Fed with a plastic spoon

Growing up, I lived in a passed down, fifth wheel trailer from my grandparents.

In different people’s backyards and local campgrounds. My mom had only two requirements to where we parked.

Safe and cheap.

Safe enough to raise her three kids and cheap enough to pay for with child support.

We were forced into the trailer after having lived in a beautiful two story home in the estates on half an acre with a trampoline, each kid our own room, a double door fridge in the kitchen, room for a garden, three car garage, and two separate living rooms to choose from.

Our beloved house was foreclosed on. Stripped away from us after my mom and her third marriage decided to part ways and neither side could uphold the mortgage payments alone.

I was very upset, as any young girl would be losing her walk-in closet, starry night facing window, four pastel colored walls. Oh and I guess her step dad that always drove her to cheer practice.

Downsizing tremendously, I knew all my privacy was about to be completely diminished. A scenario very difficult to navigate as a teenage girl just starting to figure herself out for the first time. Especially when boyfriends started to come into play. No pun intended.

My mom practically had to pry me from my bedroom in the big house on Del Amo, spending every last second in there even after the heater was shut off and all the furniture was in the dump. I didn’t want to come to terms with our new reality.

My “bedroom” in the trailer would now only consist of a twin size mattress that sat in a wall “cubby” my mom had built that I couldn’t sit straight up in. With no door or even curtain, the first thing you faced when you walked through the entrance of our trailer was me laying on my bed. What separated mine and my brother’s same definition of bedroom, was a thin piece of unfinished plywood. And when my oldest brother, Cameron, grew too tall to fit in his cubby, he slept on a foldable cot in our “living room.” Which was also the kitchen, which was also the entry way.

I always felt a bit embarrassed about our little trailer. I never considered something on wheels to be a “true home.” I thought people would judge me for it, even though nothing about the situation was my fault.

My friends couldn’t relate, nor did I feel they could really visit me as we had no couch they could come sit on and everything else was too cluttered to hold anything more. Perhaps the picnic table outside had some room.

the pups adapting to their new lifestyle

For me, I knew this space was temporary until I moved out for college. Although, “6 more years of trailer life!” never did sound reassuring.

The only plus side to the situation I saw at the time was technically being considered homeless under FAFSA paperwork and maxing out on grants because of it. My college friends always told me I was lucky for this but none of them saw what I had to go through to qualify for such generous scholarships.

The idea of a dorm was luxurious. Compared to the trailer, the space I would have for myself was massive. With half the room decorated to my liking, no fur or animal droppings anywhere, a shower I didn’t have to fidget with a water heater for, and only sharing my room with one other girl my age.

I wanted an actual desk to do art and homework on, my own closet that consisted of more than just two small drawers, a floor that didn’t shake when other people walked on it, carpet that wasn’t ripped off the ground, a real door to my bedroom that separated me from the rest of the space. I didn’t think I was asking for much.

A desk, a door, a window, a closet, were all little things I took for granted. It wasn’t until I didn’t have them that I realized just how ungrateful I had been in the big house. We never truly realize what we have until it’s gone.

During middle and high school, I stayed at friend’s places much more than my own. Jealous they were able to throw birthday parties and host their friends whenever they pleased. My mom never knew when I was coming home because I would spend weeks on end at Lexie’s or Amber’s.

Amber and I back when even our parents would get us confused

I was jealous when I saw my friends could go to the grocery store and pick out foods they wanted without glancing at the price tag. Jealous they never had to worry about their water getting shut off or their phone bill not being paid.

Our financial situation seeped into almost every aspect of my life as a child and I was consistently reminded just how little I was able to afford compared to my friends. I would get so frustrated at my mom because I barely understood how she let us live the way we did.

I wanted simple things. A carpet to sit on, a backyard to play in, a new backpack in August just like every other kid.

plucking Cameron’s eyebrows in the trailer

We counted down the days that our food stamps benefit card would reset every month and sometimes we got free groceries from our local church. Unlabeled cans of beans, rice, and tubes of toothpaste. Have you ever seen a girl so happy about canned corn?

