—or perhaps, in her view, simply out of style. The Saturday morning brought a particularly harsh twist: a murder of crows took to spiralling above our balcony, their cries as sharp as the plot of a Poe novel. We found ourselves drawn to the infamous kitchen island, lined up like the cast of a macabre play, silently praying for the birds to disperse. Kath, ever trying to restore some semblance of normalcy, offered up cups of Blue Mountain coffee. She absentmindedly inquired if I wanted cream or sugar in mine—a blunder that made me realize just how long it had been since our last coffee klatch at this very spot. My inner monologue couldn't resist a dark wish for the crows to scatter, perhaps too dark, for they began to dive bomb our balcony in a feathery kamikaze. The spectacle was enough to knock Jaz off her feet—literally—as her mug met its end on the floor. Kath, meanwhile, made a hasty retreat to worship the porcelain god, and I sat frozen, my brain offline, pondering the twisted power of our kitchen island's apparent wish-granting.
After the unnerving spectacle of crows turning our balcony into a scene straight out of a Hitchcock film, our first rational step—post-collective fainting, of course—was to summon cleaners to manage the feathery carnage. Then, still rattled but increasingly curious, we visited a psychic, who, contrary to the crystal-ball-gazer image, operated out of a posh boutique in a high-end mall and dressed more like she was headed to a fashion show than a séance. We laid bare our saga of the seemingly cursed kitchen island, complete with photographic evidence of where domestic bliss meets eerie phenomena.
The psychic introduced a term that chilled the air around us: “limbo,” the threshold between our world and the otherworldly, and she dubbed our kitchen island the "Devil’s Bargain Counter." According to her, our wishes came with a heavy and unpredictable price, because we have accidentally started trades with beings from the netherworld. Her advice was disarmingly simple: cease all trades on the island. To address the repercussions of past wishes, she advised us the first line of defence, which was an eclectic mix of offerings laid out on our cursed countertop: raw meat(rooster works the best), a cocktail of spices(coca and cinnamon preferably), liberal splashes of spirits(whiskey and rum ideally), and an eerie bouquet of black flowers(luckily I found some black roses at a flower shop of the mall). In a grander gesture of appeasement, Kath relinquished her shiny new diamond bracelet, Jaz her absurdly expensive headphones, and I parted with cash—— a hefty slice of my bonus in hopes of placating whatever capricious spirits we'd angered.
Our return to normalcy was brief but sweet, prompting us to plan a getaway, eager to forget about our nefarious kitchen island. Yet, the respite was merely a tease. Jaz, in a stroke of spectacular misfortune, narrowly dodged disaster twice in one day—first nearly becoming subway track fodder on her way back after work, and then almost getting knocked out by a rogue plant at our apartment building’s doorstep. Clearly, our previous offerings were mere appetizers to whatever forces we'd stirred. The psychic, summoned once again to our now-dubious sanctuary, decreed that the spirits had developed rather expensive tastes, unsatisfied by our initial gestures.
In a desperate bid for closure, we had the psychic over for a nighttime ritual, timed perfectly with Earth's closest approach to the netherworld, according to her. Our living room turned into a ritual chamber, with windows blacked out for days, to keep the otherworldly dealings strictly nocturnal. That night, we arranged ourselves around the island, now less a kitchen fixture and more an altar of last resort.
The psychic, amidst a chorus of Latin incantations, directed us through a chilling séance that included a mirror that reflected nothing but darkness and a burning black candle, the three of us sat in a row, joined hands, eyes closed. When the black candle was flickering at its last, the first eerie scratches heard prompted our eyes to open prematurely, we saw a command appear on the island, written by invisible hand and pen, in blood-red script, urging us to find the next "succeeder" before our lease on otherworldly disturbances could be terminated.
With bated breath, we agreed, and as if by magic, our signatures materialized on the countertop, then faded as the candle sputtered out. We tore off the black cardboard taped on the windows at dawn, the sunrise revealed a final message etched into the surface: "Debt cleared." As the daylight grew, the ominous inscription dissolved into nothingness, signalling the end of our spectral saga.
The ordeal, now officially behind us, left us enjoying a semblance of normalcy: life in 606 returned to its mundane rhythm, with dinners and movie nights back on our social calendar. Though not without its scars—literal and figurative.
It’s been two years since then, Jaz, in the throes of romantic bliss, is now gearing up for a new chapter waiting to be written alongside her soon-to-be spouse; Kath, her career finally taking a lucrative turn, was poised to upgrade her living situation, she secured a lease on a lavish serviced apartment in the city center—a place that matched her newfound financial swagger.
I’m not without my own leaps forward. With a modest boost from my parents, I took the plunge into homeownership, snagging a property within the city’s vibrant confines. The process was a whirlwind of paperwork and decorating decisions, culminating in a space I could truly call my own.
As we are packing up now, my last act is to type out our story, at the infamous island, and of course, I left a note in the fridge for the next tenants:
"Welcome to 606. We had a wonderful time here, especially at the kitchen island, filled with joy and unforgettable moments. We hope you find as much happiness as we did. Use the isle well. Warm wishes, the previous tenants."

For the following situation, I would like to hear your opinion.
I've been with my girlfriend for about 3.5 years. In the first 1.5 years, (almost) everything was perfect, but for about 2 years now, there have been increasing problems. About 2 years ago, her parents moved to Germany from abroad. I took care of all the paperwork (government, apartment search, job search, etc.). I'm already working, my girlfriend is still studying and earns a monthly income of about €600 to €700. I cover rent, groceries, and costs for dining out. When we go on vacation, I usually cover 2/3 or 3/4 of the costs. She pays for internet and electricity. Now, here's what bothers me:

• When her parents first came to Germany, they didn't have jobs. They received money from the government. During this time, my girlfriend and I regularly invited them to dine out. Even when I wasn't there, my girlfriend would cover the bill with her student income. Even though the money from the government for her parents is more than what she earns monthly from work.
• Now, at least the mother works, earning about €2,300 net per month. My girlfriend still feels the need to invite them out and does so, and the parents accept, even though €2,300 is significantly more than what she earns.
• When the parents go out alone, they don't spend a cent on dining or drinks. But when we go out, they gladly join and let themselves be treated. They also don't hold back and order several alcoholic drinks with their meal.
• Recently, I did the parents' tax return, and they received about €1,500 back.
• They recently went on a city trip for a few days (5 days), and the flights and accommodation were split by 3. Even though I believe the parents could contribute more. My girlfriend didn't want that. On-site, sometimes the parents paid, and sometimes she did. Even though I believe they earn significantly more now and could contribute more due to the tax refund. She also didn't allow that.
• My girlfriend tries to save about €100 from her salary every month. The parents put €1,000 into a savings account.
• Now, I've learned that she wants to go on vacation again with her parents in the summer, leaving me alone at home. Again, she wants to split the costs fairly, each paying 1/3, but I would mostly cover the costs for our private vacation.
• I have to adjust my plans for our travels, meaning I couldn't go away for a long weekend because she was away with her parents.
• In the summer, I also have to check when they are away and when we can go away.
• It's always odd to take two vacations because she has to take time off work twice, and the budget that would be for our vacation is spent on theirs.
• We've invited them out so many times, but I've never been invited out to dine.
• They got their jobs through me.
• I'd like to travel over Christmas and New Year's (I'd also cover the costs). But she doesn't want to because she doesn't want to leave her parents alone over the holidays.
• I've also had to spend the last two New Year's with her parents.
• The parents hardly speak German, so I can't have a proper conversation with them.
• Even today, I handle all the paperwork.
• She talks to her parents at least 2 to 3 times a day.

Conclusion:
I'm bothered that I always have to restrict myself. I'm bothered that the parents allow their daughter, who is a student and earns little, to always treat them when dining out.

