E6: White Trash

So a couple of days ago, my phone rings. It's my cousin — who, by the way, is an amazing human and a very important person in my life. And I can tell by her voice that something is off. Now, me and my cousin have been through a lot together — that's a story you're gonna hear, I promise — but this call was one of many calls that have unfortunately happened quite a few times in the past couple of years. But this one takes the cake. So she's talking and talking, and then all of a sudden I hear the familiar words that come before a bomb is dropped — a bomb that I always welcome, mind you. She stops mid-story and says: "I'm always hesitant to tell you these things because I don't want it to be hurtful."

And my heart stopped. Like my whole body was on fire from the bomb that wasn't even dropped yet. Like every cell in my body was already running around with a little tiny fire extinguisher, trying to put out a fire that hadn't even started.

Okay — so I need to pause right here. Because for you to understand what she's about to say, and why it almost knocked me on my ass, I gotta back it up first. But don't you worry — by the end of this episode, you are going to hear exactly what a woman who helped raise me thinks about me and this podcast. I'm gonna go grab my daddy tissues right now, because I may need them.

But before I do that — I want to first welcome you back, my friends. This is your host, Gina Sullivan, and you are listening to Daddy Tissues.

[INTRO MUSIC]

Okay. So today is a day I'm gonna be real and raw to the bone with you. I mean, I'm always real — but right now is like, real real.

I was so fucking scared to start this podcast. Terrified. And if you've been listening, you know that word doesn't come out of my mouth a lot, because I'm not scared of anything. And the reason I'm not scared of anything is because I've already had some crazy shit happen to me. When your worst fears have already come true, fear kind of loses its job.

But this? This one I felt. In my body. A feeling I have not felt in a really long time.

Because I always knew that one day I was gonna get my story out there — a book, a podcast, something — to help other women, and men too, who have been through what I've been through. And I told myself I'd do it when I was ready. Then I sat down to actually do it, and I realized something: I was never gonna be ready. There is no "ready" for this.

So scared of what, Gina? Great question. Let me give you the list.

My fear of the legal stuff — because Baby Daddy Number One has taken me to court more times than you could ever imagine. I literally do not know the number. I can tell you that if I ever added it up, I'd have something that qualifies for the Guinness Book of World Records. And maybe one day, when I'm bored — if that day ever comes, which at the moment feels like pure fiction — I'll put in an application or whatever you gotta do to claim that title. But let's just say: it was a long eighteen years of me and my son's life. That story is coming. And when it comes, you're gonna need more than daddy tissues. You're gonna need the whole paper aisle at Costco.

Also, my deep fear of being judged — especially by people that I love. And by people who I thought loved me.

And my fear of hurting people by telling my story. So — and I'm only saying this once, so everybody listen up — me telling the stories of my life is not about putting anybody on blast. I'm not using names. I'm doing this as safely as I possibly can. I love everyone I'm about to talk about, because I love everyone, period. That's just what's inside me. But I am speaking my truth. And if my truth affects somebody, I hope in the end it helps them grow, the same way all the horrible things that happened to me helped me grow. That's it. That's the disclaimer. You will not hear it again, because we covered this in episode one: we are done shrinking.

But here's the honest part, and this is hard to admit. Five episodes in, every single week, I have been holding this fear before I hit publish. And I've been stalling. I have. I've been handing you frogs and nail polish — and I meant every single word of those episodes — but part of me knew I was clinging to the edge, circling the deep end, avoiding the actual story.

Well, girls... somebody just pushed me in the mother fucking pool.

So let me tell you about my aunt.

Growing up, my aunt was almost like a second mother to me. My mom worked her ass off — all day, every day. My aunt didn't work; she was home with her kids. So when I needed advice — about boys, about love, about friends, about clothes, about life, about everything you'd go to your mom or your best friend about — a lot of the time, it came from her. I talked to that woman constantly. She was a big part of my entire life.

I mean, I remember when I was little, I LOVED hanging out with her. She was so beautiful and cool and fun. She would take me shopping, or have sleepovers where we would watch movies at her cool apartment, playing with her two cats — Calvin and Klein. Her life, to me, was like Sex and the City — but like, a six-year-old's version, without the adult stuff. One time, I remember her taking me to the circus with her boyfriend — and we had this little plan where I was gonna act all innocent and cute and ask him, right in front of her, like it wasn't planned: "Are you gonna marry my aunt?" I can still picture her laughing, with her bright pink lipstick, iconic 80s hair, and an amazing fur coat. It was so much fun, and I felt so special to her. Because she was special to me.

