I read a good amount of feminist blogs and websites. The first sites I check in the morning, after my dose of pop culture from Vulture, are XoJane and Jezebel. I’m a quiet feminist, only speaking up about it when I feel like my voice would add something, not just add to the chorus of already shouting voices.
There is a type of expose/article on these websites, written by women looking to shed some metaphorical weight. You can find it on XoJane, in the “It Happened to Me” section. You can find it in the comment section on Jezebel and in TrollXChromosomes thread on Reddit. There are women all over the internet telling stories about their horrible families, how their mothers and fathers failed them. I feel for these women, deeply and significantly – but, I will never understand them.I grew up with a great family.
I’m sorry if what I’m about to write sounds braggadocios, or gauche. I just thought it would be nice to get it all down. The other night, as I perused Buzzfeed, I saw a listicle, “21 Things You’ll Only Get If You and Your Mum Are Super Close.” I sent it to my mom without hesitation. In recent years, as I’ve moved out of the house and come into my own, I’ve found the relationship with my parents strengthen. It’s not perfect, we still fight and have disagreements, but it’s a great relationship. I honestly consider my mom to be one of my best friends, as nerdy or whatever as that sounds. I mean, I’m not going to turn to tell her about my sex life, and I’m not going to ask her to smoke a bowl with me from time to time. She is the person I turn to in crisis and in triumph. I turn to my dad for advice more than anyone else. I’d say about 90% of the time he is right, which is a pretty high batting average. And then there’s my brother. I don’t know if it’s because we’re both a little bit older, and a little bit farther apart, geographically speaking, but this is the first time in my life I can feel us becoming friends. Our communication is still 95% pictures of dogs, but that’s literally my favorite thing in the world so it works.
When I was younger, I hated how much my family was enmeshed and over-involved. I would get a cold in the morning, and in the evening I would get a call from my great-aunt asking how I was. When I was figuring out who I was, it was so hard to have all these other voices shouting while I was trying to hear myself. Now that I have some solid ground to stand on, I love them. I love how loud they are, because I can be loud. No one is going to judge you for yelling in my family. No one is going to tell you to not cry. Cry as loud as you fucking want. We’ll hug you while you do and then shove some food in your face.
Anyway, what I’m getting at is, I know I’m lucky. I have two parents who love and respect each other. They respect me and root for me. When I throw myself into this weird comedy world, they come to almost every show. They support me when I ask them to, and they support me when I don’t. I have a brother who confides in me, and who I can turn to in confidence. I have an extended family that makes small, intimate family dinners a minimum of 16-20 people. None of us are perfect, but there is so much love it’s insane. We’re a very lucky group of weirdos.
The Life of Zabs 