I’m from Canada and going to be travelling to Nashville for a bachelorette next weekend. I’ll be gone about four full days. I’m four months post partum so this will be the first time away from LO and first time travelling and pumping. Husband works FIFO so he’s looking forward to taking a turn solo parenting :)
I use a baby Buddha with the medela hack as my primary pump. I do also have the baby Buddha wearable cups and a medela hand pump as well. I’m currently at 5ppd (4-6 hrs apart), still doing a MOTN pump. I am an ever so slight over producer (1-2 extra oz a day)
Here are my questions:

1. It seems so many more moms pump in the states so I’m wondering what the culture is when out and about. I’ve never had to pump outside of the house/ car before - is it socially acceptable to wear a cover or use a baggy hoodie with wearable cups? I’m honestly hoping Nashville has lots of traffic so I can just pump in the car lol
   
2. We will be staying in an air bnb so I’m not worried about milk storage while I’m there but I’m super nervous about trying to bring it back (flying with WestJet if that makes a difference) Any tips for airplane/airport travel?
   
3. Does having a weekend where you may skip a pump (ex doing 4ppd instead of 5ppd) affect your supply if you go right back to how many pumps you were doing before?
   
4. Any other tips or advice welcome!
   

The title may be misleading. Me and my parent we decided to take a break. Well it was really me. My partner was drinking a lot and ultimately not being the man I wanted him to be so I wanted us to take a break. He insisted that we make a rule where we are not sleeping with other people and we agreed. I was consistent with this agreement(almost) he wasn’t. This weekend I found out my partner had sex with someone else and I’m completely devistated. We were still sleeping together and I found information in his phone after a big argument after hearing the girl on his phone. I blew up we fussed and fight. He told me what happened and I called the girl and confirmed with her. They had sex one time. Of course he is begging for my forgiveness now and insisting we give it another chance since we technically were not together. The thing I did not mention was I got head from another person. Also kissed a couple people but never had full intercourse. I think this is why i’m considering even giving it another chance because I know I haven’t been perfect but he doesn’t know that and I never crossed the line or actual intercourse. I feel like I can forgive him but I am so angry right now I can’t see clearly. Any advice ? Anyone else going through or have went through something similar? My mind is scrambled.

Daughter is 15, I am her full legal parent. Bio dad has no legal parental rights but does have visitation. He had her the weekend he was arrested in November. Since then we have had him blocked on her cell phone, of which she is all for. When we let her know we blocked him on her phone (due to constant barrage of texts of how he’s not at fault for him being arrested) she was in agreement of him being blocked continuing. Since November his visitation went from every other weekend to supervised every other sat/sun. He figured out this past weekend that he was blocked. And gave her a hard time about it because he was letting her know that he was running late. He’s supposed to be visiting with her at my parent’s place and didn’t reach out to them or my husband and I. Just in case it’s asked, my husband and I pay for the cell phone and he doesn’t help financially in any way. I’m only curious if he actually has a right to direct contact to her. She doesn’t want to unblock him, however I did tell her that during this time she doesn’t have to tell him that it’s also her choice as well. I didn’t tell her but I worry that he will be upset and take it out on her verbally.
So does he have a right to contact her directly?

TW: SA
For some context, I 22 (F) have a sister 21 (F). Ever since we were 15 and 16, she has had these crippling migraines. She has been to over 18 different specialist all around the country trying to figure out what is wrong with her, and they have found absolutely nothing wrong with her. Over the years she uses her migraines as an excuse to get out of anything she doesn't want to do, for example church, school, family events. But her migraines miraculously disappear as soon as something she does want to do comes up. Personally, I suffer with migraines as well our difference is mine was diagnosed from the TMJ that I now have from dislocating my jaw when I was 12. She loves to use her migraines as a way to either get out of something she doesn't want to do or uses it to garner sympathy from friends' family and strangers.
In 2019 she used her migraines as an excuse to not go to school at all and used them to get a doctor's note stating that even though she cannot attend school she should still graduate. 2020 rolls around and we can no longer go to school because of Covid and miraculously she has no migraines and goes out day and night to hang out with friends. Then when she goes off to college all of a sudden, these migraines come back coupled with severe dehydration to the point where she has to be hospitalized on multiple occasions, except these migraines only occur Friday Saturday and Sunday mornings after her sorority throws a party.
Summer of 2021, she gets the opportunity to participate in a college work program in Florida for the whole 3 months of summer. She goes and after only 3 weeks of being there her migraines get so bad that she has to come home. It is important to note that she comes home the day before Father's Day. Father's Day comes and we all go to church and out to lunch and have a great time. That night however my parents come to my room to ask me if I have spoken with my sister this evening and I tell them no. They proceed to tell me that my sister has runaway to Virginia (we live in Oklahoma) to live with her Boyfriend 26 (M) and that she has sent them a video to explain why.
This video states that she is leaving and never coming back because she has been assaulted on multiple occasions by multiple men in her life and that it is too traumatic to even be in the state so Shes leaving. She then follows with telling my parents that they are horrible people who have never loved or cared about her and that they are the reason this is all happening. She also sent similar videos to her friends as well. This video absolutely crushed my parents, it was the first time I ever saw my dad cry.
We grew up in a strange family, my parents couldn't have children of their own so they adopted us. But our biological families are all still very much in our lives. Our parents are the most amazing and caring people in the world and would give life and limb to anyone in need. So, to hear her saying these things about my parents not only hurt them but it also hurt me to see her putting them through all that.
She was only gone for a month because eventually my father flew out to her to get her and bring her home. Now I am someone who has to know everything, I cant leave a topic untouched, I always have to investigate and get every side of the story. But in that month, I ended up uncovering a few things about the stories she told in those videos she sent to my parents and her friends. In that time, I uncovered that the stories of abuse that she was speaking about were of previous boyfriends that she had had. Every single boyfriend had a story of abuse, and these stories had credible witnesses attached to each and every story. While combing through all of this information I come to the educated conclusion that they are false and told only in a specific way to frame her as the victim using a way that no one would dare call her a liar because who would blame the victim?
When she came back it was really hard on everyone because we had all been heavily affected by this experience that she has put us all through, but she just acted like it never happened and continued to act like she deserved everything. But anytime anyone would mention anything about what happened she would absolutely freak out scream and curse and throw a massive tantrum and storm off and slam her door. In this time, I have personally decided that I will just act like she doesn't exist, I won't speak to her or acknowledge her.
Fast forward to now January 2024, she has convinced my parents that the best thing for her is moving to Florida to go to school because in her words "it is the one place I don't get migraines". I pointed out to my parents that the last time she lived in Florida she only lasted 3 weeks before claiming migraine. Apparently, she only lasted a month at the school before dropping all of her classes and just living it up in her apartment that my parents pay for. And she only informed my parents over spring break that she dropped out because her migraines were too bad. She is now home and living with my parents again and continues to spread her stories of assault and abuse as well as her stories of migraines to literally anyone that will listen.
I'd like to add that throughout all of these years she never fails to make sure I am the one that somehow suffers through it all. Throughout her Migraines I was the one that had to take care of her, I was the one that got in trouble when she screwed up, I was the one that had to pay for all of her mistakes. After years and years of watching her lies not only hurt me and my family but also slowly chip away at what used to be a happy and close nit family I don't think I can live with it any longer. My mother continues to stand by her side and call me a liar anytime I call my sister out on her lies, and my relationship with my mom has suffered for it. My father knows my sister is lying but fears speaking up because it might anger my mom. This whole experience has divided our family.
Another thing of note is that I value honesty over everything else, I will call anyone and everyone out on their bull. This last weekend we were at a graduation party and sitting there and listening to her speak and talking about all of this to literal strangers and because we were in public I had to physically literally bite my tongue to keep myself from speaking which resulted in me actually biting off a piece of my tongue. I honestly have come to the end of my rope of patience and I don't want her in my life anymore. So am I the asshole?

Just moved to Temecula in March and I have a 4-year-old son who needs more socialization with kids his age. I have him enrolled in like a practice preschool thing every Monday and Wednesday, but that's only 3 hours. Just trying to see if there's any interest out there from other parents who want to get their kids playing with other kids during the week or weekend. We don't even have to talk if you don't want, we can just go to the same park at the same time or something lol. I have my son pretty much every day during the week and every other weekend.
P.S. I'm 34yo, a dad, and married.

