All Families are…

Uniqlo blouse
Sezane skirt (similar)
M Gemi flats (c/o)
ASOS beret
Zara sunglasses (similar)
Madewell rings
Location: Saint Boniface Cathedral – Winnipeg, Manitoba

Honestly, some days it would be so much simpler if I could just book a one-way ticket to Paris and never look back. And not just because I could have croissants for breakfast every day.

I try to be as unfailingly, unflinchingly honest in this space as possible. Partly because that’s who I am – I’m not mean, but I am truthful, and sometimes the truth hurts. I accept that and embrace my belief in honesty, anyway. But the fact is, there is one subject that I’ve avoided judiciously for the past eight years. My family. Largely, that’s been out of respect for them and their privacy. This is my space where I choose to share my personal life – anyone else that I write about doesn’t get that same choice unless I clear my post with them before publishing, and because I write spontaneously, I would never have time to do that. But it’s also been out of a sense of self-preservation.

The truth is simply this; I left home at nineteen for university but also because I couldn’t see a way to be the person I wanted to be in the place I was, with the people around me. I didn’t fit in, no matter what I tried. And while I don’t blame anyone for that, it was my truth. So I went across the country, and then further away, to Paris. I was gone for over a decade and my visits home were rare. Distance improved some of my relationships profoundly. It’s much easier to appreciate people, whatever their faults and whatever your differences, when they aren’t physically present every time you need them.

But it didn’t fix everything. What could have?

When we made the decision to move home about two years ago, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. After all, you can never go home again. I am not the person who left Winnipeg in 2005. If I met her on the street, I probably wouldn’t recognise her. But that is the version of me that people know and expect. When confronted with the reality of who I am now, not everyone, and particularly not every member of my family, has been thrilled. Some have questioned my motives. “But how long will you really stay?” they’ve asked. “I mean, I just don’t really see you here.” Some have continued to operate as if I’m not here, even though we arrived in May of last year. And others still have been angry and confrontational, sometimes even derogatory. There has been yelling and door slamming and tears of rage.

I didn’t come back labouring under the misguided impression that everything would be better. Far from it. But despite that, I admit that I am at times overwhelmingly, crushingly disappointed to realise that the person I worked so hard to become is still someone who doesn’t really fit in.

Last month, I bought my dad a copy of All Families are Psychotic by Douglas Coupland for his birthday. The title is silly, but the book is excellent and speaks truthfully about how difficult it can be to live with the people who are supposed to be the closest to you. All families are psychotic. I’m sharing this today because I know that but at times I still feel very alone in my struggle to find my place within my family and if any of you are feeling the same way, I want you to know that isn’t true. You’re not alone in this.

Sometimes, I still feel very much like I’d like to buy a one-way ticket to somewhere far away, preferably somewhere where fresh croissants are plentiful. If I weren’t here, I would not have to acknowledge or deal with all of the things that are broken that I cannot, and might never be able to, fix. But I wouldn’t do it. I came back because no matter how frustrated and angry and utterly exasperated my family makes me – and they do, often and at times with what actually seems like enthusiasm – I still think I would rather have them than not have them.