I learned a lot about money at an age I wouldn’t recommend for a child. Because what I learned was the amount of control it has on us sometimes, I tried not to let it, but I wasn’t responsible for any of our finances. When we have to worry about having access to basic essentials and safety, it really does play into happiness and well being, even though I hate to admit.

We moved around frequently because the landlords of the yards we parked our trailer in would abuse their power over us or the local trailer park would only let us stay for 3 consecutive months at a time.

We spent Easter in the Dos Picos Park campground and woke up to find the Easter bunny had hid colored eggs in the bushes around our site.

At the end of the day, my mom did everything in her power to put a roof over our head and food on our lap (because we didn’t have a table.)

She wasn’t allowed to move us to a cheaper state due to child support agreements with my dad. Even though that would’ve been the last thing she wanted, to pry us from our lifelong friends we had at school.

I realized everyday the tribulations my mom faced to simply keep us alive. Even as a teenage girl who caught attitude most days. I wanted Birkenstocks but my mom wanted propane for hot showers. We had the basics, and for that I was grateful.

My mother spent every last dollar on her three kids and rarely ever on herself. She still put me through various (expensive) sports and always attended each meet, competition, and dropped me off at every practice. I can imagine the stress she went through when my little brother decided he wanted to do the same expensive sport. She still made it work. She somehow always did. All she wanted was for us to be happy.

She’s an amazing mother, woman and person. I’ve never met someone more selfless than her.

She always made sure we each got a couple items, sometimes thrifted, for Christmas every year so we didn’t feel left out from our peers. Accepting numerous jobs to do so, even when she was categorized as disabled and couldn’t work.

I felt nothing short of unconditional love, ever. I was abundantly wealthy. In love, in company, and in health.

The hugs I received were always tight. The food I was fed was always made with love. That to me meant more than money ever will.

During this time, was when I really began to realize the great benefits of gratitude and imagination. Gratitude for the things I had and an imagination for the things I didn’t.

I was grateful for mine and my brother’s newly tightened relationships. Living in the big house, we argued and screamed at each other a lot, me always doing the screaming. We rarely talked to one another because we were always in our own separate rooms. But moving into such small quarters forced us to work more cohesively. We started to get to know each other on such a deeper level. I came to find out I actually enjoyed my brother’s company. I started to realize we were more similar than I originally thought.

Playing the role of annoying little sister

No, I can’t say I enjoy fishing all that much but I can say our commonality was watching our mother struggle to make ends meet. We saw very clearly what she went through because she had nowhere to hide anymore. It frustrated me as a teenager but it wasn’t the same with my brothers. I admired the way they always treated mom, slow to anger and calm with their approach. Always so understanding of our situation, I took notes. Neither of them have a single mean bone in their body.

There’s nothing that pulls a group of siblings together like feeling the obligation to take care of your parent. It sucks because we seemingly couldn’t do much as children. We always told her everything would be okay but we had no way to be sure of it. I got a real job the second I was of age to help contribute what I could. I still do.

I was grateful for such unconditional love. No matter what or where we were, I was certain of one thing always and that was I love my friends and I love my family. The only definite thing in my life was them and the love we had for one another. It’s always wonderful to feel the support of those around me. People who didn’t give two shits about the number in my bank account, what car I drove, or the brands on my back. But more about if I was fed, happy, and had a place to sleep at night. These people are still my friends many years later. They loved me for my personality and the times we spent together, not because they could benefit off of me financially. That felt really good.

I learned that you are your circle. The relationships and friendships you surround yourself with will ultimately impact how you view your own little world. Being around kids that complained when they weren’t going on the family vacation of their choice, did me no good. I tried preaching gratitude to their face but they never truly heard the privilege in their words.

I befriended those with adventurous and innovate souls. Those who enjoyed making up dances to random songs and going on night drives. Little things that even now, I’d prefer doing instead of going out to some fancy restaurant. Siding against anything that requires us to spend money. Avoiding any sort of financial burden because I know that feeling all too well.