I (21,f) have been a personal assistant to J (36, f) for almost a year. She is the most amazing boss. She recently hired a second assistant so my schedule went from monday-friday to friday-monday (so I basically just worked the weekend) I was thinking about maybe getting a second job to fill my time and I saw someone post in a local facebook group that they were looking for a personal assistant. I messaged F (31,f) and ended doing a facetime call for a first interview. Everything went great. I turns out that she is a DIY influencer with 4 kids. She wanted help around the house, running errands, occasionally helping out with the kids and some back end stuff for instagram. I thought it would be a perfect fit. I signed a contract in March saying I would work tuesday-thursday from 12-3pm. The first couple of weeks were great. I felt like we were really getting to know each other and we had a lot of similar interests. Gradually it has turned out to be the worst job ever. I have basically become her full time nanny (I don’t like kids) her 4 kids are actually awful. the oldest M (4, f) spent 6 hours last week screaming at me for absolutely everything. When I started for F she told me she hadn’t set up payroll yet but she would be soon. I told her that was completely fine, it has been 2 months and she is still paying me through venmo. As I am writing this I have been at her house for 9 hours. she is only paying me $15 an hour (she tracks my hours so i’m not even sure she’s paying me the right amount every two weeks) I am completely at my end with this job. The only thing is, her husband travels for work a lot so she has basically been a single parent this last month. I feel terrible for her 4 kids (who almost never see their mom/dad) and their dog who she doesn’t take care of (I am the only one who walks and feeds them) Would I be an asshole if I quit even though she’s taking advantage of my kindness?

This is actually my first reddit post since I did not know where else to turn. Unfortunately, I was really irresponsible this past weekend and cracked the lid cover to my toilet tank. I still live at home with my parents (college) and I am trying to remedy the damage as cheaply as possible for my dad. The toilet is a discontinued Kohler serif toilet. The model number is K-4608 and the lid part is 1032188. I have found the lid in white and gray, but I can't find any that match our toilet (black) (part number for black cover is 1032188-7).

Mostly central NJ (home base Morristown) but happy to drive an hour -ish or more. And yeah, NYC is in the mix but between time and tolls it’s more of a weekend thing. Taking remote classes all summer so job isn’t an option. Thanks a bunch. Signed, desperate parent.

I (25F) and my partner Alex (24M) went to his brother Luke’s (30M) wedding this past weekend, and I left early which has caused a lot of drama with his family.
I have been dating Alex for 3 years and we’ve been living together for 2. I think I’m pretty close with his family; I go to every holiday, we visit his parents very often, his mum often takes me out for lunch & we run errands together, I talk to Luke & their sister both almost every day, we house/dog sit for Luke & Tanya (30F, Luke’s now wife) often, etc. I talk to Tanya all the time, we go out for coffee dates, etc. We were pretty close, I think!
Anyway, the wedding. I’m Alex’s plus one, he’s a groomsman. I am not invited to the ceremony, but that’s alright, I figure there’s limited space. I arrive to the reception and the plan was that I was sitting with Alex & Luke’s & also Tanya’s parents, since I know them both well. Change of plans last minute, I’m actually moved to a table in the corner with the DJ & whichever cooks & servers were taking their break at that time. I will admit I was hurt and feeling anxious since the reception was huge & I wasn’t around anyone I knew (I am pretty socially anxious in crowds & with strangers), but I sucked it up & made small talk & was pleasant in general, because it’s not MY day.
After dinner, parents’ table was only about 3/4 full because some couldn’t make it, so they invite me over. I go to sit with them, but Tanya pulled me aside and said I can’t sit at the family table because photographers will be taking photos. Alex tries to come dance with me but Tanya tells him that he should stay at the wedding party table so that it isn’t empty for photos. Luke, the groom, eventually asks if I wanna dance with him since I’ve been sitting alone & he considers me his bonus little sister & he wants a dance with all of his family members at his wedding, but Tanya rushed in after about 30 seconds of dancing and pulled him away for something important.
I was getting the hint at this point, it was pretty clear I wasn’t very welcome here, but I still don’t know why. I caught Alex quick to say I wasn’t feeling well and I’d see him at home, I made my goodbyes, congratulated Luke and Tanya for their wedding, and ducked out.
Well… Alex is pissed at Tanya, because I told him everything after a cooling down period. Tanya is pissed at me for leaving early. Parents seem to be mad at me for “refusing to socialize;” I haven’t told them anything. Luke apologized to me but is otherwise staying out of it. The whole family is kind of in a fight now, I feel like it’s my fault because I left early, but I don’t even know how anyone noticed with how many people were there, I honestly figured I wouldn’t be missed.
I was just honestly really uncomfortable and really didn’t want to be there anymore, but I guess it was a wedding and maybe I should have just sucked it up. AITA?

Mom was on drugs and too tied up with men. So I would constantly move from Las Vegas with her to Cincinnati with my father, back and forth. I got in trouble when I was 11 with the law and my mom sent me to my father, my father did not want me so he let the system take me. I started out in juvenile detention, then a group home like place called the stay center, after the stay center I went to a “training school” for 2 years. During which I was allowed home visits on the weekend but my parents did not come see nor come get me. I was supposed to be out in 1 year but something went wrong in the system and I ended up there for 2 years. Once they found their mistake they immediately let me out but put me in a foster home, while in this foster home everything seemed good until the foster parents niece and I were caught kissing. This lead to the foster parents telling my case worker that I was bullying the younger foster kid. When they said that it made it so that I was not allowed to be placed in another foster home, so they sent me to a group home. This group home was a group home for bad kids, ages normally from 15-17. I was the only white kid there. And I was 14. During my time there I was beaten up many times. I was discriminated against. But all the times weren’t bad! I also started doing well in school and got a job at McDonald’s. At 17 I graduated high school and the state gave me an apartment across from the college they helped me get into. I did not finish college for a host of things that I know now are just excuses. A lot of details of the story I have left out. But basically I have turned my life from nothing to now owning a house being married, 2 children and a high paying job.
Ask me anything

Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. I grew up as a military brat, so my childhood memories are a blur of packing, unpacking, and getting settled. It had been seven years since we arrived, and nothing but the grace of God would make me move again. A few years ago, my father got orders to station at a base in the middle of the Mohave. I was only seventeen then, but after a few dozen screaming matches, I decided to strike out on my own a little early. I got a part-time job at the cafe, which was enough to rent a little run-down shack a couple of blocks from downtown. As far as I was concerned, I was living the dream—serving coffee a few hours a week and spending the rest of my time hanging out with friends, listening to music, and drinking.
That particular morning started the same as any other. I woke up around noon with a text from Mark to meet me at the cafe. Took me about two hours to get up and head over. The sun had just begun its descent as I pushed the door to the cafe open, the bell above tinkling softly. The sound bothered me a little bit, but I couldn’t tell why. It seemed to ring a little louder than I was expecting, and gave me this strange drilling sensation inside my head.
I ignored the feeling as the smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries washed over me. I saw Mark and Jamie already sat at our usual spot. Mark looked up as I approached, a grin spreading across his face. "Hey, Alex. Sarah should be here soon."
“So what's on the docket today?” I asked as I sat down, stealing a bear claw off Jamie's plate and taking a large bite before he had the chance to protest.
Mark’s excitement was almost palpable. He was always the one with the big ideas and crazy schemes, which I honestly appreciated. They got us into trouble more often than not, but it beat day drinking in the Walmart parking lot like everyone else our age.
"Alright, check this out," Mark said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I was talking to my cousin who works for the county. He told me about this old, abandoned food processing factory just outside of town. They used to can peaches there."
I gave him a skeptical look. "That’s your idea? Old, canned peaches?"
"No, idiot," he scoffed. "They left behind a ton of nitrates and phosphates. I’ve been doing some reading, and we can use them to make fireworks. I was up all night figuring it out and putting these together." He subtly opened his backpack to reveal at least a dozen PVC pipes fitted on both ends.
"Now that's what I’m talking about," I said, grinning.
Sarah walked in, catching the tail end of our conversation. "Sorry I’m late, I had a breakout and had to stop by the pharmacy. Upped my allergy meds. I fucking hate pollen," she said as I scooted over to make room for her on the bench.
"Is there anything you aren't allergic to?" I laughed.
She rolled her eyes, ignoring my question. "So, what's the plan for today?"
Mark, Jamie and I exchanged cheeky glances. "Well," I started, "let’s just hope you’re not allergic to peaches."
We finally managed to pry the side door of the factory off, which broke free from the hinges and smashed against the floor. Stepping inside, the air was thick and rancid as we bounced the beams of our flashlights around the packaging floor.
"We should split up," Mark suggested. "Alex, you and Sarah check out the storage rooms for the chemicals. Jamie and I will find the control room and see if we can get the power back on."
All of us nodded as we went our separate ways. Sarah and I wandered down the dark hallways, kicking open doors and looking for anything that looked vaguely like chemicals. The corridors were dark and damp, with black mold snaking along the walls like veins.
The first few rooms we checked were empty, filled only with dust and the remnants of long-abandoned equipment. Each door creaked as we pushed it open, revealing more decay and desolation.
As we moved further down the hallway, the mold seemed to become more aggressive, spreading in thick, dark patches along the walls and floors. The air grew heavier, making it harder to breathe. We kicked open another door, our flashlights revealing more of the same—nothing useful.
"This place is a bust," Sarah muttered,
"Let's keep looking," I replied, though I was starting to feel the same way. "There has to be something."
We continued down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the silence. As we approached the end of the hall, something caught my eye. One door stood out, covered in black, creeping mold that seemed to pulse and writhe. Tendrils of fungus snaked out from the edges, reaching out into the hallway.
"Sarah, look at this," I said.
She turned to see what I was pointing at and her eyes widened. "That’s... different."
We approached the door cautiously as the tendrils moved and swayed.
With a deep breath, we each grabbed one side of the door and pulled. It resisted for a moment before giving way, the mold snapping and tearing as we forced it open. The smell that hit us was overpowering, a mix of rot and decay that made my eyes water.
Inside, our flashlights revealed a horrifying sight. At the back of the room sat several pallets with dozens of boxes of peaches each. But it was what grew from these boxes that will haunt my nightmares till my dying day.
The entire back wall was consumed by a towering fungal mass. Thick, fleshy stalks jutted out from the base, climbing nearly to the ceiling. The surface of the fungus glistened with a slimy, wet sheen, appearing almost like rotting flesh under our flashlight beams. Each stalk was covered in a mottled, sickly green and yellow hue, with patches of black mold that seemed to pulse in the dim light.
Interwoven within this horrific sight were bulbous growths, each one throbbing rhythmically, as if with a heartbeat of its own. They resembled obscene, overgrown tumors, ready to burst at the slightest touch. Long, sinewy tendrils extended from the main mass, creeping over the boxes and along the floor like the fingers of some malevolent creature, seeking out any life to ensnare.
The tendrils near the door twitched, slowly inching their way toward us as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores, glimmering in the light like tiny stars, each one a potential harbinger of decay and death.
"Oh my god," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of our own breathing. "What is that thing?"
We stood there, frozen in shock and disgust, before I slammed the door shut.
"Let's get the hell out of here," I said.
We hurried back down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The lights in the facility flickered on, casting a blinding white light. I heard a bubbling, groaning noise emanate from behind the fungal door, sending a wave of nausea through my body.
We met back up with Mark and Jamie in the main area and quickly told them what we saw.
"Yo, that sounds sick," Jamie exclaimed. "We should blow it up. I found the chemicals in the control room and these bad boys are ready to go," he said, holding up a pipe bomb.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, his eyes alight with excitement. "We'd be doing the world a favor, getting rid of that thing."
Sarah shook her head, her face pale. "No way. I'm not doing this. That thing... It's not normal. We need to get out of here and call someone who knows what they're doing."
Jamie frowned. "Come on, Sarah. Don't be a buzzkill. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something epic."
"Epic?" Sarah snapped. "That thing is dangerous. We don't know what we're dealing with. I'm not risking my life for some stupid joke."
Mark stepped in with a grin. "Alright, let's all calm down. If you’re scared you can just let the men handle it.”
Sarah crossed her arms. "Fine, but I'm staying here."
"Suit yourself," Jamie said, shrugging. "But we're not leaving without taking care of that thing."
"Alright, let's do this," Mark said, looking at Jamie and me. "We'll be quick. Sarah, stay here and keep an eye out.”
The hallway looked completely different in the fluorescent lighting. I could see now that each vein of fungus emanated from that single door, like a spiral portal threatening to suck us in.
"Let's make this quick," I whispered, glancing back at Jamie and Mark. "We light the bomb, throw it in, and get the hell out of here."
Jamie nodded, holding the pipe bomb tightly in his hand. "Ready when you are."
We reached the door, and the tendrils of fungus seemed even more aggressive, writhing and pulsing as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores.
"On three," I whispered, gripping the edge of the door. "One... two... three."
We yanked the door open, the mold snapping and tearing as it gave way. The smell of rot and decay hit us again, making my eyes water. The monstrous fungal mass loomed before us, its bulbous growths throbbing rhythmically.
Jamie lit the fuse and threw the bomb as hard as he could inside. It struck one of the orbs, which burst, shooting a fine white mist into the air.
"Run!" I shouted, slamming the door shut. We turned and sprinted down the hallway. The explosion sounded behind us, the shockwave lifting me off my feet and sending me tumbling to the ground.
Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. My parents were in the army, so we moved a lot, but now I'm staying put. I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small headache.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a doughnut off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Are YOU guys feeling ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a maroon off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Not really. Are YOU guys feeling Ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a piercing migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a bagel off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“What's going on?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m scared.”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “It’s fine, Sarah. Just take a seat,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a splitting migraine.
As I slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie, I noticed Sarah outside, fixated on a bird suspended in mid-flight. I went out to see her.
"Are you seeing this?" she asked, her voice tinged with astonishment.
"Yeah," I replied nonchalantly. "That happens all the time. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"What the hell do you mean, 'Am I feeling okay?'!" she screamed. "That bird is frozen mid-air, and you don't think anything weird is going on?"
Her yelling took me aback. I didn't understand her alarm, so I shrugged it off and joined Mark inside. As we began planning our nightly excursion to the peach factory, Sarah burst through the door, screaming, then vanished in a puff of smoke.
"That's odd," I mused, my brow furrowed in confusion before we shrugged it off and resumed our scheming.
The day after, I met Mark again at the cafe. This rhythm had become our existence: meetings by day, adventures by night at the old peach plant. That evening followed the familiar pattern; we reveled in the thrill of hurling pipe bombs into that small enclosed room.
This routine had completely engulfed our lives. Day after day at the cafe, night after night at the factory—it seemed as though this cycle was all we had ever known. Reflecting on it, I couldn't remember any other way of life.
However, one thing increasingly disturbed me—the ringing of the doorbell at the cafe's entrance. Each time I entered, the sound seemed sharper, more grating. Focusing on it brought a searing pain to my head, like a needle drilling through my skull. Yet, despite the agony, I found myself obsessing over it, the sound gnawing at the edges of my sanity.
One day, driven to the brink by this incessant ringing, I decided to confront it head-on. I stood by the door, letting the bell chime repeatedly. Each ring sliced through my mind, but I persisted, sweat beading on my forehead, teeth clenched in torment.
As the pain crescendoed, reality shattered. I woke to the blaring of a fire alarm, not the quaint doorbell I had imagined. The cafe was engulfed in chaos. The hallway was consumed by a sprawling fungal mass, its tendrils creeping along the walls.
In the dim, flickering light, I saw Jamie, or what was left of him. Half of his skull was missing, the fungus attached grotesquely to his exposed brain, pulsating with each eerie beat of his fading heart. Mark was there too, seemingly unharmed physically, but trapped in a delusion, his eyes glazed over, a smile playing on his lips as the fungus encased him.
Sarah lay collapsed by the fire alarm, her hand still on the lever. She had managed to pull it before succumbing to the spores that now clung to her body.
The tendrils that had enveloped me snapped violently, each break releasing a sickening crack that echoed through the eerie silence of the hallway. An outline of my body remained imprinted in the fungal mass, a mold from which I had desperately broken free.
Gritting my teeth against the pain and horror, I scrambled to Mark and Sarah. Mark was less entangled, lost in his fungal-induced stupor. I grabbed him under the arms, his body limp but alive, and dragged him across the floor. The fungus resisted, stretching like sinew before tearing away from him with wet, ripping sounds.
Sarah was heavier, her body weakened but still fighting. I clasped her wrists, pulling with all my strength. The fungus clung to her, tendrils winding up her arms like ivy. With a final, determined yank, the last of the tendrils snapped, freeing her. We left behind fragments of the monstrous growth clinging to her clothes.
Together, we staggered out into the night air, away from the suffocating enclosure. The cool air hit our faces, harsh yet cleansing. Behind us, the fire alarm continued to blare into the night. I fumbled with my phone, hands shaking, to dial the emergency number. The call went through, and within minutes, the sound of sirens cut through the stillness of the night, growing louder as help approached.
The next few days were a blur. I remember fading in and out of consciousness as nurses pumped antifungals directly into my IV, their faces blurring into the sterile environment. Once we were somewhat cognizant, the police wanted answers. One by one, we were interviewed, but we gave them nothing. I still don’t know what the exact penalty is for manufacturing explosives and using them to destroy a building, but I’m guessing it’s not community service. Jamie was still missing, and they hadn’t found any sign of him or his body. I tried to hide my tears as I knew he was already long gone.
After a few weeks, I was finally cleared for visitors and got to see Sarah again. She told me that after the explosion, she ran but couldn’t leave us behind. She came back, only to see us being consumed by the fungus. Try as she might, she wasn’t able to free us as she felt the oppressive spores take her under. She fought back and managed to pull the fire alarm before succumbing again. The doctors told her that her allergy medication gave her some resistance to the fungus; otherwise, she might have been a goner.
Mark was never the same. We never talked about what happened, and after trying once and him flipping out, I figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. That summer, he moved to upstate New York to work in his dad’s business. I haven’t seen him since. That fall, Sarah started college at Savannah State. I still call her every now and again, but it’s not like it used to be.
Despite all that happened, I’m not moving again. I’m happy here, and if it’s up to me, I’ll die in this little town. I still work at the cafe, as a manager now. On weekends, I come in and just sit at the booth we all used to share.
I still think about Jamie from time to time. I wonder if he's dead or still stuck in his delusion, picturing the four of us sitting at our table, talking, laughing, and passing the time. Sometimes, when the cafe is empty and the light is just right, I can almost see him there, his smile frozen in that moment before everything went wrong.
The cafe grows quieter each day, the hum of life fading into an eerie stillness. My skin feels different, as if the air itself whispers secrets I can't quite grasp. The itching that started as a minor annoyance has intensified, becoming a constant torment. I scratch at lesions that have begun to form on my arms and chest, red and raw, with patches of green spreading beneath the surface. I’ve started to wear long sleeves to cover my arms and a mask to hide my purpling lips.
Some nights, when closing, as I sit alone in the dim light of the cafe, the itching becomes unbearable. I claw at the lesions, feeling a dampness beneath my skin. Sometimes, when I cough, I could swear I see tiny spores hanging in the air, reminiscent of the bursting nodules growing on the stalks of the monster.
Occasionally, I hear the bell ring and the door open, but no one is there. I look outside into the empty night and see nothing. This went on for weeks, becoming more frequent. But one night, the door opened, and I saw Jamie standing there, the picture of health. I went to embrace him and noticed my lesions were gone too. It was almost as if we had never gone to the peach factory. It was suddenly morning, and the light shone through the cafe. For the first time in forever, we were happy. We talked about nothing, passing the time.
After what felt like hours, he told me it was time to go. But his mouth wasn’t moving—I felt like I could read his thoughts, and he could read mine. We stood up as I took one last look at the cafe and headed off with him, back to the peach factory.
As we walked, a strange calmness settled over me. I remember feeling that I wanted to ask if he had talked to Mark or Sarah, and wondered how they were doing. But deep down, somehow, I could feel their presence and I knew they were doing just fine. The sun was bright, the air crisp. The itching had vanished completely, replaced by an inexplicable craving for the sweetness of ripe peaches. Jamie and I shared a silent understanding, a bond deeper than any words could convey.
The factory loomed ahead, its doors wide open as if inviting us in. The familiar scent of peaches and something else—something earthy and ancient—filled the air. We stepped inside, side by side, feeling at home for the first time in ages.
The last thing I remember before the darkness took over was the feeling of the soft, warm peach flesh in my hand, and Jamie’s voice in my head saying, "Welcome home."

