Taking a break from the armchair analysis for a minute. Some other things have been weighing on me.

I’ve never been in this sort of socio-economic situation before. And if, during my formative years, my mom was ever dealing with something like this, she never let on. Not once. She had a boomer job with boomer benefits, and living relatives she could count on for backup. My dad was around – at a distance – but he was never really a helper or provider of warmth. Still, when he showed up, he’d take me on weekends, and as much as I don’t like to admit it, that did help. So, while my mom was doing the heavy lifting raising my brother and me, she still had a solid support network. She wasn’t out there solo.

I’m feeling isolated now. And yeah, I understood that feeling when I was living abroad… that’s part of the expatitude deal. But feeling that same isolation in your own hometown? That’s a different pill entirely. I came back to the homestead in 2019, and by 2025 my dad, then my mom, had both passed. My brother and his wife retired to Europe. Their son went off to spread his wings. Everyone moved on, one way or another. Same streets, same buildings… but the mandem and the family who made it home? Gone or scattered.

So yeah, I’ve never been in this sort of socio-economic situation before. And when I’m out applying for government assistance, sitting through seminars and workshops, I feel out of sync with the people there. Crudely put, I was never poor and now that I am, I don’t really feel connected to other poor people. But then I talk to my friends or the family I’ve got left, and I feel out of sync there too. It’s not that they treat me differently… they don’t. But in how they approach problems, needs, and wants, it’s clear they’re not living the same reality. You know? Them upgrading to business class with points… me juggling rent and my daughter’s material desires. Same conversations, completely different worlds.

As for how I got here, the Jimmy Buffett lyric keeps running through my head: “some people claim that there’s a woman to blame… and I know, it’s my own damn fault.”

And yeah… there’s no doubt I feel royally fucked over by my ex-wife. Her mental health breakdown was sad — genuinely sad — but watching her spit toxicity and burn through our money on retail therapy just angers me now. She pays no child support, and there’s nothing I can do about it because her motherland isn’t a signatory to the deadbeat parent conventions. So, it just sits there. No resolution. No recourse. Just another weight to carry.

Even when I came back to Canada penniless, living with my mom and working as a janitor for a paltry sum, I still didn’t feel poor. My colleagues were kind. My mom was a huge help. So even though the situation looked rough on paper, it felt richer than what I’m living now. I had a little money coming in. I could pay more than the minimum on old debts. I could live modestly with my daughter. Then my mom got sick and died in what felt like an instant. I had to leave my job. And just like that, the richness disappeared.

I don’t look forward to Christmas anymore. I don’t look forward to my daughter’s birthday either. They used to be highlights. Now they’re reminders of traditions I can’t afford to maintain. And that hits deeper than I expected. It’s not just about money it’s about feeling like you’re falling short in ways you never had to before.

So yeah…

So tired.
So very tired.