Dear Uncle Gary, How do I change my image without losing myself? Signed Evolving in Evansville Dear Evolving in Evansville, First off, I love the question. It’s brave, it’s honest, and it’s something most people wrestle with quietly while pretending they’ve got it all figured out. So let’s crack it open. Changing your image isn’t about swapping out your soul for something trendier. It’s about alignment, making sure the outside matches the inside. Think of it like repainting the front door of a house you’ve lived in for years. The door’s still yours. The memories behind it haven’t changed. But now it catches the light differently. It invites people in with a little more clarity. Here’s the trick: don’t confuse style with substance. Your values, kindness, grit, curiosity, whatever makes you you , those are the foundation. They’re the studs in the wall. What you’re updating is the wallpaper, the lighting, maybe the furniture arrangement. You’re not knocking the whole thing down. You’re just making it easier for people to see the real you when they walk in. And if you’re worried about losing yourself in the process, good. That means you care. That means you’re not chasing approval, you’re curating authenticity. Reinvention done right doesn’t feel like a costume change. It feels like finally wearing clothes that fit. So go ahead. Change your hair, your tone, your tagline. Just make sure it’s amplifying your truth, not muting it. The best version of you isn’t a departure, it’s a reveal. Signed, Uncle Gary P.S. If you ever feel like you’re faking it, pause and ask, “Is this me, just louder?” If the answer’s yes, you’re on the right track.

Dear Uncle Gary, After seven years of monogamous bliss, my partner Mike, two years older, two inches taller, and apparently two egos too many, decided it was time to “open things up.” Not emotionally. Sexually. To other men. Now, I’ve always been a one-dish kind of diner. I don’t like to share my fries, let alone my boyfriend. But after weeks of pillow talk negotiations and a few glasses of wine, I agreed to try it. Spoiler: I did not love it. Mike, bless his biceps, is a big muscle guy with a big...personality. The moment we walk into a room, it’s like watching a Marvel movie premiere, everyone’s lining up for a piece of Captain America, and I’m just holding the popcorn. The first few threesomes felt less like exploration and more like me watching Mike get worshipped while I sat there like a decorative throw pillow. But here’s the kicker: the moment someone shows interest in me, touches my arm, compliments my butt, Mike shuts it down like a jealous prom queen. Suddenly, he’s packing up, pouting, and ready to leave. Apparently, open relationships are only open when he’s the centerfold. So Uncle Gary, what do I do when my partner wants to share himself with the world but can’t handle anyone having a piece of me? Signed, Third Wheel in Throupleville Dear Third Wheel in Throupleville, You, my friend, have wandered into the wild west of modern romance, where the rules are flexible, the boundaries are blurry, and apparently, the spotlight is reserved for Mike and Mike alone. Let’s start here: you didn’t sign up to be a background dancer in someone else’s fantasy. You agreed to explore, not to disappear. And while open relationships can be thrilling, they only work when both partners are getting what they need, not just one guy getting his ego stroked while the other gets ghosted mid-threesome. Mike’s behavior isn’t just awkward, it’s telling. He’s fine being the main attraction, but the moment you get a little attention, he folds like a cheap beach chair. That’s not polyamory. That’s insecurity dressed up in a jockstrap. Now, I’m not here to shame anyone’s kinks or preferences. If threesomes aren’t your thing, that’s valid. If monogamy feels like home, don’t let anyone Airbnb your heart out of guilt. But if you’re going to keep exploring this open setup, you need a few things: Clear boundaries. What’s okay, what’s not, and what happens when someone crosses the line. Mutual respect. You’re not a prop. You’re a partner. Emotional honesty. If Mike’s ego can’t handle your desirability, that’s his homework, not yours. And if he keeps pouting every time someone finds you attractive? Maybe it’s time to close the relationship, not because open relationships don’t work, but because this one isn’t working for you . You deserve to be the star of your own story, not the understudy in someone else’s fantasy. Signed, Uncle Gary P.S. If Mike wants to be the only one getting attention, he can start a fan club. But in a relationship? You both deserve applause.