My partner is a teacher.
Actually, she’s a damn good teacher, and every year on Teacher Appreciation Week we get loaded down with gifts. Which is great!! And first of all, I want to say that any gift — or even a sweet card or note if you can’t afford a gift, she would never in a million years judge someone or EVER want a parent to be stressed by how much money they spent (please, buy your kid food first) — is more than okay, and to be clear she would never ever come home and shit talk anyone who buys her a present lol.
But I know a lot of parents don’t know what to get their kid’s teacher, so:
The answer is cash.
I know what you’re thinking — that’s rude, right? It delegitimizes the profession and makes you look like you didn’t care enough to buy an actual present.
But nope! Cash is king. Cash is the best.
Every year, we have to choose which mugs to throw out, because we literally don’t have space for even one more mug. We also throw out about 15-20 pounds of chocolate and cookies every year because even if we were somehow able to eat all the sweets she takes home we’d each weigh 300 pounds.
One family once gave her a $200 gift certificate to a luxury resort chain, which was very sweet and expensive, but fundamentally misunderstands the financial limitations of teaching lol. It’s nice, and we’d never complain, but getting a gift certificate that covers 20% of a weekend at a resort is basically useless — no teacher is gonna go $800 out of pocket to spend $200 in gift certificate money.
Wine is nice, but if your teacher doesn’t like wine, then it’s like the chocolates — it’ll just sit there until it has to be thrown or given away to make space.
But cash? Oh, man, cash is amazing. With cash, she can choose to go to the salon, or order in some night we don’t feel like cooking, or even help pay off a bill if we need it.
Instead of going out of your way and stressing over a present if you want to get your teacher something, just give cash! Again, any amount (or just a card or note, even) is okay! But given what we all know about the profession of teaching, a cash gift says that you understand the job, and it also shows that you realize how $20 would be better than a $100 present because that’s $20 less in stress!

Hi all , I am F(30) and recently realize that I have outgrown my friendship with my best friend F(30). I have been her friend for 15 years now we studied in same batch for 4 years . We shared most of our stories and advices years after year and were there for each other. We were last of our girl friends to stay together and maintain connection even after our work pulled us apart . COVID actually bought us closer as we maintained long distance friendship as well as were supportive when it comes to mental health.
Cut to this year she went through a bad break up with her long term boyfriend who were supposed to get married this year (won't go in details as its her personal life). It took a while for her to recover from sucidal thoughts , anxiety and depression . As soon as she told me this I informed her mother and ask her to inform her nearby friends. I was then busy with my work and was not in much touch with her just small texts. And then after few weeks we had our regular weekends calls. She was happy and good plus she informed me she is over him . In later calls she was engged with post break-up stuffs like drinking , clubs and making out, owning pets etc. which is okay as this was her first break up and she needs to let it out.
At same time she also told me she made out with her collegeue which made her more depressed . She asked me certain questions like what will I do in this situation. I told her if doing something makes her more depressed then she woulded be doing it . But if it makes her happy she can enjoy the momemt. Things got uncomformtable for me after that she ask me if i was drunk would i be doing with her collegeue in drunk state . I straight away told her no and i would only prefer guys who i want or find attractive for me . She then questioned about my ex if i would do with him . I said no as i have moved on from him and it has been years. I also told her everyones actions are differnt when it comes to break up. But she kept pushing me telling that how drinking is good and it makes her feel the best. I told her that not the case with me . She also got a pet a month ago and them dropped of at her parents apartment. She just kepted it to herself until it makes her feel good. She also told me about her rouitne which i fould that she is just using other for help to avoid feelings rather than facing it . She refused to take any kind of therepy as well. Her mom also calls me and ask why she is depressed . And I cant tell her what is happing between her and her collegeue.
On other hand I have been working on my goals like physical and mental fitness . I am also focused on my career and financial goals. I dont see any aim in this friendship now . As her opions have also changed with time and does not align with mine . Plus any suggessions from my end were discarded by her. Also i dont see myself walking on the path she is following. If her path is tempory I will be there for her when she wants to improve. In mean time i looking on how to approch this situation.