I was a very cheerful kid, but I know that smile never stemmed from money. Laughter is an essential ingredient for survival, and we laughed a lot.

I didn’t have a bad childhood. In fact, I am so grateful to have grown up the way I did, with such unique conditions. Sure, I might’ve learned things the hard way, but I was still learning.

Looking back, I wouldn’t even wish for things to be much different for my family. Less struggle for my mom of course but I think what came out of it was far more worth it than any lesson my brothers and I were taught in school or could’ve been handed with a great sum of money.

Growing up poor you really learn to be grateful for the otherwise mundane. Then, you continue to retreat back to this realization for the rest of your life no matter how much you own. I believe this is one of the core practices to being truly happy, appreciating the small things. The things everyone can possess without a ton of funds.

My happiest days were on stuffed bell pepper nights. My mom makes phenomenal ones.

I learned to never judge people for the background that stands before them, knowing that sometimes we are handed cards we cannot put back in the deck. We just learn how to play the game with them.

After awhile I started to just embrace the “trailer park aesthetic.” When I flipped the narrative in my head, my life immediately got better. Be miserable in my thoughts or lean into them… was the question.

I started to think, you know what, it is pretty cool we can just pick up our house and move. It is pretty cool to share laughs with my brothers while both laying in our own beds. It is pretty cool to have a clubhouse in our trailer park. It is pretty cool to have so much transparency with my family. It is pretty cool to live in a trailer.

There were so many positives that certainly took awhile to acknowledge but after dropping my ego, eventually I came around to appreciating the specialness of our situation.

I practiced gratitude to feel present but still obtained an imagination to drive my other desires. Enjoying my life with the little I owned. Using my imagination to dream of what could be later on.

…

So why write about this now? As a 22 year old living just outside of Paris, not having lived the trailer life for almost 5 years, surely you’d think I’d be over it by now right?

But that’s the thing, I never really discarded this idea, it has stayed relevant in every financial and living situation I’ve been in since, and I kind of think it always will.

So now, let me connect the dots for you.

I moved to Paris three months ago to be an aupair, with not an ounce of familiarity here.

To say I’m relieved to finally be living in Europe would be a complete and utter lie. These have been some of the most confusing months of my life and if anything, I’ve felt the complete opposite of “relief” so far.

The first two weeks, I was excited, getting to know my host family, exploring my new whereabouts, meeting people I had been talking to online for quite some time.

But surely enough the newness adrenaline faded and I was left feeling like I’ve made a terrible mistake. Ten months was seeming way too long to be abroad.

I was having trouble driving the manual car, understanding kid’s that speak a different language than me, getting used to a completely different diet and realizing they don’t have Guayaki yerba mate in France. I was facing true culture shock for the first time in my life.

I desperately wanted to call it quits and go back home… But that’s the thing.

I have no idea what home even means anymore. I love San Diego with a majority of my heart but I have no desirable place to run back to. An apartment would cost an arm and a leg, my dad’s house stresses me out and there’s no way in hell I’ll be living in my mom’s trailer again.

Before moving to France, I was looking to find a host family that offered a single apartment, in the city center of Paris, with not too many kids, good pay, food and transportation paid for. I knew these setups existed as an aupair because I’ve seen others accomplish it online. You sort of cheat the system this way by still living in Paris, but not paying for your own rent, while only working 25 hours a week, with cute kids.

I searched and searched for a family that offered all these points but couldn’t find one before September. Families would reach out but then I’d never hear from them again. I almost felt undeserving of such conditions. Like it was too good to be true and that this type of setup belongs to someone more worthy, someone more proper than me.

I think this is a common mindset for those of us that grow up poor. Like we aren’t deserving of living in grandness.

I was so eager to commit to a family because if I didn’t, I would either

have to move back in with one of my parents which mentally I just refused to do
find a lease to sign fast with some friends but nevermind because they were all moving back to their parent’s too

Time was flying by and I needed to start the visa process. I never ended up connecting with a family that offered all those things. But I did end up committing to a family just outside of the city, that was offering a room in their house and two cute little boys to look after.

