The Twelve-Hour Turnaround

This week has been an emotional rollercoaster. I feel like dead weight, like I'm sitting on the train in the middle of the night, slumped over and exhausted, swaying this way and that as the train turns and bumps its way to my destination. Unknown.

Two days ago, I got kicked out of my host parents' house. I have been living with them and working as an au pair for this family for six weeks. I moved across the world with the intention to come be a part of their family and take care of their kids, while they taught me about their culture and helped me adapt to a new country, with different government and social rules.

We all sat down together Monday night after the boys were in bed. They started by saying that they appreciate how great I am with the kids but that they think it'll be a long year ahead. They were right. Things in the house hadn't been great. After the first couple weeks I thought we'd get to know each other better and I would start to feel like I was at home. I wanted to feel comfortable but instead I just felt like I was imposing.

Little things happened which made me unsure of myself in my new surroundings. I brought popcorn home from the movies one night and the next night someone had thrown it away. One week I didn't know I was supposed to do groceries and it caused a big fuss, the week after my host mom said don't worry about it if she's home, and the week after while she was home and I didn't worry about it, the groceries waited two hours in the entryway until I came on shift and put them away, including the milk. Fridays during dinner we'd all have a glass of wine, but Tuesday when we ate Mexican food I wasn't allowed to have a beer with my meal. Things like this confused me and made me feel like I should be extra conscious of their expectations; however, they didn't come out and say them and I, for some reason, didn't go out of my way to clear them up. I felt as if I only owned the space around me. I felt like I was in their way.

So when they told me it wasn't working, I agreed! I myself had wondered if this situation could sustain itself for a year, and I had called the agency that acts as the middle man between the family, the government, and the au pair to discuss my options if things were to not work out. I had made up my mind to talk openly with my host parents and get clear on the expectations, lining out things like the schedule and what my role was in the household, and give it an honest effort. If things still weren't working after another month or two, then I would go in a different direction. I had come downstairs with my notebook and pen, ready to ask for the clarity I needed.

To repeat myself, they opened with saying that they appreciate how great I am with the kids but that they think it'll be a long year ahead. They said that I would be better off with a host family who embraces me, who I am, my podcast and social media, my active social life, and so on.
But after they ended their "We think you need a new host family..." sentence with "...so we've arranged for you to go to a safe house in the morning where you will spend the next three weeks," I was utterly shocked. After a long pause, all I said was "Oh." I couldn't believe this. It was 11 pm. This meant what? That I would have to pack up my room all night, be waiting at the door in a few hours, ready to leave quietly and respectfully, knowing that even though I was headed two hours away to some strange house in a small town in a rural area of a country I am not familiar with, that things would probably work out and I would be fine in the end? Did they consider me at all?

"And you have to realize, this was not an easy decision for us. We've thought about it long and hard over the past two weeks."

Weeks. Weeks. They've been mulling over this for weeks. This is the first time I'm hearing this. I have to move tomorrow. What is happening? Why didn't they tell me? After a few minutes of them talking I finally came around to the reality. It's already been done. So I set about finding out the logistics. And since I couldn't hold my head high, I stuck my fist under my chin, set my elbow on something stable, and propped myself up so I could fake it. I asked them what time I was supposed to be gone, and if someone was coming for me in the morning.

"We can give you a ride if you want, if you have too many bags for the train."
Wow. Duh, I have too many bags for the train. I have to completely MOVE tomorrow. I wan't very keen on going with one of them, but I continued nonetheless.

"Where is this place?"

"Well, we don't know. You can certainly call the agency tomorrow. They are open from 9 am."

Cool. So I'm supposed to be gone the next morning. They're not sure where I'm going but it's "somewhere safe". I should take their word for it, I guess I'm supposed to trust them? It was a lost cause trying to get answers from them, so I said, "Okay then. Good talk!" and went upstairs.
In my room I called my friend, cried, called my sister, cried, added my best friend, Kyan, to the call and switched to FaceTime, and gradually moved from sad to mad. I don't like to play the victim. But I felt that this was completely unfair and inconsiderate. I felt betrayed. I was pissed.

I stayed up till 1 am talking shit and catching up with the two people who get me through everything. I didn't care at this point if I was keeping my housemates up. I didn't care if they heard what I was saying.

I woke up the next day at 8 am. I made coffee and while I drank it, I reactivated my online profile and started browsing profiles of potential new host families. I messaged a few. At 9:22 I got a call from my lady at the au pair agency. Then I heard about a whole lot of complaints from my host family that again, I was the last to hear about. It became known to me that they had searched out my twitter account, my blog, and my podcast, and had seen or heard all of my posts.

Now, I know that anything I put on the internet is public information, duh. I usually don't have anything bad to say. I didn't change my Facebook status to "Looking for a new host family, this one sucks! They're address is ____________ come beat them up or harm their children," but I had complained about them a few times on one platform: Twitter.