I (30M) had a (s)texting based affair with a co-worker that my wife (31F) discovered about a month ago. I deeply regret what I did. I signed us up for marriage counseling. I installed our cell phone providers parental app on my phone giving her full access to essentially anything I do. I have answered her questions and begged her for forgiveness and to stay with me. We have an 8 year old and 1 year old.
When she found out, as I was holding our 1 year old, she walked up and punched me as hard she could right in my nose/mouth. Broken nose, blood pouring down my face, front teeth shifted out of place. I put her up in a $500 hotel room for Mother’s Day last weekend to give her some time away, and she thanked me by reaching out to my parents and telling them that I har been having an affair with a coworker. Oh, and she told them that I use marijuana (I make well over 6 figures, fully employed, own a home, 2 cars, all in my name as she is a SAHM w/ no income. I like to indulge in the evenings before bed and relax. I hand my business, I don’t see a problem with this. Better yet, my wife also doesn’t have a problem with it- she simply told them in an effort to diminish my reputation or perception of me. (Which was great, prior to last weekend.)
Today, I left work at 11am after a 2 hour conversation with my boss about having to leave work too often to help my wife with some type of issue. My wife rented a u haul as we are picking up a dryer from my sister and brother in law 20 minutes away. She can’t do things like this alone; so she demands I leave the office to help her (abusing the flexibility I used to enjoy with my boss, which is gone now.) Naturally, we get in a huge fight because she had originally told me she only told my parents that I smoked weed. However today, she told me she exposed my texting affair to them as we pulling up to their home to pickup a couch as well. So we started to argue. I have always had no issues with emotional stability, am a naturally happy and optimistic person, and come from a loving family. (She does not) Sure, I get angry and sometimes yell- but I’ve never physically harmed her intentionally tried to cause damage or inflict pain on her life in any way. I love her and of course at times get upset with her, but I process this as any normal person might.
I shut down, stopped talking and tried to walk away from the situation to deescalate. She folllows, screaming insults, and is becoming increasingly frustrated that I’m not responding to her. In an effort to gain leverage over me and force me to her will, she decides to threaten me with the thing that motivated me to come and make this post seeking help.
When she found the texts, she had screenshotted them and sent them to her phone. Today, she pulls out her phone and said I am going to send these screenshots to your boss and your entire team. (Normal for everyone’s direct contact info to be public knowledge in my line of work.)
At this point; I started to lose it and said something to the effect of you’re threatening every aspect of my life because you want me to be forced to endure you berate me and humiliate me to everyone around us.
Reddit.
If what I did warrants this type of treatment- then please tell me. So be it. I can live with that. What I can’t live with (or is starting to feel like it) is feeling that I’m being emotionally abused and tortured with her justifying it because of my selfish and poor decision.

So my daughter is 4, has severe autism, and is nonverbal. I don't know what to do anymore and I feel like a failure as a parent. I don't want to compare but all her peers seem to be developmentally ahead.
I noticed her behavior has worsened significantly after attending preschool for 4 months. On the weekends/days where she doesn't have school, her mood and behavior is significantly better.
She's delayed compared to her peers. She needs to be held and "babied" more and is very cautious and fearful. Even now, she needs to be on my lap on the swings and slide. She runs away when there are other kids at the playground and constantly tries to take people's food. I don't want to coddle her but there's no way for her to properly communicate her needs and she doesn't listen (most likely PDA). I feel that she might need to be taken out of school to focus on ST, OT, and ABA instead. Then she can attend school or be homeschooled.
Has anyone else gone through something similar with their kids?

Here's a post of mine from 2017

I'm in.
Hard mode
Indefinitely
My goal is to regain, no find myself. PMO'ing since the age of 12. I'm 27 now. Porn fucked up my life. No more!
Today is one year after my attempted OD. The catalyst was my girlfriend of five years leaving me and me screwing up my career as a firefighter. I was broken then and I'm still broken now. I blame PMO and porn in general. Insanity is repeating the same cycle and expecting a different result. Time to break this cycle.
Post end
^{How naive I was}

Back story with context

I now know my addiction started with MO at the age of 5. I used to do that on a daily basis to self soothe and it didn't help that I discovered what can be done with an electric massager. See my parents got divorced the first time around about then, they remarried each other, only to get divorced again. Mom remarried a abusive alcoholic, moved to my absent father and verbally abusive stepmother, all this before turning 14. Looking back I can see I was neglected and found my own coping mechanisms. Smoking cigarettes, weed and alcohol since 13, other drugs soon followed at 16, whatever I could get my hands on.
Note all my compulsive and addictive behaviours were actively being pursued in some form or another throughout my story, I merely set the stage with the background.
At 19 I lost my virginity to a broken and hurt girl that was on average banging 4 guys a week, she literally had to take off her clothes and ask me whilst naked 'What are you waiting for?' I was so inept and socially awkward. After two hours of furiously boning because I couldn't finish, I snuck back to my room only to jerk off. I recall thinking to myself was that it? Was all the hype about that? Needles to say this girl went and 'cheated' on me after a week, left me a tad embittered.
At 21 I somehow got my first girlfriend, she had been raised by her grandparents because both her parents had tragically died in two separate freak accidents, she had proper traditional values, real wivey material. Wanted to wait until marriage. None of it mattered much to me, I knew what I wanted and at 21 it certainly wasn't a wife. She was studying nursing and I was a firefighter, we were both renting, me with friends, her in a student commune. We started occasionally sleeping over at each other, very innocently at first just making out, cuddling and talking.
post deleted
She took the sheets with to wash and made a hasty retreat, I went to work in a cold sweat, post clarity had never been so fucking surreal nor had it ever garnered so much self loathing.
What had I done.
Later that day she messaged and asked me over where she gave me a hand written letter, front and back, tear stains and little hearts. In it written how beautiful it was, how much she loves me and how no-one can ever find out.
I felt physically sick.
What had I done.
We secretly moved in together and what followed was five years of a co-dependant relationship where she grew to hate me and I went progressively deeper into the abyss of porn.
In the interim my father passed away from cancer, I DUI'd and totalled into a young married couple, got arrested, went to a 'Stress clinic' and broke up with my girlfriend out of guilt. Quickly got back together and a few months later she mercifully broke up with me. I was just so weak. Maybe she just woke from being disillusioned, maybe she grew out of her naivety, maybe my addictions just followed their natural conclusion, maybe PTSD and tragedy got the better of me. She got a new boyfriend, I almost got a restraining order. (She withdrew the case in the judges chamber's on condition I NEVER contact her again) In short succession I slept with multiple partners, a few times while blackout drunk, a few one night stands and I left a wake of pain, regret, broken hearts and shame. All consensual.
Finally I tried to OD on sleeping pills, went back to the 'Stress clinic' and whilst there someone dear called and told me that to gain my life I had to give it away. Found religion or it found me, resigned from the Fire brigade.
Footnote~ The ex got married and became a mother sometime during, heard it through the grapevine.
She'll never have to see me again as per her wishes.
Learnt about NoFap {insert original post}
I moved a couple of states over, away from everything I had broken and everyone I'd hurt. Went on a journey, forgave myself, hated myself, loathed myself, forgave myself again, went on another journey. The whole time PMO and MO came and went.
Streaks came and went. Depression stayed and dark thoughts came back like a long lost friend but I kept on crawling towards the light, towards freedom.
FFW to now
I'm cold turkey from substances and on a 18 day streak. I've come to realise you can't run from this demon and this fight is worth fighting head on. PAWS or Post-accute Withdrawal Syndrome is real and even with my longer streaks I've only been kicking the can further and further down the road by occasionally binge relapsing.
I haven't been in a relationship nor have I had sex since the fallout. Real intimacy absolutely terrifies me and I suffer from anxiety and depressive episodes.
But there's hope!
I've been seeing a life coach, exercising and spending more time with friends and family, joined a men's prayer and accountability group. To go fast go alone, to go far go with others and I'm in it for the long haul.
The penny's dropped.
I can tell something has changed.
I'm coming back to life.
3 months ago I met a girl on a online dating platform, absolutely way out of my league, someone who's beautiful inside and out. I'll be meeting her for the first time this Friday and we'll be spending the weekend together, in a social setting.
I'm excited yet apprehensive. I don't want to place her on a pedestal but I want to treat her like a queen. We're only meeting and nothing intimate will happen, both of us want to wait until we're married be it with one another or someone else. But darn I'm excited. I want to hope again. I want to love and be loved.
I want to live again.
tl:dr