Dear UncleGary, My best friend just confessed they’re in love with me. I love them too, but not like that. Do I tell the truth or let them believe there’s hope? Signed, Not Feeling it Dear Not Feeling It, First off, this is one of those moments that calls for courage. Not the loud kind, but the quiet kind, the kind that shows up when you look someone you care about in the eye and tell the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. Because love, in any form, deserves honesty. It deserves respect. And it deserves clarity. Now, I know it’s tempting to soften the blow, to leave a little door cracked open. But that’s not kindness, it’s confusion dressed up in good intentions. If you care about this person, and it sounds like you do, then the most loving thing you can do is be clear. Not cruel. Not cold. Just clear. “You’re not auditioning for a rom-com, you’re starring in a very special episode of ‘Boundaries Are Beautiful!’ So go ahead, be honest, be gentle, and maybe throw in a hug or a weird dance move if it helps lighten the mood. But don’t let them build a castle on a cloud. You’re not the villain here. You’re the friend who chose truth over comfort. And that, my friend, is a beautiful kind of love. Sincerely Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, I ghosted someone I genuinely liked because I panicked. Now they’re dating someone else, and I feel sick. Do I reach out or let it go? Signed, Kicking Myself Dear Kicking Myself, You ghosted someone you genuinely liked. Not because you didn’t care, but because something in you hit the panic button. That’s not a crime, it’s a moment. But moments have consequences, and now they’re with someone else. And you’re stuck in that aching space between “what was” and “what could’ve been.” So here’s the deal. If you’re thinking of reaching out, ask yourself what you’re really hoping for. A clean apology? A second chance? A little relief from the guilt? Because if it’s closure, you can offer that. If it’s a disruption, if you’re hoping to shake something loose in their new relationship, then don’t. That’s not love, that’s your ego dressed up in nostalgia. But if you can own your silence, name your fear, and offer a simple truth, “I panicked, and I regret it,” without expecting anything in return, then maybe that message is worth sending. Not to reopen the door, but to close it with grace. And if you don’t reach out? That’s okay too. Sometimes the most honest thing you can do is sit with the discomfort, learn from it, and let it shape how you show up next time. No drama. No declarations. Just clarity. Best Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, My adult child just came out as trans. I want to be supportive, but I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing. Where do I start? Signed, Confused Dad Dear Confused Dad, Let me start by saying this: your willingness to ask this question, to lean into the discomfort and uncertainty, is already a powerful act of love. You’re showing up. And that matters. Now, when your child comes to you with something as deeply personal as their identity, it’s not just a moment; it’s a turning point. It’s a chance to affirm that your love isn’t conditional. That it doesn’t depend on expectations or assumptions. That it’s rooted in who they are, not who you thought they’d be. You’re afraid of saying the wrong thing. That’s human. That’s honest. But don’t let fear keep you silent. Start with humility. Say, “I may not have the right words yet, but I’m here. I love you. I’m listening.” That’s the foundation. From there, you build. And you don’t have to build alone. Family therapy can be a powerful space, not because something’s broken, but because you’re choosing to grow together. It’s a place to ask questions, to learn, to unlearn, and to strengthen the bond that brought you here in the first place. Support is always available. There are communities, counselors, resources, and people who’ve walked this path and want to help you walk it too. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be present. And here’s something else worth knowing. Trans people who identify and live outside their assigned gender at birth have existed throughout history, in every corner of the world. From the Two-Spirit people in Indigenous cultures, to hijras in South Asia, to fa’afafine in Samoa, gender diversity is not new. It’s not a trend. It’s part of the human story. Your child isn’t stepping outside tradition; they’re stepping into a legacy of authenticity, resilience, and truth. Support them in that journey. So start there. With love. With listening. With the courage to say, “Teach me.” Because when you do, you’re not just supporting your child, you’re honoring them. And that’s what family is all about. My Support is with you, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, I’ve just stepped into a national tour as the second hair supervisor, replacing someone who bailed for another gig. It’s been one week, and already I’m caught between two camps. Those who can’t stand the lead supervisor, and the few who swear by her. The show’s been on the road for six months, and not a single wig has been washed, despite Equity