Dear Fuck-Up: How Do I Tell My Parents I'm Taking Medical Leave?

Ask a Fuck-UpAsk a Fuck-UpAdvice from someone who should know better by now

Dear Fuck-Up,

For the past five years, I’ve been dealing with a variety of health issues that have caused chronic pain, fatigue, and other things that make life exhausting, and make it hard to keep up with my ever-more-demanding job.

I’ve been lucky to find community with a lot of other sick, disabled and/or chronically ill people, and to learn about disability justice, anti-capitalism, and how ableism works to make us all feel like shit. All of this has helped me to shed a lot of the shame I had about not being able to “function” as well as I think I should. Therapy has also helped me relax the intense expectations I have for myself.

All of this has led me to decide to take a medical leave from work to finally focus on resting and taking care of my body. I’m proud of myself for getting to this point.

My doctor is on board, and I have a meeting scheduled with HR, but the thing I’m most anxious about is telling my parents.

They aren’t the type of people to slow down and take breaks; they are deeply caring, but this is likely going to be very alarming for them to hear. I don’t think they understand just how profoundly chronic pain has affected my life, and I know they are going to be worried about what this means for my future and how it will affect my livelihood. I am worried they’re going to be upset, try to talk me out of it, and doubt my decision-making (all things they’ve done before).

Help! I’m terrified to start the conversation and scared I won’t be able to hold steady and explain my reasoning. Any advice?

Thank you, and I hope you’re taking care,

Sick and Tired


Dear Sick and Tired,

One of the more alienating cultural trends to me is the desire to return to childhood. Friends will talk about how they wish they could be a carefree grade-schooler again and I just don’t get the appeal at all. I hated being a child and couldn’t wait to grow up. I was deeply resentful of not being taken seriously, of being talked over or brushed aside by adults, of being told what to do. Obviously, this means I was a horrible little shit and a plague to my parents and for that I do feel some regret but the thing is—I was right.

Adulthood, for all its burdens and obligations and perils, is better. Because amid all of those things, every once in a while, is the chance to come to a conclusion about yourself and your life and then act upon it. Without asking permission first or gaining some kind of consensus, simply because you know it is right.

You don’t need to approach this conversation as though they need to be convinced, they just need to be informed. Pleasing your parents is nice, but you can bear a little disappointment. Truly, it will not kill you if they think you are making a mistake, but continuing to ignore a chronic health issue in order to retain their high esteem of your work ethic very well could. Counter whatever concerns they express about your livelihood with the simple fact that you are doing this in order to live.

Would it be great if you could bring them around on the idea that we should not confer nobility on suffering? Sure! But that doesn’t need to happen right away. They can have doubts about your decision but it is nonetheless yours to make, and if they see you flourishing as a result of it that might go a long way to winning them over to a fuller understanding of what a good life can be.

Love,

A Fuck-Up

Got a question? Email bjensen@jezebel.com.

Brandy Jensen lives in New Orleans with her two dogs.

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DISCUSSION

snide-o-mite
Snide-O-Mite

When my then-boyfriend proposed, not only did I say yes, but I quit my job, gave up my rent controlled apartment, and moved to be with him in another state. When my older sister found out, she called me stupid, careless, immature, and reckless. She “told on me” to my mother and also threatened to call my boss to override my resignation. She told me I might think I’m getting married, but I’m really not.

Punchline: I was 35 years old at the time. We are married with offspring today.

My point is that you’re an adult now. You don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything anymore. Would it be nice? Sure. But you don’t need it. They can’t stop you from making this decision anymore than my sister could stop me from getting married.

All that matters is what you think and what’s right in your heart. That’s it. There’s no such thing as The One Action That Will Change Their Minds.

It doesn’t end there. I’m in my 40s, and my parents are convinced my kid is going to be some mute piece of furniture destined to be a lump of nothing in life all because we don’t want to return him to daycare. These are the same people who didn’t want me to send him to daycare to begin with.

How do I blow them off? Because I know my kid better than they do. I know my area, a place they’ve never been to, better than they do. And I know my heart better than they do. So their opinion is no more valuable than the homeless guy who used to scream at me on my way to work.

You will get there too. I promise.