1. Porn can mess you up and the abyss is deeper than you can imagine.
   
2. Addiction is not about the substance but rather underlying behaviours and coping mechanisms.
   
3. Circumstances nor your past should determine your future.
   
4. There's alway's hope!
   

So, to preface this, my dad [47M] and I [20NB] have a TERRIBLE relationship. I am in a divorced family and this is one of those situations where both parents are the bad guy. I'll save what I did to my mom for another story, this is all about my dad.
When I was a kid, right after the divorce, I started visitation with my dad every other weekend and whenever I specifically requested to see him. My mom wanted to make sure I at least got some kind of paternal experience. I remember that, at first, it was fine and I'd go spend time with him and we'd play games or cook together. He was being truly a great father to me.
This all ended very abruptly when I didn't see him for three months with no warning. When I saw him again, he took me to an arcade and we won some tickets and got prizes. He began telling me he was in college and studying so he could get a real cool job. I was around 8 years old at this point and didn't understand fully what college was for, but I just nodded and smiled.
We are about to leave the arcade and he apologizes to me by saying, "I'm sorry I haven't seen you much. I'll try to see you more, but only if your mom will let me."
I didn't see him for another 3-ish months. This happened for 2 years straight and every time he would tell me that my mom wasn't letting him see me. This made me hate my mom growing up and started my feud with her that lasted well into my teenage years. I had always just assumed he was tell the truth because why would my dad lie to me?
Eventually we went back to the every other weekend schedule and whenever I wanted to take a walk to see him (he lived less than a mile away at this point). I, at one point, went on a walk to see him and a cop pulled over by me asking why a 10 year-old little girl was walking down a busy road by herself. I told him and he drove me to my dad.
My dad was furious and yelled at my mom, thinking I was being dropped off and not walking. He eventually let that go and I started staying at his house more often. That's when things started to shift in his personality.
I learned some interesting things while living with him! Let's make a list of these things:

1. My dad served 4 years in the U.S. Military as a First Private in the Army.
2. My dad has a multitude of mental issues like Bipolar 2 Schizoeffective and Autism, among other things.
3. My dad is medicated for all of his problems.
4. My dad never knew about me SA and r*** situation.
5. My dad is a devout and pious Christian with severe right-wingest ideals.

How many of these are true? Numbers 2 and 5 are true, the rest are absolute lies. Now, I don't care what your political or religious beliefs are, just don't shove them down my throat. Keep them to yourselves, please and thank you. Also, mental disorders are something people can have, and that's fine. Just make sure you're medicated (if you need to be) and make people aware of your stuff if you live with them.
The other things are things I found out weren't true via other people (or myself, in the case of my r***). Turns out, everyone in my family knows my dad is crazy and just rolls with it. I was advised, by my grandmother, to just say yes or okay and move on from whatever he says. So I did.
I spent 6 years of my life just pretending and acting like stuff was okay. I came out to him as non-binary and pan. His answer was to take me to therapy and insist I was being brainwashed by Antifa to believe that any of "that stuff" was real. I was banned from any form of lesbian activity while living with him.
At one point I had come home late from a friend's house (I was 18 and spending time with my friend for her birthday) and he got mad at me. I told him I had texted him to tell him that traffic was bad and I would be a bit late. He says I'm lying and refuses to look at his phone to check for a text.
He then says I am a c*nt and that I have 24 hours to leave and find somewhere else to live. I, according to a lawyer friend, don't have to listen to him as I am a tenant on the lease that pays the majority of rent and can request 30 days to leave from the housing authority as he does not own the home we live in. I decided to say whatever and just look for somewhere else instead.
I end up moving in with a random guy, getting pregnant with twins, moving in with my mom (who is being strangely nice and accommodating) cause the guy who got me pregnant is a drug addict and abuser, and then losing my kids to my mom in a custody battle over my financial stabily after they turn 5 months old and she kicks me out of her house to be homeless.
It's at this point in my life I am fed up with my family. I'm angry, sad, and confused. So, I decided to move out to California to live with a close friend (who became my partner for a bit and then told me they don't love me, so now I'm gonna move again). I called my grandmother to tell her the plan and she said I should tell my dad.
I don't know why I even entertained the thought, but I said sure and called him. The conversation started normally and everything was fine till I told him I was headed for California. He freaked out and said that I shouldn't cause people were getting robbed and stuff. I told him I wasn't going to a big city we're stuff like that was happening and that I would be in a small town in a neighborhood of retired older residents.
He starts bringing up old stories of how I used to lie about picking on my brothers and would sneak treats as a little kid, and brought up old stories about the things I'd do as a kid. Normal dumb kid stuff that kids to to test waters on what they can and can't do. He then got all sorts of egotistical and rude with me and said, "Well, don't come cryin' to me when everything goes downhill, little girl."
I snapped. It was at that moment that I lost my sh*t and just unloaded everything on him.
"Oh, really, Dad? Like you did when we couldn't pay rent and I was a teen prstitute for a year and a half cause you came crying to me with your problems? I don't have time for your BS and I really don't have time for any more of your lies. 4 months in the military, not 4 years. Never been medicated for your problems when you're supposed to be on high dosage lithium for your problems. When you said you never knew what happened to me at 13, you lied! It was your friends that did that sht! Or maybe we should talk about the gender identity crisis I went through because of you? I was confused for years because of that! You wanna talk about lies and deceit? Address your own."
It was at that moment that I heard a voice in the background say, "Seriously, Matt?"
My dad had his phone on speaker and was at work during a meeting with his coworkers and boss.
Haven't heard from him since he hung up that call. 🤣

I’m an early 40’s M. It was from an MRI, need to have a biopsy to confirm, but my doctor has a high confidence level that I do in fact have cancer. I am processing all this still, but trying to think through some practicalities like:
When do I inform people and how? My parents, kids, ex wife (for coparenting purposes), work, close friends, less close friends, etc. Do I need to share the type of cancer I have? Is it weird if I don’t? How would I got about avoiding or deflecting that question? Do I keep playing sports and working out like normal?
I’m a pretty private person and not really keen on having parts of this widely known. An actual treatment plan comes after the biopsy. I’m not feeling any effects and it’s possible my treatment would be limited to surgery.
I took a day off work and the weekend to process and I’m mostly normally functioning at this point. I am scared. I see my therapist this week and will share/discuss with her as well.
Any help or perspective would be appreciated. Thanks in advance.