Twitter is the place you go to vent, to act cool, to joke about shit that makes you mad, and to basically let any thought fly out of you without a second glance. I had complained about the popcorn, about an argument I'd had one day with one of their kids, about whatever, but I had never posted their address. I had never said, "This person, first and last name, is a piece of shit." Still, I sat there, embarrassed, on the other end of the phone as the representative from the au pair agency scolded me for such poor behavior. I'm mortified.

Well, I still have to pack my room, and I really don't want to take the long car ride with them, so as I wash and fold and put things into suitcases I try to make other arrangements. I could have a friend come get me that evening but he didn't get off work till 4:30, putting him at my house around 5. My host parents were not receptive to my suggestions and it was clear they wanted me out of there as soon as possible. So they kindly extended the time to 3 pm... but I still had to ride over with one of them.

Meanwhile, Maciah told her host parents what had happened, and before she even got through the story they insisted that I come stay with them in Amsterdam instead of some safe house in the middle of farm country. Thank God for kind, welcoming people.

Five minutes till 3 o'clock my host dad texts me, asking if I would need help with my bags. My independent ass would never allow this. I lugged all my stuff downstairs and then loaded it all into the car as they stood there awkwardly, as I had denied help again and they had nothing to do with their hands. I was out by the car and I could tell that they were going to attempt to say a parting word or something.

The host mom stood at the door and wished me well, saying she hopes I find somewhere I can feel at home and accepted. "Yep." I said, without a smile, as I shook her hand and headed back out to the car.

"We're actually not going to the safe house. We're going to Amsterdam," I told the dad as he got in.
He put in the address I gave him and we set out on a quiet, awkward, car ride.

20 minutes went by before I broke the silence. I told him that while I was packing that morning I had listened to a few podcast episodes and anytime I had said their names, in passing or while talking about my new life in Holland, I had taken those bits out and now it just said "host mom" or "host dad". I also assured him that I deleted any tweets about them, however vague, and that I had never intended to put their privacy or identity at risk.

That sparked some constructive conversation where I got out some of my feelings and was mostly diplomatic, but still blunt about my fears of finding a new family, my fear of being in a foreign country without much support, my anger over hearing this all for the first time and not having a chance to fix the issue and cooperate with them, and I was not polite when I repeated what I'd been thinking ever since Maciah's host parents invited me into their home, "Thank God they're kind and welcoming people."

He was receptive and open on his end, we talked respectfully for the duration of the car ride, and he gave me some money as he dropped me off outside the houseboat that would be my resting place from there on out. I unloaded my bags, again denying help because thanks, I can take it from here, shook his hand, and headed inside. I could finally breathe.

Maciah and I hung out with the kids that afternoon, and I happily distracted myself from my worries by playing cars with the two toddlers. Maciah's host parents got home in the evening and we all had dinner together. This was the first time I actually met them, although I'd heard so many wonderful things about them and had spent a weekend at their place with my sister while they were on a trip somewhere a week ago. They were understanding, comforting, welcoming, and equally confused and irritated over the events of the past 12 hours. We all chatted in the living room and played with the kids until bedtime, and once tiny snores were coming through the baby monitor their parents left to go for a late-night swim together.

When they got back something amazing happened. They sat down and invited me to live with them for the next year, becoming their second au pair, allowing them to take the kids out of day care and eliminating the expense of a dog walker. I was... shocked, again. Was it really going to be this easy? Did I... actually just find a new host family, a new home, one I didn't have to bring my suitcases to and settle in? Are these people... for real, this amazing?

Of course I accepted, and I went from angry and scared to incredibly grateful and amazed. We talked about the logistics over tea: where I would stay, what my responsibilities would be, if all of us were on board with the new plan. They made sure to announce that the final word would be Maciah's, since she was here first. Then they went to bed and my sister and I went for a skate, shouting back and forth over the noise of skateboard wheels on brick, "Is this real?! We live together now, dude! They are such nice people. We're going to be like family! I can't believe this is happening! Is this real??"

The next day the agency was called to see if it was allowed. Paperwork was started and I stayed limp, being tossed around by the waves of change, weakly thanking my new host parents and getting through the day tired, incredulous, and a little out of it.

Today is my third day here in this house boat. I finally slept a full 8 hours and worked through my thoughts with a pen. This is the best I've felt in months and I'm completely optimistic about the year ahead for the first time since I moved here.

Am I still a little bitter? Yes. I do hope they regret their decision. I hope they reconsider their firm stance in this situation and that it causes them to act differently in the future. I can't say that I wish
them well, that I hope they find a new childcare situation quickly and that my replacement has a positive, nurturing relationship with them. I can't say that because at this point I still hold hope that they will miss my presence, miss the type of mentor, teacher, and playmate I was for their kids, and be remorseful about the way they treated me throughout the conflict. That's my pride. But overall, I am thankful that they were harsh and inconsiderate, because it landed me here. And I will spend the next 10 months living on a ship in Amsterdam with two amazing people, two great kids, and my best friend, Maciah. God Bless.