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This piece speaks to themes of emotional abuse and domestic violence. It is also a vulnerable and intimate look into my life. I trust you to make the right decision for your own wellbeing in choosing whether or not to read it.
It’s been two years since I went no contact with one of my parents. I almost didn’t realise the date. I had been so busy that I didn’t stop to pine longingly at the calendar when we rolled into May. It wasn’t until I was slicing some cucumber on a Wednesday morning that I felt a pang of grief in my upper stomach. There was a knowing that followed shortly after. I stopped. I checked my calendar. I felt the tears prickle in my eyes. ‘Ah’ was all that I could say. The body always knows.
The last two years have been hard. That much was obvious to me. That much I knew was coming my way when I inevitably said ‘enough’. I could not continue on in the same emotionally turbulent and abusive cycles I had been living in for close to 15 years. I could not continue living like I was holding my breath, waiting for the shoe to drop or the glass to break. I was so tired. I did not have the energy to try anymore. It was time to walk away. To bury the dreams of the hopeful child and instead become the realistic adult.
There is a misconception that going no contact with a family member is the hardest part of the process. In many ways, yes, it was a long and windy road to get there. A concept I had been playing with, only half seriously, for years. But like many victims of abuse, I did not think it was bad enough. I kept it relatively hidden. Very few people knew or could understand the relationship I had with this parent. I felt shame, yes, but mostly I felt it was all my fault. If only I tried harder. If only I phrased the conversations we had in different ways. If only I could just swallow how I felt and pretend everything was OK. I just needed more therapy. I just needed to learn how to be better.
It wasn’t until after I pressed block and delete that my healing really began. During the years the relationship was active, I could not grieve because I was in a constant state of survival. Heal what? I was fine! This is okay! I had to make an unsafe situation, safe enough. I had to draw on my most treasured survival skill, denial, in order to make peace with my reality. But once I stopped running on the survival treadmill, once I was finally able to be still and the fear could dissipate, all of that grief and rage I had buried started to seep in.
First came the guilt. Who was I to do this? I kept feeling this niggling sensation that I would cave in. That I would eventually run back and ask for forgiveness. Then, the fear. What if they turned up at my house? What if they rang my workplace? My mind ruminated endlessly on the possibilities. But then, came the rage. Why was it OK for me to feel the guilt, fear, and shame, when they so clearly did not? Why was all of this emotional weight my burden to carry? I was starting to see it for what it was. Not a “difficult” relationship, but an abusive one.
I went to a Domestic Violence counsellor. We had two sessions and those sessions changed the trajectory of my life. I found myself in this small, dinghy government building sitting across from a kind yet fierce woman who could not know how desperately I needed her in that moment. She said to me, “It is okay to feel the turbulence that comes with going from destination A to destination B, but you must not turn the plane around. It will be a difficult journey, but it is a necessary one.” I have carried that metaphor with me to this day. Some journey’s are hard. That does not make them any less essential.
What has shocked me the most in my healing journey is how the abuse lives on despite the threat being long gone. Whilst I know this, I have studied this, I teach this, it is still surprising to see it show up in your own life. It lives on in my constant impulse to fawn to others (a trauma response that enacts people pleasing behaviours to avoid conflict and ensure safety). It lives on in the intense fear I have of letting others down. It lives on in my hyper vigilance; the compulsory monitoring of changes to people’s behaviour and emotions. It lives on in my body, which remembers each year like clockwork, the anniversary of that awful day.
In going no contact, I dragged myself into the shadows to experience the depths of my parent’s abandonment. I opened the door to the greatest heart break that my fragile frame has ever known. They were the first person to see me for who I was, and tell me it wasn’t enough. There are entire cities inside of me they never even got to see. And yet, I persist. I survive. I love, and love deeply. Not as a consequence, but in spite of it all.
In my work over the years I have seen and heard a lot. I have heard abhorrent stories of trauma that leave your skin prickling for days. I have seen the impact of neglect, abandonment, and pain, over and over again. I have witnessed the tendrils of trauma wrap itself around bodies too scared to move. But I have also seen resilience. I have seen love. I have seen the body gently guiding the way through. Most importantly, I have seen the light come back on. There is something to be said for that.
I love my body. I love that it holds the stories of my past. I love that it works to protect me even when I don’t know how to protect myself. I love that she has stood by me, sending signals and sensations to guide the way forward. Most of all, I love that my body continues to illuminate the way forward, showing me where my nervous system is stuck and needs further support.
And so two years on, I return to therapy, finally ready to unpack and process the stories within. I am learning the importance of raising my hand when something feels too big. I am learning that you can have all the tools and still need more. But mostly I am learning that true healing, for me at least, lies in the sharing; when you bring an experience to the light, so the shame can no longer survive.
What I most needed two years ago was to know it was okay to press “block”. I needed to know it was okay to protect my peace, and that when the peace did come, it was normal to feel guilty for having it. I needed to know that finding comfort without all the chaos takes time.
So for anyone reading this that might need the same, know this: it is okay to put yourself first. It is okay to walk away. It is okay that your heart grieves them even though they caused you suffering. You are going to be okay. Your heart will heal again.
I have goosebumps reading this. Thank you for your share. I relate deeply to the feeling it is “just how our parent is”. Sending you so much love on your healing journey 🧡
Thank you for sharing this story Ella 🤎 I can relate deeply — I went no contact and had to block my mother last year after many years of emotional abuse. It was strange because I didn’t realise until after I stopped indulging in her madness that she was abusing myself and my siblings. Until then we’d shrugged it off as “just mum”. I don’t think I’ve processed it much yet either. But I’m slowly building up my body’s tolerance to stress and creating a foundation where healing and peace can be built upon.