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thelostroad · 10 months

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It feels like it’s not the typical experience sometimes when I’m thinking about my journey towards family estrangement. In so many examples, I think what tends to be a prominent version is someone who does wish they had a better relationship with family, and there are various trials of maybe trying to improve things, or low contact and being apart for the sake of minimizing harm/conflict, but in general maybe a vacillating goal of resolution—sometimes this is escaped in cases of extreme abuse, but other times, tbh, not; it’s perfectly common as well for people from abusive families to still have a torn conviction or choose/want to maintain some level of relationship, or to seek healing or lowest maintainable contact or similar. [A note I forgot to add: this may precede a complete or more severe estrangement/severance, too; it’s not like these are always the only thing and it is forever ongoing and accepted.]

It’s something I’ve become familiar with and have gotten a measure of understanding of, but I also cannot fathom relating that same framework to my own situation. I often feel uncomfortable or at odds knowing this about myself, because there is (I think) so little about my family that could be cast as abusive, if any aspects even were, despite my feelings, and I have certainly not experienced many of the myriad horrific violences, violations, and grievous/injurious harms that many children of abuse have (or continue to). I see these people fighting to get wholly out from often very early on; and I see them going back and forth on how much distance they want from their abusers (some of whom maybe haven’t hurt them actively since childhood, perhaps); and I see them loving or mourning and having attachment to their families; and I see them completely cutting them off in adulthood or having strict low-contact boundaries while also allowing a minimum, or still making an occasional concession, or wishing things could be different. And I feel weird even framing these other experiences; they’re all obviously not actually capturable in these short phrases, and have depth and complexity, and in some places overlap, and for a lot probably don’t represent an actual contentment or satisfaction with a situation just because it is the one present. I know that, and I see all variety of iterations and experiences with people dear to me, and have long since determined that I will in no case judge or question or dismiss any of them.

But I feel dissonant for being different. Not something that I can frame as worse or better; and I don’t think even my actual experiences are anything that probably many of my peers and friends can relate to, contexts and all? But I still can’t understand it in an “I relate”/empathy/would do the same way, which feels uncomfortable and like I’m not sure if I should be guilty or if I’m wrong or what it is. All the pieces, I think, are things that I think will be shared in both cases and with which I am frequently able to relate: guilt, hesitance, trepidation of how one will be seen, worry about the effect it has on estranged person, moral ambiguity, reliance, resentment, tiredness, a distance between the worst harm and the person at the state they are, some measure of appreciation, not sure how it would affect other family members, the concern of giving things up. But the part I struggle to reconcile is that I’ve never not been sure it’s what I want.

Once or twice there’s been points at which I’ve debated whether it will be worth it. There was a period in childhood, I’m not sure for how long—maybe for longer than I think, to be honest—where I wanted, at least sometimes, a version of my family that was better, or where certain things were fixed or healed or better. There’s been a point in my life for which I wanted my parents to love and accept me, and predicted continuing to have a relationship with them. But at some point, I don’t know when, that period ended finitely and completely. And once it did, from whenever that was onward, my entire life ongoing has never once involved wavering or hesitation in knowing—like Knowing knowing, an absolute end goal that was inherent to any vision of my future, in all iterations, no caveats—that the life I intend for myself is to not have my family in it. Period. Always! And I don’t know how to integrate this alongside the narratives I encounter or express it cohesively.

Since deciding to make this an imminent goal earlier this year, the closest I’ve got to capturing it is comparing it to dysphoria. Because to me it does feel the same: the idea of me still being part of my family feels as wrong and incongruous with my self-image as breasts, as gender, as names and terminology that don’t apply to me. And it has for as long as I can recall. When I made the imminence of the intent apparent to various people close to me, literally any element of surprise in their reactions came as a weird punch of confusion and discomfort to me; it had genuinely not been in my cognitive construct to consider that anyone who knows me would not have it embedded within their understanding of me that said Me-ness intrinsically included estrangement, or demanded exclusion, from my family, however one would phrase it. It’s hard-wired; it’s built into the code; it’s a feature, not a bug; the fact of Me is diametrically conflicted from being in my family. In my head it is impossible for both to exist copacetically. (For another existential conundrum sometime, maybe one might find me elaborating on how This truth struggles in conflicted coexistence with the fact that for all these near-30 years of life, I haven’t left them yet.)

