I own a tiny two-bedroom, one-bath house. During the pandemic, I turned the second bedroom into my official workspace with the giant two-screen computer. It helped my depression to have the ritual of going to the “office”—get up, shower, put on nice clothes, get coffee, but no traffic. My company has leaned into to the telecommuting permanently, so this is how my career is going. My sister has gotten out of yet another bad relationship and can’t afford another apartment. Her sons have permanently moved with their father and stepmother. She is desperate to get on her feet. I told her she is welcome to stay as long as she wants with me, on my sofa bed. My sister is furious with me that I will not give her my office. She says her ex will not let her sons visit if they have to sleep on an air mattress near her. I can’t physically fit my office set up into my bedroom unless I got rid of my bed for a twin one and close off half my closet (wiring issues).
I love my sister. And my nephews. I am not asking for any money. I still need to make money and be mentally healthy. Our parents are in a strict retirement community, and our brother is on another coast. Short of our very disagreeable aunt, I am it. During the worst of the pandemic, I went over a month without any human contact but random delivery drivers and my cat. My home office became my “safe space.” My full family is ganging up on me: I could work on a laptop (just like I could cure my depression through smiling more and exercising). I have nothing more to give. And everything to lose. I want to help my sister get on her feet, but not if she expects me to dance on knives.
— WFHelp