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Dear Prudence,
I just learned that my slimeball brother-in-law has three different women pregnant at once. Even worse, my husband agreed to let him crash with us for a while so he can lay low so the women can’t track him down for paternity tests—without consulting me! Given my husband’s disregard for my input and my disgust at his brother’s behavior, I plan on cluing the women in on the asshole’s whereabouts.
I’m right to do that, aren’t I?
—Won’t Be an Accomplice
Dear Won’t Be,
No. You’re right to be disgusted by your BIL’s behavior and pissed off at your husband, but inserting yourself into this messy situation when you’re already outnumbered in your own home is not going to make you feel any better. I hope the women find him, but they’re not the only ones who are suffering because of the disappointing behavior of their male partners. You are too. And that is something that it is 100 percent your business to change.
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Dear Prudence,
I am an evangelical (recovering evangelical) who grew up in a very conservative church—we once had an album burning in the parking lot to torch “satanic” music like Boyz II Men and Ace of Base. I eventually got out, and spent years deconstructing the truly messed-up things I was taught. I am now hard left, and happily so.
My mom, however, is another story. She has remained committed to evangelicalism, and her political views have only gotten more right-wing as the years have passed. She was the president of the Republican club in our small Midwestern town. She has all sorts of Trump merchandise. She still has Trump 2024 signs in her yard, a year and a half after the election. She is, in short, part of two cults: the cult of hard-right religious views, and the national cult that cheers for this horrifying administration. That also means she is someone who is happy about the war in Iran, because she believes it’s the first step to finally bring about Armageddon and the return of Jesus.
Up until now, it was hard enough trying to maintain a distant-at-best relationship when it was “just” the homophobia, transphobia, sexism, and racism that’s baked into evangelical beliefs, but now with her support of ICE, enthusiastic support for the war, and an unshakable belief that Trump was chosen by God and can therefore do no wrong, it feels completely impossible. I know she yearns for a closer relationship, but honestly even a bland phone call where we both actively avoid any of those hot-button topics is excruciating for me. And also: She’s 82 years old. My dad died a couple years ago, and Mom’s relationship with my one sibling that lives in town is toxic and codependent as hell. She’s got her church friends, but Mom has always been so family-focused that I know these relationships will never fill the empty space left by me and my other siblings who keep their distance. I also know that her loneliness isn’t my responsibility.
And yet, I can’t bring myself to grant her grace. The war is terrifying to me on a primal level, because I know most evangelicals would be elated to nuke Iran off the planet because Jesus told them to, and that they’re on the verge of establishing the Christofascist society they’ve been praying for. I just can’t reconcile all of this in my head: the ache of missing my mom (more likely, the version of her that I wished she were, not who she actually is), the fury at all of her horrible beliefs, the terror I have on a visceral level about the war because of the lies I was brainwashed to believe, and the sadness I feel when I think about her loneliness. She is, at the core, a genuinely kind person whose view of the world has been completely corrupted by religion and Trumpism—exactly the kind of stuff that happens when a person’s deep in a cult. I guess it comes down to my grieving a relationship that could’ve been, in theory, but is not realistic. Is there any way to navigate this?
—Jesus, Mom, Enough!
Dear Enough,
Go to the ATM, get some cash out, and give yourself a copay. You have articulated your emotions about this so thoughtfully, while still maintaining enough distance to be realistic about the tension between what you know about your mom and what you wish could be true. You could be your own therapist! Before I reached the end of your letter, I was going to focus my advice on suggesting that you really grieve the mom you wish she could be and the relationship you wish you could have. But you said that too, so you can also be your own advice columnist.
My friend Lisa, who is very empathetic but also no-nonsense, has a go-to response when I have a complaint that mirrors yours (in that I’ve already thought about every angle and how I should feel about the situation but I’m still not at peace). She always says “It’s hard because it’s hard.” This serves as a reminder that whatever struggle I’m discussing isn’t the result of my failure to think about the situation properly, and I’m not at fault for being unable to make it go away. Some stuff in life just sucks! And your relationship with your mom is firmly in that category. It’s just going to be tough for you to enjoy a relationship with a person who, totally separate from the way her take on this political moment upsets you, is the sort of person who thinks “The End of The Road” is a demonic song. (OK, if I’m being fair, it was probably “I’ll Make Love to You” that raised alarms about sin for her, but still.)
It’s hard because it’s hard, and it’s going to be hard no matter what you do. But I have two ideas for you that might help a tiny bit: 1) See if you can connect with people (could there be a support group? Or at least a Facebook group?) who are having similar struggles with loved ones. You mention in your letter that you know your story is a common one, and I hope that awareness brings a little comfort. But contact with others who really get it always helps. 2) Interview your mom about her life and take notes. This could be an ongoing project that dominates most of your conversation, leaving little room for other topics. My thinking is that it could inspire some curiosity about and empathy for how she got to be the way she is, and it could also give you a reporter’s distance from her upsetting views. By collecting facts and notes you’ll be developing a better understanding of the person she is—which is its own kind of closeness—while reinforcing that she’s more than just your mom, and the sad and disappointing parts of her outlook aren’t about you as much as they’re about the society and experiences that shaped her.
Dear Prudence,
Out of necessity, I try not to discuss politics on social media, because my friends and family run the gamut of opinions, and anything I say is bound to cause a debate on one side or the other that I’m not particularly interested in having. But the ongoing Gaza genocide hurts my heart. So many times I have almost said something and then deleted it before publishing. Part of me really wants to break my own rule and say what I believe needs to be said. I have friends and family members who genuinely aren’t informed on the issue and seeing me say something about it may just break through to them. But I already know I’ll also offend a few people I know if I say something. Even writing this, I feel wrong. How lucky I am that my biggest problem is thinking about what to post or not post on the internet. Should I stick to my rule, or break it to talk about something that means a lot to me?
—Cautious or Cowardly
Dear Cautious,
I have an idea that might help your heart, help the people in Gaza, help the friends and family who would benefit from hearing from you, and make those who are offended feel less important: Instead of just posting a statement about your feelings, do something (start a fundraiser, call members of congress, host a book club on the topic, invite people to your home to make signs for a protest, etc.) and then post about the action, inviting people to join you, rather than just your feelings about the situation. That way, any pushback you get from your loved ones will be counteracted by the knowledge that you didn’t just put up a statement to aggravate them. You did it to make a difference. And it takes the focus off of you and your relationships and puts it back on the people whose plight you sincerely care about.
Catch up on this week’s Prudie.
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