rules requiring weekly maintenance. The supervisor injured her hand on opening night and hasn’t been able to do her full job since, but management refuses to replace her. I’m trying to stay professional, but this feels like a sinking ship. Do I stick it out and finish the tour, or cut my losses before the wigs start crawling away? Signed, Second Supervisor Dear Second Supervisor, You didn’t just walk into a tour, you walked into a slow-motion train wreck with a wig closet full of biohazards and a supervisor who’s half idol, half liability. And now you’re expected to keep it professional while the ship lists hard to starboard. Let’s break this down. First, the wigs. Six months without a wash? That’s not just gross, it’s a violation. Equity rules aren’t optional, and if management’s ignoring them, they’re gambling with health, safety, and liability. You’re not just catching stray drama, you’re catching the fallout of a system that’s already broken. Second, the supervisor. She’s injured, she’s not performing her duties, and management won’t replace her. That’s not loyalty, it’s negligence. And it’s putting you in a position where your name, your reputation, and your sanity are on the line. So here’s the real question: Are you staying out of duty, or out of fear? If you believe you can make a difference, document the violations, advocate for proper hygiene, and protect the cast, then stay. But only if you’re backed by a union rep, a paper trail, and a spine of steel. If you’re being used as a Band-Aid on a bullet wound, walk away. You didn’t sign up to be the fall guy for someone else’s dysfunction. And leaving doesn’t make you a quitter; it makes you someone who knows their worth. Whatever you choose, don’t go quietly. Speak up. Protect yourself. And remember: you’re not just doing hair. You’re holding the line between professionalism and chaos. Signed, With admiration for your grit and a strong whiff of disinfectant, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, I’m stuck in a job that pays well but drains my soul. Is it reckless to walk away without a backup plan? Signed, Reckless Dear Reckless, You're absolutely right, it’s not just reckless, it’s potentially self-sabotaging. In this economy, walking away without a plan isn’t a bold leap; it’s a blindfolded dive into shallow water. The job market’s unpredictable, and while soul-draining work can feel like a slow death, financial instability can hit harder and faster. But here’s the nuance: staying doesn’t mean surrendering. It means strategizing. Use the paycheck as fuel, not a prison. Start laying the groundwork now, network, skill up, moonlight, and build your exit ramp brick by brick. The goal isn’t to escape, it’s to evolve. And don’t let the paycheck trick you into thinking you’re stuck. Money’s important, but so is meaning. You’re allowed to want both. You just have to be smart about the order in which you chase them. So yes, keep your ducks in a row. But make sure they’re marching toward something better. Because staying in a draining job forever isn’t noble, it’s just quiet resignation. And you deserve more than that. Best of luck, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, My best friend just started dating my ex. They say it’s love, but I feel betrayed. Am I being petty, or do I have a right to be upset? Signed Betrayed Dear Betrayed, You’re not being petty. You’re being human. When someone close to you crosses into territory that used to be yours, especially emotionally intimate territory, it stirs things up. That doesn’t mean you’re wrong to feel what you feel. It means you’re alive. Now, let’s zoom out. The word “betrayed” is doing a lot of heavy lifting here. Is it betrayal because they snuck around? Lied? Or is it betrayal because they didn’t ask for your blessing, didn’t check in, didn’t even pause to consider how this might land with you? That matters. Intent matters. Timing matters. And history matters. Let’s talk about that history. Why did you and your ex break up? Was it messy, unresolved, full of lingering feelings? Or was it clean, mutual, and done? If your friend was around during the relationship listening to your complaints, watching the dynamic, then yeah, it’s fair to wonder; were they quietly auditioning while you were unraveling? That’s not just awkward. That’s a breach of emotional trust. But here’s the twist. Maybe they are a better match. Maybe they bring out something in each other that you never could. That doesn’t erase your discomfort, but it reframes it. It’s not about ownership. It’s about dignity. You don’t have to cheer them on, but you also don’t have to carry bitterness like a backpack full of bricks. So what do you do? You name the feeling. You sit with it. You ask yourself what you need to move forward, closure, distance, a conversation, or just time. And you remember this. Being “the bigger person” doesn’t mean swallowing your hurt. It means choosing how to respond with clarity and self-respect. You’re not petty. You’re processing. And that’s the work. Sincerely, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary I’m 42, single, and child-free by choice, but my family keeps treating me like