I facetimed my now host family a couple times before and agreed to bend my original expectations to come stay with them. I figured that getting along with the family I was working with was more important than any materialistic living situation. They seemed cool so I said fuck it, as long as I was out of America for some time.

Instead of my own apartment, I would be getting a more family oriented aupair experience, which is honestly the usual standard. I would live in a room in their house, eat my meals with them, use their car, and be in a more residential neighborhood. Basically, you get paid to be a big sister.

Going into it, I already knew I opted out of the typical Parisian lifestyle, even though that was my original desire. I was somewhat bummed but realistically, I was only a 30 minute train ride out of the city so I didn’t think it would be too difficult to deal with.

But after 3 months, I still hadn’t gotten used to the commute or the more suburban lifestyle. I started to have second thoughts. What if I rematched families…

I found friends that live in the city center, ones that ended up signing contracts under the exact conditions I was looking for. They seem to have everything I originally wanted and I convinced myself that I wouldn’t be satisfied until I was living like they were.

Every time I visit them I get jealous, jealous they can have people over whenever they please, jealous they can go to the store and buy whatever food they want. Sound familiar?

After sobbing to my host family last week, expressing my thoughts, I ended up telling them I wanted to relocate. I had already made up my mind and figured there was nothing they could do or say to make me stay.

Which then brought up a major moral dilemma. Leave the family I committed to, giving them one month to find an aupair who has not only a valid visa but someone who can also drive a manual gear car. Or, finish out my contract for 6 more months, counting down the days and being unhappy with my living situation.

Either way, one of us loses.

I love my host family. They are silly, casual, sporty, I get along with them great. I feel comfortable telling them literally anything. I know that trust can be hard to find, especially under a working contract.

I’ve grown to understand the little boys, ages 2 and 5. Their quirks, interests, habits, language. I truly do feel like a big sister to them and look forward to spending time with them everyday.

Their contagious laughs immediately uplift my mood. I love messing with them, humbling them like a normal big sister would. Our car drives where they dance to my music on the radio. Bath time when the mom and I keep them entertained by being silly.

Recently the boys have loved playing “doctor,” where I am the doctor stitching all their wounds and they are the patients. Realistically I’m just poking them with a play fork and knife where they tell me to. We do this every. single. night.

I love playing soccer with the older boy on Wednesday evenings. Giving him piggy back rides all the way home because suddenly his legs don’t work after all that soccer. Sometimes I bring him his scooter to ride back home on and this last Wednesday I found an abandoned office chair to roll on alongside him. We have so much fun together.

I pick the little one up from nursery and when it rains we search for snails in the bushes. “Escargot,” as the French would say. He’s always so stoked to find at least one. It’s super pure.

Before having the conversation with my host family about me wanting to leave, I sat and ate lunch with them and the 2 year old. I couldn’t help but start tearing up as I looked into the little boys’ eyes and received his big, food covered smile. Him holding my arm, while I burry my face in my left hand. Our chairs sit next to each other everyday at the table. He had no idea the news I was about to break to his parents.

he always takes his shoes off when I’m driving

I didn’t have it in me to leave these boys, let alone the parents that have brought me into their home so willingly. Sure they pay me to do so but at the end of the day, they’ve grown to be my second family, I can picture these people attending my wedding.

After the tragic conversation, I was at a loss. I didn’t know which direction to choose and didn’t know who to put first.

The mom explained that the entire point of being an aupair was to be welcomed into a foreign family dynamic. That me leaving and them finding a new aupair to get used to would be devastating for the young boys. That 3 months is not enough time to feel comfortable in a new setting but if I wanted my own studio apartment in the rich parts of Paris, I should just go get a normal job.

The dad told me that someone originally warned him about hosting an American aupair. That we always want more. More money, more time off, more food, more benefits. That an aupair from somewhere like Brazil would be far more grateful to be given what I was.

That Americans typically follow through with this experience thinking it’s more of a vacation while others may see it as a way out of their toxic homes or third world countries.

Hearing these things said straight to my face really struck a chord. It was the reality check I finally needed to hear.

