The holidays are horrible. They’re not necessarily inherently horrible, they’re fine. They’re whatever. It’s not my cup of tea, and the holidays themselves have no real meaning to me. They used to be about spending time with family and catching up. That did have meaning to me. I don’t get that anymore, though. My mom gatekeeps my family from me. She doesn’t want me around, and so I am not around. But I have nowhere to go for the holidays, I have nothing to do but contemplate what life would be like to have a real mother, and not whatever the hell I was saddled with.

The only thing my mother ever did for me was give me a fine template of what not to do with my children.