This is me venting but am also curious to know what everyone's relationship is like with half-siblings. Here's my story. I'm sorry in advance for how long this is, along with the grammarun-ons. I'm trying to give the Reddit community as much context as I can dating as far back as my memory takes me.
I (F 28) have two younger biological sisters (identical twins, F 25). The three of us were born after my dad married my mom (arranged marriage) after he and his first wife got divorced.
I believe my dad's first marriage lasted about 10 years. They had two kids together (my half-siblings). My older brother and I have an 8-year age difference, and my older sister and I have a 10-year age difference. Growing up, they used to visit us a few times a year including summer break or alternating holidays. Sometimes they would visit during Thanksgiving, other times during Christmas.
We used to be pretty close (at least I thought), but the relationship has become increasingly strained through the years. I understand the fact that there are ALWAYS two sides to every story, but I believe that my dad was on the right side of things and the marriage ended because two people weren't compatible and got married too young. It's always unfortunate when there are kids involved, and I'm sure it was tough with my older siblings being impacted at a young age.
It started when our grandpa (my dad's dad) passed away in November 2015. My brother suddenly stopped talking to my dad/our family immediately for whatever reason. He was the only person that didn't come to my grandpa's funeral. I honestly think he was holding a grudge that he didn't find out immediately when my grandpa passed, but I can't be too sure. We've never addressed that directly.
Fast forward 8 months to July 2016, when my dad's side of the family had a reunion at a first cousin's wedding. The vibes from my brother were like nothing had happened, and then after the wedding weekend, he was back to being silent. When my grandma (dad's mom) passed away in June 2019 he didn't show up to the funeral then either. Granted I didn't, but not because I didn't want to. I was a poor grad student and couldn't afford an $800 ticket on short notice and didn't want to burden my parents to pay for me to fly back for a couple of days either on top of how busy they were with funeral arrangements.
My brother went about 5 years to not talk to my dad or any of us. Then, out of nowhere, he calls one day to announce that he's getting married. The wedding is set for October 2022. I think he was buttering up my dad and our family to come to the wedding, because he knew it would look bad if everyone asked where his dad was for his wedding, and it would reflect poorly on him. The communication in 2022 was pretty consistent leading up to the wedding, and my older siblings would call my dad almost every weekend knowing that they needed us to show up to the wedding.
My older sister (F 38) had a baby girl in July 2018. Our dad was thrilled, his oldest daughter made him a grandpa. But there is clear separation and favoritism there, as my niece only sees her mom's side of the family being in the same area in the DMV. For those who aren't familiar with DC/MD/VA, my older sister lives in Virginia, in Arlington, and her mom lives in Herndon. About a 30-minute drive from each other. My parents live across the country in Orange County, so visits are far and few in between for my dad and his grandchild. I live on the Maryland side, and the state line between Maryland and Virginia is roughly 30 min, depending on where you go and the time of day. Anyway, I don't even know if my niece knows that she has another grandpa, outside of what she knows about my sister's mom and stepdad, and my brother-in-law's parents, who split time between the US and Nepal. I feel so bad for my dad because that's his grandkid too and everyone deserves the joy of being involved in their grandkids lives. My dad has seen my niece several times but the relationship is pretty surface level. It's not her fault, she doesn't know him like she does my sister's mom and stepdad, plus it's a proximity thing living on opposite sides of the country. We have FaceTime for these reasons though.
My husband and I aren't ready to have kids yet, and we want them. We've only been married for almost 7 months so we're still trying to live life before we settle down. I hope nothing more than to be able to give my parents a grandkid one day because I want my dad and mom to experience what they missed from my older half-siblings isolating them from their kids. That is if I'm able to have kids, I know we can't control these things.
This brings me to my next point (if you're still reading this, I appreciate you). My husband and I got married in October 2023. Our parents on both sides did everything they could to give us the wedding of our dreams, and it was everything we imagined and hoped for, and I'm forever grateful for that. I know that my wedding hit my dad harder emotionally than the first two with my older siblings because he was not at all involved during theirs. That wasn't by choice, my older siblings' mom probably didn't want him to be involved. Divorced dynamics are so confusing. You're telling me you can't come together and be civilized for a day/weekend? After my wedding, a few months later, sometime in January or February 2024, my dad called me to talk about how my sister was upset after our wedding and she vented about a few things with him on the phone. He was relaying the message over.
For context, I uploaded our wedding pictures on Facebook, because I have so many family members overseas in Nepal who weren't able to attend the wedding, and it was honestly the most convenient way to showcase our pictures since people in Nepal are ridiculously active on Facebook. My sister has social media, my brother got rid of his TwitteFacebook/Instagram/everything many years ago. Our photographer took several thousand pictures throughout the wedding weekend events, and of course, there were moments captured of my older sister and her family, including my brother-in-law, and niece. I will admit out of spite since my sister never posts anything about me and my dad/family, I tagged but then later on deleted those pictures she was in. Why would I have pictures of her on my social media when she's never posted anything of us? She doesn't even like or comment on anything on my social media, and when you have siblings, this is not something you discuss, you just do it. Duh. Over the last few days, I unfollowed her and unfriended her on Facebook and Instagram. For me, it makes no sense to keep people on my newsfeed if I don't interact with them, and I have plenty of family members and friends that I already have a strongemore communicative relationship with.
If my sister was upset about this, why did she call my dad to vent about this months later instead of coming to me? My dad told me she complained that he didn't mention her or my older brother during his speech at our wedding. But am I wrong for thinking, why would he? It's a celebration for me and my husband. I thought that was very conceited and selfish. The day wasn't about her, and my dad's speech was so heartfelt that I cried. I believe she was offended she didn't get the same during hers. However, my sister and brother never asked our dad to give a toast at their weddings. Only their mom did, which is messed up in my opinion.
I understand divorce is messy and complicated, and people go through years of therapy to fix, or maybe even never fix issues completely. It's hard, and I'm just a product of his second marriage. But I've never understood the jealousy that seems to exist, specifically between my older sister and me.
I tried reaching out to both of them in a group iMessage, talking about how I am not happy with the way they're treating our dad. My brother has stopped calling my dad completely over the last few months since his son (my dad's second grandkid) was born a few months ago in February. My sister calls maybe once a month. I wanted to confront them about this ongoing behavior and ill will toward our family. They didn't even have the guts to respond to me, I suggested if they have time to FaceTime so we can have a real adult conversation about what is their issue. My parents are flying to DC this weekend and the original plan was to drive a few hours north so they could see my brother's baby. No communication with my brother whatsoever to coordinate. I feel devastatingly sad for my dad.
I'm not even going to get into their treatment of my mom. That's another long story, but basically, it's them not giving a hoot about her, even though she's the one who took care of them and stepped up when they visited growing up. As a stepmom, it's hard to deal with kids from a previous marriage. But she did it and she loves them, and they're nothing but passive-aggressive and mean to her. They never wish her happy birthday, happy Mother's Day, or my parents happy anniversary. It takes two seconds. For me, if you disrespect my parents, you're disrespecting me.
Since then, my sister has unfollowed and unfriended everyone on social media, including my dad, my younger sisters, and my husband. All because she couldn't handle that I did that to her. I'm just not for this nasty behavior, and I know we all need to unpack a lot in therapy (me and my older siblings specifically). Their behavior is cowardly, and I can't be the only one that thinks this, right? I don't know. It didn't have to be like this. I'm sure their mom has been telling them bad things about the marriage and my dad for years. I'm not saying he probably didn't make mistakes, but there are, once again, two sides to everyone's story. None of us kids have heard both sides directly from the source, and probably never will. It makes me sad, especially for my dad. I know life will go on. I tried to reach out, and if they don't want to talk about these issues like adults, then I have nothing else to say.

Hi all , I am F(30) and recently realize that I have outgrown my friendship with my best friend F(30). I have been her friend for 15 years now we studied in same batch for 4 years . We shared most of our stories and advices years after year and were there for each other. We were last of our girl friends to stay together and maintain connection even after our work pulled us apart . COVID actually bought us closer as we maintained long distance friendship as well as were supportive when it comes to mental health.
Cut to this year she went through a bad break up with her long term boyfriend who were supposed to get married this year (won't go in details as its her personal life). It took a while for her to recover from sucidal thoughts , anxiety and depression . As soon as she told me this I informed her mother and ask her to inform her nearby friends. I was then busy with my work and was not in much touch with her just small texts. And then after few weeks we had our regular weekends calls. She was happy and good plus she informed me she is over him . In later calls she was engged with post break-up stuffs like drinking , clubs and making out, owning pets etc. which is okay as this was her first break up and she needs to let it out.
At same time she also told me she made out with her collegeue which made her more depressed . She asked me certain questions like what will I do in this situation. I told her if doing something makes her more depressed then she woulded be doing it . But if it makes her happy she can enjoy the momemt. Things got uncomformtable for me after that she ask me if i was drunk would i be doing with her collegeue in drunk state . I straight away told her no and i would only prefer guys who i want or find attractive for me . She then questioned about my ex if i would do with him . I said no as i have moved on from him and it has been years. I also told her everyones actions are differnt when it comes to break up. But she kept pushing me telling that how drinking is good and it makes her feel the best. I told her that not the case with me . She also got a pet a month ago and them dropped of at her parents apartment. She just kepted it to herself until it makes her feel good. She also told me about her rouitne which i fould that she is just using other for help to avoid feelings rather than facing it . She refused to take any kind of therepy as well. Her mom also calls me and ask why she is depressed . And I cant tell her what is happing between her and her collegeue.
On other hand I have been working on my goals like physical and mental fitness . I am also focused on my career and financial goals. I dont see any aim in this friendship now . As her opions have also changed with time and does not align with mine . Plus any suggessions from my end were discarded by her. Also i dont see myself walking on the path she is following. If her path is tempory I will be there for her when she wants to improve. In mean time i looking on how to approch this situation.