For the last five years, I’ve asked for the same thing every December: one week off to visit my family for Christmas. Nothing crazy. Nothing last-minute. Just one week to go home, see my parents, and feel like a person again.
And for five straight years, my boss has told me no.
Every year it’s a different excuse.
“Bad timing.”
“We’re short-staffed.”
“Too many requests.”
“Business needs.”
“Priority scheduling.”
This year, I decided I was going to do everything perfectly so there would be no reason to deny me. I submitted my request back in June — six full months early — so nobody could claim it was sudden or inconvenient.
I thought that would finally solve it.
It didn’t.
Last week, the Christmas schedule was posted. Four coworkers got their Christmas week approved. I didn’t.
At first, I honestly thought it was a mistake. So I went to my boss calmly and asked why my request was denied again, even though I’d submitted it earlier than anyone else.
He barely looked up from his desk.
Then he shrugged and said, like it was the most normal thing in the world:
“You should be a team player. You don’t have kids.”
I just stood there for a second, trying to process what I was hearing.
So because I don’t have children, my family doesn’t count?
Because I don’t have kids, I’m supposed to work every holiday forever?
Because I don’t have kids, I’m automatically the backup plan?
I didn’t argue. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t beg like I have in previous years.
I just nodded, said, “Okay,” and walked away.
But inside, something snapped.
Because being child-free doesn’t mean I don’t have a life.
It doesn’t mean I don’t have parents who miss me.
It doesn’t mean I don’t deserve rest, holidays, or time with the people I love.
And for the first time in five years, I stopped asking myself what I could do differently.
I started asking myself why I’m still working for someone who thinks my life matters less.
