5 years
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On 23rd June, it’ll be 5 years since I cut contact with my bio-family.
I was talking to my therapist about this last week. I naturally ‘keep count’ of things, or see milestones. I don’t know if it’s just my personality or something more, but I’ve always done it. So it’s not like it looms in my brain, necessarily, but it’s also something I know.
The first year I organised a flat warming coincidentally on the anniversary. Since then, (and taking inspiration from a friend who celebrates their diagnosis day of a chronic illness) I’ve made sure to treat myself on that day. Whether going out for food, taking myself to the cinema, or having cake, I make sure to acknowledge the day. This is because I do want to celebrate it. I am proud of myself for taking that leap, making that decision. I have no regrets at all.
It’s hard to describe to someone who hasn’t experienced it. Grieving something that never existed, and that you’re making the choice to ensure will never exist is fucking weird. I don’t want a relationship with my mother, and any affection she tried to give me for years before I cut contact was really awkward for me. I didn’t need or want it, but she’d make me feel guilty if I didn’t allow it or reciprocate, so I felt I had no choice. But in cutting that contact, I ensured there was no way for the relationship to change, and I did feel some grief over that.
It was an acknowledgement that my mother was a different mum to me than she was to my younger siblings, and that wasn’t going to change.
The guilt at ‘abandoning’ them was intense, as my role was one of supporter and caregiver, getting little back in return. It wasn’t malicious, not actively so. It was a pattern, one none of us could break, not without me taking extreme action.
There’s still remnants there, of course. Still trauma and things to unpack. I wrote about my blocker to empathy being related to how I was raised, and how I see ‘helplessness’ as something to be avoided, and I will have flashes of judgement about that from other people. This is a warning sign I’m not giving myself grace, and I’ve never shown that judgement to others. It’s a red flag for me to take that time, give myself some grace and kindness, and move on.
I’ve learned to be kind to my trauma responses. The only way I’ve been able to make some of them healthy (or less unhealthy), is to make sure I honour that they were there to keep me safe, and they’re the reason I’m here writing this. It’s not needed any more, and I can put it to rest, now.
This is the first year I’ve really felt like I can cope with whatever my brain will throw at me. I’ve been having some nightmares and flashbacks, but they’re manageable. The dreams dissipate quickly, and I cvan ground myself well. I’m taking things easy - not pushing myself too much, keeping myself balanced. I’m proud of myself for getting here.
I don’t hold any ill will towards my mother, not really. I hope she gets the help and support she needs. I hope my family are living their best life. I just also hope that they never try to reach out, that I live the rest of my life in peace, in safety, and happy. I hope that for them, as well.