DEAR JANE: I REFUSE to fly in coach with my family on our vacation so I booked myself in first class – they called me SPOILED and uninvited me from the trip

Dear Jane,

My family and I are in the process of booking our annual vacation Christmas holiday, which has been a tradition for as long as I can remember.

What started as a small gathering at my uncle’s cabin when we were kids has turned into a big deal – and this year we’re all going to Germany so that my mother can finally make her dream of walking through a real Christmas market come true.

There are fourteen of us in total, which makes planning a bit crazy – especially when it comes to budgeting, where some in the family want to cut back, while others want to spend.

I don’t come from a wealthy family, but I’m quite successful now and have developed something of a taste for luxury. Put it this way: There’s no way I’m happily spending eight hours on the bus, squashed between strangers with questionable hygiene.

So when it came to booking our flights, I told everyone I would pay for myself to fly first class. I work very hard and for me the R&R part of my holiday starts the moment I step into the lounge and order my first glass of wine.

Unfortunately, as far as my family is concerned, that is not acceptable.

When I told my mother about my plans, she said I was ruining family time and that we should all fly together. She said my aunts would think I was superior if I flew alone first.

We ended up having a pretty awful fight, where she accused me of ‘hoity toity manners’, and said I should probably skip the whole trip.

I feel like I shouldn’t be the one pulling away here, but she sees no point or reason in this. Should I sacrifice my boundaries to make my family happy just because they can’t afford the same luxuries as me?!

By,

Airplane furious

Dear airplane indignant,

On the one hand, you work hard, you clearly have the kind of disposable income that would allow you to fly first class, and there should be no reason why you can’t treat yourself to the kind of vacation you think you deserve.

However, this trip is not about you, but about a family vacation and an annual tradition.

I assume you have flown in the back of the bus before, otherwise this problem would have occurred. Your vacation may start with a complimentary glass of wine in the first-class lounge, but unless your family joins you, you’re already separating yourself from them, and that’s the problem here.

Family outings are never about us; they are about empathy, accepting that we can do whatever we want on our own holidays, but when we travel in a pack we put our own needs aside to do what is best for the group.

If your family is traveling together en masse, their vacation might also start at the airport, all together. Removing yourself before the flight can, as your mother points out, feel like you’re removing yourself from the group for your family.

If you can explain to your mother that you need some quiet time to yourself on the plane, but plan to do everything else with the family once you land, that can ease her fears.

If not, reserve that seat in the carriage and put it a bit in the slums – who knows, given the proximity, you might even make new friends… Buy yourself a good neck pillow, download a some relaxing playlists on Spotify and buy an excellent book.

Dear Jane,

I got married in 12th grade and thought this would be the answer to all my problems.

My home life was never great – I was the youngest of seven children and my parents were very strict. In high school, I was probably the only 16-year-old who wasn’t allowed to leave the front yard, even though I was never really in trouble.

I didn’t have any friends or birthday parties or anything like that. My parents fought all the time and I saw my father physically abuse my mother as a child.

So marriage seemed like an escape.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

Our relationship ended completely loveless and I had lost all hope until I finally met my soulmate at work. We fell in love very quickly and I planned to leave my husband for him.

But then I found out I was pregnant – and when I told him, he said he wasn’t ready to be a father yet, and told me to have an abortion, which I couldn’t bear.

So I made the worst decision. I told my husband the child was his and have kept it a secret ever since.

I have been lying to him for 36 years now, pretending my little girl is his daughter the entire time, even though I know the horrible truth.

As I’ve gotten older, my feelings of shame and guilt have only increased. It’s eating me up inside now and I don’t know how much longer I can deal with it.

But surely it would break my husband’s heart if he knew the truth after all these years? Not to mention my daughter’s…

Any advice?

By,

Dirty secret

Dear Dirty Secret,

There’s an old saying that secrets are a disease, and as you’ll discover, carrying the weight of a secret like this is a heavy burden indeed.

And the truth is that these kinds of secrets are likely to get out, given how many DNA sites there are, how easy it is to innocently take a test thinking you might discover an interesting genealogy, only to find out that there are many secrets closer to home. .

Your daughter is 36 and she deserves to know, just like your husband. I assume you’re still together, and I wonder if you’ve learned to love him after all this time.

It will definitely be difficult to share this with both of them and no one can predict their reaction. They may understand that you were still very young at the time, came from a sheltered childhood, with little life experience, and did the best you could with the knowledge you had.

I’ve seen people discover similar family secrets through DNA sites, and I’ve seen them emerge from their shock and realize that even though their father is not their biological father, they are still their father and always will be.

In the same way, if you raised a child, attended their sports matches, nursed their skinned knees, held them when they cried, they are still your child, whether you are bound by blood or not.

Whatever the outcome, I suspect you will be happier once you are freed from the burden of this secret. I wish you the best.