AITAH for Refusing to Host Thanksgiving This Year?

Thanksgiving has always been my holiday. The one time of year when my house fills with laughter, the scent of roasted turkey, and the chaotic joy of family. But this year? I said no. And now, the guilt is gnawing at me almost as much as my aunt’s passive-aggressive comments. So, I’m laying it all out here—tell me honestly, AITAH?

The Hosting Burnout Reality

For the past eight years, I’ve been the unofficial Thanksgiving CEO. Menu planning in October, cleaning for days, budgeting for a feast that could feed a small army—all while working full-time and parenting two kids under five. Last year, I spent half the meal in the bathroom crying from exhaustion while my cousin complained the gravy was “too lumpy.” This time, I hit my limit.

When my sister asked in June if I’d host again, I blurted out, “Not this year.” The silence on the phone was louder than my toddler’s meltdowns. Since then, the family group chat has been a minefield of “But it’s tradition!” and “Who else has space?” (Spoiler: Three others do. They just don’t want to.)

The Family Backlash Begins

Within hours of my refusal, the guilt trips rolled in. Mom reminded me how Grandma hosted every year until she died at 82 (thanks for that). My brother “joked” that I must not love the kids as much since I’m “canceling their memories.” Even my usually chill dad asked if I was “really that selfish.”

Here’s what they’re ignoring: I offered alternatives! Potluck at my place? Too much work for everyone. Restaurant reservation? “Too impersonal.” Rotating hosting? Cue crickets. It’s almost like… they just want me to keep doing all the labor?

Money and Mental Health

Let’s talk numbers. Last Thanksgiving cost me $600+ and 40 hours of labor—for a meal devoured in 20 minutes. This year, our water heater died, and my savings are covering preschool tuition. When I mentioned finances, Aunt Karen sneered, “You have a house; you can afford it.” Because apparently mortgage payments equal endless disposable income.

More importantly? My therapist gently pointed out that my holiday dread starts in July. The anxiety attacks when planning seating charts. The resentment watching everyone relax while I juggle oven timers. Is preserving “tradition” worth sacrificing my wellbeing?

The Silent Majority

Here’s the twist: After the initial outrage, five cousins privately texted me “Thank God, maybe we can finally change things.” Turns out, I’m not the only one exhausted by:

• The same arguments every year (Yes, Uncle Joe, we know you hate tofu turkey)
• Cleaning for days only to have kids spill cranberry sauce on the sofa
• Being stuck with dishes while others “help” by napping

One even admitted she’d declined hosting for a decade by pretending her apartment was “too small.” Maybe I’ve accidentally become the family’s sacrificial lamb?

Setting Boundaries Hurts

I know I’m not wrong logically, but emotionally? Oof. Watching Mom sigh that “Thanksgiving just won’t be the same” stings. My toddler asking why we won’t have “the big party” makes me second-guess. And part of me wonders—if I don’t host, do I lose my role as the family glue?

But here’s what my therapist keeps repeating: Boundaries aren’t punishments. They’re how relationships survive long-term. If hosting next year means I can do it joyfully instead of resentfully, isn’t that better for everyone?

What Happens Next?

Update: After two months of stalemate, my sister caved and offered her house… if everyone helps. Miracle of miracles—people stepped up! A spreadsheet appeared for dish assignments. Our vegan cousin is handling the turkey (to Uncle Joe’s horror). And me? I’m bringing pies I’ll actually get to eat warm this time.

Was I the villain for breaking tradition? Maybe. But sometimes being the “bad guy” forces needed change. Still, I’d love your take—AITAH for putting my sanity over stuffing?

Your Verdict Matters

Now it’s your turn. Have you been the reluctant host? Would you handle this differently? Drop your judgment in the comments—I can take it (though maybe go easy on the gravy insults). And if you’re facing a similar holiday dilemma? Remember: Your worth isn’t measured in turkey pounds or spotless baseboards.

P.S. If you related to this struggle, share it with that one family member who needs to read it (you know who I mean).