Then when I was like seven or eight maybe, she married my uncle, who I absolutely adored. I was the flower girl, along with my younger sister — who had chicken pox that day. I have so many good memories of that day. Me, my sister, and my older cousin being announced as the bridal party, walking down this beautiful staircase in this old, amazing mansion on the water where she had her wedding. It also happened to be my younger sister slash best friend's birthday. My mom looked beautiful, all dressed up, even though she was running around stressed like us moms do — taking the baby to a babysitter's and two kids to a wedding, one who could not stop scratching her chicken pox. I remember my dad being loud and drunk, but he was really funny. Everyone always enjoyed his hysterical drunk ass... except for his own family. He was asked to take the video footage — because back then I don't think there was such a thing as a videographer — except he was having too much fun drinking with his friends and his brothers instead of actually taking the video. And my aunt was upset. Understandably. And my grandmom just kept complaining about how hot it was — bless her little heart in heaven.

Throughout my entire life, my aunt was one of my role models. She had this beautiful home, with an amazing husband who doted on her — they had an amazing relationship, unlike my parents. Three adorable kids. The big in-ground pool. They had the best of the best — toys, clothes, bedrooms — the kids went to the best private schools. Her house was always clean and tastefully decorated and it smelled nice. And no offense to my mother — she did her very best to give us everything she had. But I just related to my aunt so much. We both had blonde hair, we both loved style and fashion and beauty products — all the girly things my mom wasn't so much into — so her and I bonded a lot. And she had the time to give me. My mom was always working and couldn't give us the time I know she wished she could have. Honestly, this is a big reason I always wanted to stay home with my kids — to volunteer at school, to bake cookies for after school — because that's what my aunt did, and I thought it was so amazing that her kids got to have that.

Even through adulthood, she was always there for me. I talked to her about everything. My breakups. Boy advice. She had this phrase she would say — JCE — meaning a man had to be "just cute enough," because being with the hot guys always equaled trouble. And I guess I decided to never follow that rule, and maybe that's why I'm here. Who knows. We talked about everything — arguments with my friends, things going on at home. At points in my life we spoke daily, especially when I was having trouble in my marriage. She was so supportive, always trying to give good advice. She would pack me a lunch sometimes and bring it with her when she came to get her hair done. Her and my uncle hosted all the holidays — they brought my whole family together, and they tried their very best to help everyone they could, including me. I had my son's birthday parties at her house. If I ever needed them, I knew they would be right there. I loved them dearly. And one day, I hoped to have a life just like theirs.

And then... I got divorced.

And looking back — the divorce itself wasn't even the issue so much. It was what I did afterwards, I guess, that she didn't agree with. And that is an understatement. There is so much that happened. But basically, right around the time I got divorced — three, four years ago — something happened between her and I. I'm gonna tell you that full story when we get to it in the timeline, I promise. But what I can tell you today is this: practically overnight, I went from being like a daughter to this woman... to being her arch enemy. And listen — she has a lot of people she doesn't like. And she has a LOT to say about them. I just could never, in my wildest dreams, have imagined I would become one of those people.

And it was so painful that I don't think even the people closest to me know how painful. Because I act strong. I hold it together. That's just what I do. If I sat down and cried over every single thing that has happened to me, I would never get to live a happy life. So I take these things, and I use them to grow, and I keep it moving, because everything is about perspective, right?

And ALSO — as of right now, today, this exact minute? This shit still hurts.

Because I've learned that two things can be true at the same time. Welcome to healing.

Now here's the beautiful part. Because you know me — I will find the beauty in the breakdown. It's kind of the whole show.

When everything blew up with my aunt, something good came out of it: my cousin. Her daughter.

Here's the thing about my cousin. Her trauma is also my trauma — just in different ways, because we're related. And you're gonna understand that sentence a whole lot better in a few weeks. But when everything happened, my cousin needed me. Like, really needed me. And I was there. Because I am always there for the people I love — that is just who I am, and it's never gonna change.

And out of all that wreckage, me and her built a bond we never had before. We made a commitment to each other: we stay our true, authentic selves. No matter what it costs. And I know she's listening right now, and I know that she knows nothing I say today is against her. We are in the same car, headed the same direction: toward freedom.

