I Went ‘No Contact’ With My Whole Family

A cousin of mine is also a writer. Occasionally I look at her blog to get a peek of what a part of my former family are up to. She doesn’t know.

Growing up I absolutely loved spending time with my cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. It was my mother and father who caused the pain, and they were the reason I ended up cutting the whole family off.

I couldn’t have one without the other. So I made the decision. It was the right one.

My mother and father were both abusive, with my father being more physically violent, and my mother being more psychologically manipulative.

I always suspected that my father was abusing my mother too — I never saw this, but I always felt a vibe. I thought when she turned on me she was venting her own pain, kicking downwards to let off some steam.

I also wondered if she blamed me, her first child, for her being trapped with her abuser. Perhaps if she didn’t have me she could have left him. But I don’t know and I never will.

What I did know

Speculation aside, there were some things I knew for sure.

I knew that if I stayed at home and lived my life with my parents in it, then I’d never be happy. Between my fear of my father and his control, and my mother’s apparent glee at my misery - it wasn’t much of a future to look forward to.

I had turned 16 and it was my final term at senior school. Over the summer I would be getting my final exam results and applying to further education.

I had already found out that I wouldn’t be attending a college course of my choice. As I was unable to choose a “suitable” career path, my father’s words, my parents were enrolling me into an administration course locally.

I’d be doing something I had no interest in, and I’d still be living at home.

I knew that my best chance of living a life I would actually want, was to be free of them. When I finally made my break for freedom — a very long story for another day — I expected that to be the end of it. But low and behold my mother tracked me down.

She turned up at my new accommodation and made a huge embarrassing scene, bringing the police with her as I was a missing person. Afterwards I had to explain myself to my employer, which wasn't easy.

I wasn’t really a missing person. I’d followed the letter of the law and told her my new address (as I had to being under 18). I had a job and could provide for myself, so there was thankfully no legal reason for police intervention.

She couldn’t drag me back to hell, as much as she seemed to want to.

It took me 2 years of constantly moving, both homes and jobs, to keep shaking her off. Then finally I turned 18 and could legally not tell her where I was anymore.

Family ties

In those 2 years I had also been ‘bumped in to’ at one of my jobs by my aunt, someone who I actually liked and missed. I don’t honestly know if she had been sent there to fake accidentally bumping into me, or if it was a genuine thing, but nonetheless I was glad to see her.

I was invited to their home for dinner and a sleep over, and I was promised that my parents wouldn’t be there. Although quite nervous I’d be trapped in some sort of intervention, I went and it was all really nice.

I enjoyed that ‘last supper’ with the members of my family who I actually wanted to be with. I saw my grandparents too, as they lived locally, and it was really special. But it was to be for the last time.

The following morning, as my grandpa dropped me off at the train station, he gave me ‘the talk’ about staying in touch with my mother.

“Let her know you’re okay from time to time. Talk to her and let her know you’re still alive, and still have two arms and two legs. You know?”

I couldn’t look at him. He probably had no idea what went on behind the closed doors of my parents' house. I mean, if he had then surely he wouldn’t be asking me to speak to my mother.

I tried not to lie to him too much, and gave him a sort of shrug and nod at the same time, before scuttling onto the train.

No contact

I never saw him or the rest of my family again. I knew I wouldn’t get away with avoiding my parents if I did. Sooner or later my mother would work her way into a meeting, doing her best ‘I’m so sad’ routine. After all, manipulation was her go-to.

So in the end, the choice I made was hard, and it was selfish. But it was also smart and brave, and I’ve never regretted it. As a teenager who had crawled out of an abusive home, I just didn’t have the strength or the confidence to try to fight my corner with the rest of the family.

I simply couldn’t tell them what I’d been through in my parents’ house for fear they wouldn’t have believed me. That would have crushed me. And what if they had believed me? That would have crushed them.

In the years that followed I changed my name by deed poll. I wanted to make sure my mother couldn’t keep tracking me down. As I write this I’m about to turn 40, so it’s been a while. But now and then I still look at my cousin’s blog.

It’s just nice to know she’s out there, and it looks like she’s living a good life.