The host dad and I both laid on separates sides of the couch, staring at the ceiling, not knowing what our next moves should be.

After chalking things up, I thought maybe, just maybe, this is another lessons learned situation.

When things are hard, it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re wrong.

That maybe it takes someone from a completely different country, a mother at that, with more life experience to tell me that quitting a job I committed to three months in is not a way to go about life. Which, little did she know, is a pattern I saw within myself all throughout college.

Every time I even remotely started to dislike my job, I left, despite me having been there for only a couple months and despite any prior commitment I had made to the company or person.

The host dad was also right. Just like middle and high school me, I always compared what I had to my friends around me, constantly wanting more and more and never being truly satisfied with what I had.

I did a lot of reflecting that day, and have continued to ever since. Who am I kidding, all I do is reflect… What they said really stuck with me and I’m glad they laid it all on me like they did. I see them as mentors.

Would moving locations make me finally appreciate my life or would I just come up with something else to complain about living in the city center? The metro, the noise, the lack of simplicity in a more chaotic area.

The grass isn’t always greener on the other side, it’s green where you water it.

I’ve decided to stay. After realizing the turmoil it would put on my host family, the people I’ve grown to love so much, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Yeah, maybe that means putting their wishes over mine, but I wouldn’t say I’m miserable here. I just have a couple lessons to learn. Maybe that’s the whole point.

In fact, there are a lot of pluses I was completely disregarding before. They give me a car to use at my disposal, now they’re even offering me a moped for more accessibility into the city. They desperately wanted to make things work, instead of giving up and just replacing me, which I appreciate tremendously.

The dad has a full workshop garage I’m allowed to use whenever I wish, where I can finally make the spoon rings I’ve been talking about for so long. I love that I finally have my own room and the complete silence in this town, two things I always complained about in my apartment in Long Beach. I feel very safe here, even at night, something I don’t think would feel the same if I lived in the city center. They literally have a sauna on their roof they let me use for crying out loud.

If I left, it was only in HOPES for something better, but never a guaranteed.

Aside from the materialistic benefits I just listed, the family itself is a huge reason I’ve decided to stay. The laughs we share, the adventures, the conversations. I enjoy hanging out with them, even on my off hours.

I love that it really does feel like I have a family on the other side of the world now. And after reading the messages in the aupair chat of 1000+ people, that doesn’t seem to be a super common outcome.

Again, I am reminded, that it’s the little things that matter most with the people around me. Money and materialistic things always being outweighed.

…

Moving countries has felt super weird. We escape our problems in our native country only to find them under a magnifying glass in the next.

So you’re telling me our habits FOLLOW US? Yes, shocking, I know.

It feels like I’m staring myself in the face and am being met with uncomfortable honesty.

my brothers, me, creampuff and her kittens

I would blame so many of my struggles on external, larger factors in the trailer and again in college. But it wasn’t until I left that I realized what’s making me miserable is always wishing for more, in every situation I’ve been in. Even when I was surrounded by so much good.

I thought moving to France, that I would miss my automatic car and having a larger income in which I do, but what I miss so much more is hanging out on my balcony late at night chatting with my roommate, Jenna. Our car drives, our gym dates, our chipotle nights. All things easy to acquire without a ton of money.

I miss cackling with her. I miss being on the same time zone as Mitchell and only having a 45 minute drive on the 405 between us. I miss running into acquaintances at Trader Joe’s. I miss sitting on Kayla’s big brown couch, watching youtube videos or going on evening walks.

It always, always, always, comes back to the little moments we share with the people around us. The materialistic things get in the way and sometimes can even tear us further apart. They never fulfill us as much as genuine human connection will.

We must learn to be grateful for the situations we are in, while we’re in them. Instead of constantly wishing things away, try leaning in. Because before you know it, time will pass, and you’ll miss things you used to complain about.

Focus on the small moments.

Be where your feet are.

Hey there.

Nov 30 Fed with a plastic spoon

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Hey there.

Nov 30 Fed with a plastic spoon

Jun 30 a Rose Blooms in Chaos