Okay. Before I get back to the phone call — and I promise you, we are getting back to the phone call — I need to explain something I believe with my whole being. Because it's the reason the phone call even happened the way it did.

When you love somebody... they deserve the truth.

Not the filtered truth. Not the "protected" truth. The truth truth. Even when it's gonna hurt them. ESPECIALLY when it's gonna hurt them. Because your job is not to keep the people you love away from pain. Your job is to tell them the truth, and then sit right next to them while they cry. Hold their hand. Get the tissues. Be there. The only person's emotions you are responsible for... are your own.

And listen, we ALL do the other thing. We are lying to people all day long and calling it love. We do it to babies! "Oh don't worry sweetie, the ice cream man is coming back." Ma'am. The ice cream man is NOT coming back. That child is simply not getting ice cream today. And deep down you know it, I know it, and honestly? The ice cream man knows it.

Or you gotta get to yoga class, so you distract the baby — "look at the birdie!" — and you sneak out the back door like you're in a James Bond movie. Because God forbid this child — or the person who has to watch them while mommy tries to get some sanity back before she overdoses on anxiety — experiences one negative emotion for even three seconds. And I did all of this too, by the way. The old me was the CEO of protecting everybody from everything.

But here's the problem, and I need you to really hear this: when we spend our whole lives protecting people from the truth, we raise people who cannot survive the truth. Nobody gets prepared for real life. And real life is coming for every single one of us.

Nobody prepared me for real life. Nobody prepared me for some of the rooms I've had to stand in. Some of the scary people I've had to face. I have been in many courtrooms — you actually get a little desensitized at some point — but there is one day, one single day, in a courtroom, that I have been carrying around like a bag of bricks and two elephants all at the same time. It was a wild experience, to say it nicely. And when I finally tell you about that day, you are going to understand everything about why this show exists.

Not today. Today is just about this one phone call.

So. Back to the call.

She stops mid-story and says it: "I'm always hesitant to tell you these things, because I don't want it to be hurtful."

Which, in cousin language, basically means: "I got some shit to unload, and it's gonna fucking stink."

Every alarm in my body is firing. And I said: "No. Tell me. I want to know."

Because — you see what's happening here? This is the truth thing, in action. I love her. She loves me. And when you love and respect somebody, you tell them the truth, and then you sit with them while they feel it. So she told me.

She said: "My mom listened to your podcast."

My aunt. Listened. To my podcast.

The woman who taught me about boys and love and life. The woman I ran to when I couldn't go to anybody else. She sat down, and she listened to me finally — FINALLY — telling the truth about my life.

You want to know what she said?

She said I'm white trash.

She said she could not believe the profanity.

She told my cousin — her own daughter — "you are so much better than her. You need to be careful spending time with someone like her."

And then — and this is my favorite part, honestly, this one's going on a t-shirt — she told her, "maybe you should listen to the podcast yourself, so you can hear how disgusting she is."

Yeah.

...That hurt a little bit.

Okay. Class is in session. Daddy Tissues University, girls — because I am not just gonna sit here and bleed on you. We're gonna learn something from this. That's what we do here.

Remember the boiling frog? Remember how I told you the toxic man doesn't always come dressed like chaos — sometimes he comes dressed like peace? Well, here's part two, and nobody warns you about part two: sometimes it comes dressed like family.

There is a kind of love in some families that is not actually love. It's approval. It's a contract you never signed. They love you as long as you play your role. Stay small. Stay quiet. Stay married. Stay struggling-but-smiling. Stay in the exact seat they assigned you at the table. And the second you step out of that role — you get divorced, you set a boundary, you tell the truth, you grab a microphone — you find out real fast that what you thought was unconditional love had terms and conditions the whole entire time. Written in print so fine it took me forty years and a divorce to read it.

And look — my aunt wasn't the only family member I lost to this fine print. She's just the first one who volunteered in class to be the example for everyone else.

Now. I need you to notice something about what my aunt said about my podcast. Notice what she did NOT say. Because there is one thing this woman has NOT stopped saying about me — to anybody who will listen — since the day I got divorced. And about this podcast? It's the one thing she didn't say.

She did not say I was lying.

She said "profanity." She said "white trash." She said "disgusting." She attacked the packaging, girls. Because she can't attack the contents. When people cannot call you a liar, they call you trash instead. That is not a review of your story. That is a review of how close your story is landing.