I’m unfinished. How do I shut that down without burning bridges? Signed, 42 and single Dear 42 and Single, You’re not unfinished. You’re not waiting to be picked. You’re not a puzzle missing the “spouse and kids” corner piece. You’re a whole damn mural, and if your family can’t see that, it’s not because you’re incomplete. It’s because they’re looking through a lens that doesn’t fit your life. Now, before we go full scorched earth, let’s talk about grace. Your family’s expectations didn’t fall out of the sky. They were shaped by culture, tradition, maybe even fear. Fear that you’ll be lonely. Fear that you’ll regret. Fear that your choices reflect something about them. That’s not your burden to carry, but it helps to know what’s driving the commentary. So yes, give them the same patience you wish they’d give you. Let them see you thriving. Not just surviving, but building a life that’s rich in meaning, connection, and autonomy. Let your joy be the rebuttal. Let your stability be the proof. And when they push, gently push back. Try something like: “I know you worry because you love me. But I’m not missing anything. I’ve chosen this life, and I’m proud of it. I hope you can be proud of me, too.” If they keep pressing, if it turns from concern into control, then yeah, you may need to create some space. Not out of spite, but out of self-respect. Boundaries aren’t walls. They’re fences with gates. You decide when to open them. And here’s the kicker: you don’t owe anyone a performance of fulfillment. You don’t have to prove your happiness like it’s a thesis defense. You just have to live it. Loudly, quietly, however you damn well please. You’re not unfinished. You’re just not following their blueprint. And that’s not rebellion. That’s authorship. Regards, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, I caught my teenager lying about something small. Do I let it slide, or is this the moment to make it a big deal? Signed Concerned Dad Dear Concerned Dad, You’re right to say something. Not because the lie was catastrophic, but because silence teaches just as loudly as words do. If you let it slide, you’re not just ignoring the fib; you’re unintentionally signaling that truth is negotiable when the stakes are low. And that’s a dangerous seed to plant. Small lies are like loose threads. Tug on one, and you start unraveling trust. Not all at once, but slowly, subtly. And in a relationship as foundational as parent and child, trust isn’t just nice, it’s oxygen. You don’t need to go full courtroom drama here. No lectures, no guilt trips. Just a clear, calm moment where you say: “Hey, I noticed that wasn’t the truth. I get it, sometimes lying feels easier. But it chips away at something important between us. I need to know I can trust you, even when it’s uncomfortable.” That’s not punishment. That’s parenting. You’re not reacting to the lie, you’re responding to the opportunity. Because every small lie is a fork in the road: one path leads to accountability, the other to a bad habit that erodes credibility. And here’s the kicker: if you handle this with clarity and respect, you’re modeling exactly what you want them to learn. That honesty isn’t just about avoiding trouble, it’s about building character, credibility, and connection. So yes, say something. Not to make it a big deal, but to make it a meaningful one. That’s how you raise someone who tells the truth even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. Regards, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, My therapist fell asleep during our session. Do I bring it up, or just take the hint? Signed, Mr. Excitement Dear Mr. Excitement, Your therapist fell asleep during your session? That’s not just a red flag. It’s a whole damn parade! Now, you could let it slide. You could say, “Well, maybe I’m just too soothing,” and chalk it up to ambiance. But let’s be honest, if someone’s getting paid to listen to your deepest fears and they’re out cold like it’s a Sunday matinee, that’s not therapy. That’s a nap with a co-pay. So yes, you bring it up. Kindly, directly, and with just enough raised eyebrow to let them know you noticed. Because if you don’t say something, you’re not just swallowing your feelings, you’re subsidizing theirs. And if it happens again? You fire them. With love. And maybe a pillow. Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, I told my date I don’t believe in soulmates. She said, ‘That’s so sad.’ Is it? Signed, So Sad Dear So Sad, Not sad. Honest. Believing in soulmates is like believing your perfect pair of jeans is out there somewhere, waiting to hug your thighs and never betray you. It’s romantic, sure. But it’s also a little lazy. It assumes love is found, not built. What you said, I don’t believe in soulmates , isn’t a rejection of love. It’s a vote for choice, for effort, for showing up even when the magic wears off and someone’s chewing sounds like a crime. It’s saying, “I’ll love you because I choose to, not because the universe assigned you to me like a cosmic roommate.” If she thinks that’s sad, maybe she’s looking for a fairy tale. You’re offering a memoir. And that’s a hell of a lot more interesting. Uncle Gary