When I decided to go no contact with my mom, it wasn’t because when I was 8 and she abandoned my sister and me for her new husband. And it wasn’t because when I was a teenager she told my sister and me that our stepfather was threatening to rape us, so we should be careful. And it wasn’t because when I was in my 20s she learned that my stepfather, her husband, had been molesting me for years and she chose to stay with him. None of those things were the reason. I chose to separate myself from her, decades later, because I realized that this was a repeated pattern of behavior from her.
Sure, she could feel better when she told herself, “It’s about the past.” But it wasn’t. It was never about what happened to me at 8, although I will never understand how a mother deserts her two small children with literal strangers for months. It was never about that. It was about her behavior every year since then.
Society makes assumptions about mothers: that they love their children unconditionally. Did you ever wonder why fairy tales use step mothers as villains? It’s because it’s unconscionable to think that a mother would ever do anything to hurt her own children.
Looking back I can see that I wasted years trying to get her to be good to me. She didn’t even have to acknowledge or take responsibility for her culpability. Although wouldn’t that have been a gift?! I longed for that, too. But just to take my side. To take care of me. I even made excuses for why she didn’t. In a nutshell, I spent years trying to convince the person who was hurting me to treat me better, rather than loving myself enough to walk away.
But she never changed. And I had to face the fact that she never would. Nothing was ever going to be different between us. Given the choice, she would always abandon me. She’d use triangulation to isolate me. She’d use me. Then leave when something better came along. It took decades for me to understand that I was not responsible for my mom’s happiness. I never was.
The stories she told about me–about all of her children–weren’t her stories to tell.
I was raised to be quiet and agreeable, to follow the rules and to get in line. To be pleasant. To trust and obey. To forgive and forget. 70 times 7.
For most of us, estrangement is the final straw. It’s a painful decision made after years of mistreatment and attempts to repair the relationship. Going no contact is a form of self protection. I did not want this. In fact, I spent years avoiding it, fighting it. Eventually I realized it was the only choice my mom left me to protect myself from further harm.
You can’t keep getting mad at people for sucking the life out of you, if you keep giving them the straw.
And while no one has ever asked me about my experiences or decisions, as the disruptor, turns out I’m the villain. Everyone likes you when you do everything everyone asks and tells you to do. When you keep the peace. When you don’t speak up. Nobody likes you when you set boundaries. The stigma around estrangement is the ultimate gaslighting.
Estrangement, by the way, isn’t what tears families apart. No, what tears families apart is years of abuse, of emotional withholding and neglect. Boundary violations. Toxic family patterns. Estrangement happens when you’ve exhausted all viable options.
The cycle breaker will always be seen as the trouble maker.
I was going to have pain one way or the other. I had to ask myself, “Which pain was worse?”
She wrote herself out of my life. Me not letting her return didn’t make me a bad person. I loved her but I couldn’t be close to her. Empathy without boundaries is self abandonment.There’s nothing healthy or noble about sacrificing myself in an attempt to save someone else. The most loving thing to do was to let her go.
When I swooped in to rescue her–and I did, many times–I hijacked her lessons and sacrificed myself in the process. No contact has given me peace, freedom, healing, self confidence, stability, control and allowed me to preserve my well being. It has also given me loneliness. I can grieve for what is lost and for what never was, and still know that it’s the right decision.
Before choosing to go no contact, I censored what I said to protect her. I maintained the relationship out of obligation. We pretended to be something we weren’t, continuing the charade for years.
I can no longer be sad for what never was. What never could be.
My work is letting go of the illusion that it could have been different. That it should have been different.
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Yes, it should have been different………
That’s the thought that causes me the most pain, Candy. And yet I think it at least once a day. And then I remind myself, “That’s a thought,” and I let it go. I try to replace it with, “She did the best she could.”