18 Third Party Interference

I knew I had to do something to stop the havoc. It was one long effort to hold the center while everything else spun out. More unraveling. More silence. More chaos I was somehow expected to both ignore and manage.

I was still trying to work together. I kept reaching for collaboration, hoping someone on the other side might finally acknowledge the impact of what was happening. I wasn’t asking for anything dramatic. Just basic cooperation. Shared responsibility. A willingness to prioritize stability. I was trying to keep the bigger picture in view, even as the pieces kept falling through my hands.

But each attempt landed with a thud. My words and pleas fell like silent raindrops. I was so desperate.

I reached out plainly. I expressed that we’re all in a bad spot. I pleaded to set everything else aside and focus on helping them feel safe and supported.

I wasn’t trying to start a fight. I was begging someone to help me help them. To stop using them as emotional sounding boards. To stop making their lives harder with avoidable instability.

Silence.

I reached out again. I included others in the household, hoping for additional help. I just stated the truth. This was not working. And it was hurting them.

More silence.

Then, without warning, I found out that a significant trip had been planned and booked for someone. On my time. Without even informing me.

No discussion. No coordination. No respect. Just a ticket. Just the decision made.

Not a mistake. Not a miscommunication. A decision. One made without me, about a trip that directly impacted my schedule, my boundaries, and most importantly, them.

When I said this can’t happen without communication, I was suddenly the one making it difficult. Another impossible situation handed to me as if I had created it.

It wasn’t just the cost or the logistics. It was the message behind it. You don’t matter. Your voice is optional. You’ll catch up when we’re done.

Looking back, I should have stood my ground more. That was the impossible part of it. I thought I was picking battles, but in reality the battles were picking me.

Every time I tried to hold a boundary, I was handed the backlash. Every time I asked for communication, I was accused of causing stress. And each time, they were caught in the middle of the very thing I was trying to protect them from.

And for a moment, something broke through. One had a flash of clarity. It was named out loud. They saw the chaos. They indicated I had been up against more than anyone realizes. They acknowledged the other side constantly tears me down.

I should not have needed that confirmation, but hearing it hit hard. Not because I didn’t know, but because it was finally said.

So for the umpteenth time, I reached out to express what I should never have had to say in the first place.

Stop talking about me to them.

Stop disparaging me because I’m the one doing the hard work.

Stop shaping their perception just because I won’t pretend this is fine.

The fact that I had to say it again wasn’t just frustrating. It was revealing.

Because if anyone had truly been trying to put them first, that would not need to be said at all.

And yet, I kept trying.

By the end of the month, I sat down for coffee with someone tied to that household. I tried one more time.

I laid it all out. The missed meetings. The lack of boundaries. The instability. I asked, genuinely, if there was any willingness to help. To intervene. To be an ally in creating structure. I wasn’t expecting a miracle. Just a moment of honesty. A conversation rooted in care.

And their first response, after everything I had just said, was a question about whether they themselves were disliked or not by the others.

It stopped me cold. That was the takeaway? Not the consequences. Not the silence. Not the growing damage. But whether they were disliked?

I had hoped for a different kind of response. That was the moment I realized something I had not wanted to admit.

It wasn’t that they didn’t understand. It was that they didn’t want to. I wasn’t up against misunderstanding. I was up against detachment. Not the messy, angry kind. The polite kind. The kind that smiles and nods and never steps in. The kind that keeps its hands clean by pretending there is nothing to clean up.

The kind that smiles through crisis and calls it grace. The kind that nods but does nothing. The kind that quietly benefits from my presence while never backing it.

And that detachment, trying to be masked as neutrality, wasn’t neutral at all. It was permissive. It let dysfunction thrive and left me holding the fallout.

There was a nod and a comment that they encourage him to do more. They indicated they see it too.

Finally. An acknowledgment that not everything was fine. I felt a small sense of relief. I thought, good, they see it.

I said gently but clearly, you absolutely can set expectations. This affects them too much not to.

They nodded again. I could feel my sense of relief fade. That was where the cooperation ended. It was all lip service. Any illusion I had of an ally evaporated as soon as I left the tip on the table.

What followed were more decisions made without me. More consequences passed quietly to my side of the line.

And I kept trying. I kept texting. I kept stepping in when no one else would. Not for peace anymore. But for the ones caught in the middle.

Because while their loyalty may have been pulled in every direction, their foundation still mattered. And even if I was the only one naming the harm, I wasn’t going to let it keep happening in silence.

And I wasn’t just dealing with irresponsibility. I was also dealing with interference. The same person who booked the ticket had inserted themselves before. They had stepped in during a previous situation, even though others were already present and supporting the resolution. This wasn’t unfamiliar. This was a pattern. It kept happening, and it kept being denied.

I don’t blame the ones caught in the middle for how they responded. They were adapting to the environment they were in. Taking cues from the adults around them.

But the adults knew better. Or should have.

They had choices. They had context. They had the ability to step in, to communicate, to create guardrails. And instead, they stepped back. Again and again. Watching the harm unfold from a safe distance, then calling it neutrality.

What they called staying out of it was actually enabling it. What they labeled as peacekeeping was just permission.

And in the absence of any real protection, I became the one thing they could push against. Because I was there.

So no. I won’t shoulder this quietly.

I won’t pretend it was all a misunderstanding.

It wasn’t.

It was a sustained refusal by grown adults to do the bare minimum.

This is my personal account and reflection.