I don’t have much of a conclusion to this, or even a particular goal in trying to articulate it. It’s just a thought that I’ve struggled to mold into an easily communicable shape. Today in session we talked about my mother, and things she’s said and what she wants. Do I think she’s genuinely interested, no agenda, in my art, or is there an ulterior motive? Does she expect an answer to her email reply, a response to the message I sent checking in and asking her to not follow-up for any more info? These aren’t things I have firm conclusions on; I have senses and guesses and conditions, but it’s not been a factor in how I think about it. The question envisions a possible answer where the scenario involves her having sincere interest, unburdened by suspicion or judgment, for interest—I just don’t care. It would not make me feel better if that were true; her authentic fondness and investment or appreciation is not on my wish list. If she were purely innocent in this scenario and would to no end appreciate seeing my work and sharing in things I enjoy in life, just because she cares or loves me or for no reason at all, it would not put me at ease; it would discomfit me. Because if she had an agenda or didn’t have one but would use it or had none at all, I would not want to share with her. Yes, because I expect that it will be used against me, and yes, because I infer her judgment. But also because I have no interest in her approval, in conferred appreciation, in stringless sharing, in bonding. A stranger’s interest would have some manner of appeal to me, but all I want from her is separation. (It’s interesting, too, that this conviction holds despite emotions of esteem… I know that if she expressed disinterest it would sting, that if she ignored me I would eventually take it personally, that if she were impressed and full of praise I would have some measure of at least relief or satisfaction, maybe even pride. But forefront to all of that is that I don’t want Her and My Life to be overlapping at all.)

I don’t know that her intentions are bad. I try, sometimes, to err towards the assumption that they are neutral, or even, in some cases, have some seed of Care or twisted attempt towards Good. It’s just that I don’t… care. Not ultimately. Navigating her relationship & contemplating her intent & considerations on what could be better are inherent disinteresting to me.

When something is wrong or bad or flawed, there are a few prospective responses: to fix it, to replace it, to punish it, to reject it. If I am any of these I am the latter. In a dream world I do not envision my family being better, nor do I picture myself having a family that is simply an entirely different animal to the one I have. In the now, I would love justice, yes; I’d like them to be wounded with regret for how they’ve treated me. I do want them to feel bad. But to the paramount end I just don’t want them at all. To envision me happy with a family situation is to envision—just me, no family situation to be spoken of. (Another similarity with gender dysphoria, tbh...) And that’s how it’s been, all my life, for as far back as that line was drawn: the one I can’t remember nor place of, and to which I know there was a before, but of which I only personally know the after. The point upon which my True Ending was sealed into canon, however one wishes to describe it. And that’s what I’ve come out of therapy with, this floating, untethered thought, basically: once I may have wanted a different family, or a brother who was kind to me, or for my mother to understand; but a long time ago, it came to pass that I didn’t want that anymore, and since then, all I have wanted is none at all.

But they are still there.

So no, it doesn’t matter to me what she wants or if he cares or how they might feel about me, ultimately. They don’t Not Matter, but they don’t matter to the actual life I am trying to create for myself. The problem is how they act or are, yes, but in such a manner that the final straw was surpassed years and years and years ago; nothing can henceforth be reformed or undone, it can only succeed to minimize or eliminate furthering what damage exists. The damage was decided sometime back when I was (compared to now) very small: that it had surpassed the line of forgiveness or penance. Now, all I am trying to do is what I’ve wanted to since very long ago—leave.

That’s the fix.

The rest is as meaningless as pruning a tree before uprooting it. All I want is to extract the whole thing, roots and all.

#family estrangement #no contact #parental estrangement #eac #aspiring estranged adult child #uhh idk journal #19 July #2023

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