I told you in episode one: when one woman tells the truth, another woman gets free. Well, here's the flip side, and write this one down: when one woman tells the truth, the people who benefited from her silence lose their goddamn minds. Every time. It's simple math.

So this part is for you.

If your family flipped on you when you got divorced — you are not crazy.

If your own family believed the story of the man who threw that cute little frog into the water — the water that eventually boiled that little frog half to death — instead of believing the frog, or even ASKING that half-dead frog for her side of the story? You are not crazy.

If the people who watched you drown for years suddenly had a whole lot of opinions the minute you started swimming — you are not crazy.

If there's a person in your family who was your safe place your entire childhood, and became your enemy the moment you stopped performing — you are not crazy. And I need you to hear this one: you didn't lose them. The version of them you loved was only available to the version of you that behaved.

And if you are grieving somebody who is still alive — somebody you could technically call right now, except you can't, because the person who would answer the phone is not the person you miss — I know that grief. It doesn't get a funeral. Nobody sends flowers. There is no casserole for that one. But it is real grief, and you are allowed to feel it.

Now. Here's where we land this plane.

My biggest fear about this podcast — the exact fear, the specific one — was that people I love would hear it and judge me. That fear came true. Week five. Fastest manifestation of my entire life. I can't manifest a good parking spot at Target, but THIS came true immediately.

And you know what? I'm still here. Still standing. Still recording. I am not letting this take me down — I'm using it as fuel. Because that's the secret about your worst fear coming true: it's the very last power that fear has over you. One of the scariest things happened. And I survived it. So now?

Now there is nothing left to be afraid of. I'm free. She set me free, and I couldn't be more grateful. Truthfully.

She called me white trash for telling my story. But baby — trash gets thrown out. Truth gets set free.

And this mouth — this profane, disgusting, Philly mouth — this mouth is gonna help set a lot of women free. Maybe someday, even her. Because I love her. I do. I genuinely love her. And I know she is just trying to hurt me because she is hurt. She learned this somewhere. Somebody wrote that fine print into HER contract a long, long time ago. And remember — that doesn't excuse it. But it does explain it.

Okay, and since we are being real real today, one more piece of truth — because this one's a little scary to say out loud too.

This podcast is how I am trying to feed my kids, stay home with them, and live my passion of helping people — all at the same time. That's the dream. I'm building it right here in front of you, in real time, with a hamper full of laundry behind me.

So if this show has ever made you feel less alone, or less crazy, there is now a tip jar in the show notes. And here's the beautiful part. My aunt counted my profanity. So we're gonna call it a swear jar. Every "fuck" you heard today? Drop a dollar in. By my math, this episode alone should put my kids through private school like my cousins.

And if money's tight — believe me, I get it, that is literally the whole show — it costs zero dollars to follow the show, and to leave me a rating and a quick review on Spotify, Apple, Podchaser, wherever you listen. Because that is what tells the algorithm that this white trash right here... is worth listening to. It helps more than you know, and I love you for it.

Here is some Daddy Tissues homework. Two questions to ask yourself.

Question one: who in your family loves the role you play... more than they actually love you?

And question two: what would happen if you stopped playing it?

Sit with that. Really think about it. Journal it, whatever works. Because one day you could be right where I am — if you're not already there.

So. I promised you no more stalling — and I keep my promises. Starting next week, I am telling my story. The whole thing. From the beginning. All of it. And we are going all the way back to the very beginning, because you deserve to watch every single domino fall in order.

I guess I should probably start in high school. The one with the nuns, no boys, and the ugly uniform. The girls who pretended to be my friend while sleeping with my boyfriend. The girls who are the most amazing friends in the world, who are still my best friends to this day. You're gonna meet the boys — God help us, you're gonna meet the boys. The weather events. The heartbreaks. The kids. The courtrooms. The divorce. The family drama. All of it, in order.

And trust me when I tell you: you have NO idea. My own friends who think they know this story do not know this story. This shit gets cray. So get your popcorn ready, girls. Pop. Fucking. Corn.

Chapter One. Next Monday.

Grab your daddy tissues, girls — because today is the day I say to the woman who was like a second mother to me — because we both know you're listening:

I love you so much. But with all due respect... fuck you, fuck your mom, and fuck her mom too.

Till next time, my queens.

[OUTRO MUSIC]