It was a typical afternoon when my daughter, Lily, mentioned to her friend, “I have four cousins.”
Curious, her friend asked for their names. Lily proceeded to list off the children of my partner’s brother and a few close family friends, whom she affectionately calls Auntie and Uncle. However, she omitted my brother’s children, who are technically her cousins. The absence of mention speaks volumes—my estranged relationship with him makes it difficult to discuss him or his family.
I share a similar estrangement with my father. Our last communication was a letter he sent years ago, in which he confessed he never wanted to be a father and apologized for losing interest in me. He claimed to have found redemption through religion and asked for my forgiveness. Yet, I’m uncertain if I can truly forgive the years of his emotional neglect and the physical abuse that marked my childhood. Still, that letter provided a form of validation I hadn’t expected. Since receiving it, I’ve chosen to cut ties with him, though I occasionally revisit the letter and trace the indents on the paper—a stark contrast to the painful marks he left on my body.
The only family member who remains in my life is my mother. If it weren’t for my guilt over being a survivor, I might have severed ties with her long ago. But with children of my own, who are fond of their grandmother, it’s complicated.
When Grandma visits, she brings plenty of affection and little treasures from the dollar store. She can read for hours with a grandchild nestled against her. While she offers affection, she also has an insatiable need for it, and my kids, unaware of my past, love her unconditionally. Unlike them, I struggle to muster any love for her. She embodies my past—the very things I’ve tried to move on from.
My relationship with my mother is fraught with complexity. She has been both a victim and an abuser in our dynamic. Her own experiences of abuse have gone unrecognized, leaving her unresolved trauma to shape her actions toward me. While she did not physically harm me, her refusal to remove my father from our lives during his abusive episodes was a betrayal I cannot overlook.
When she discovered I had been sexually abused by her sibling, her sorrow quickly shifted to a plea for me to understand her need to maintain family ties. I was forced to sit beside my abuser at family gatherings, a situation that left deep scars. She now admits her mistakes in placing me in those positions but often attributes her lack of awareness to a time when she was unaware of the implications of her actions. Her apologies, while appreciated, don’t erase the damage caused by her decisions.
The emotional burden she places on me as her source of happiness is overwhelming. Despite her requests for forgiveness, I find myself struggling with the concept. My attempts to establish boundaries are met with confusion on her part, making it feel like I am speaking a foreign language. At what point does it become my responsibility to help her understand?
I have emotionally outgrown her many times, yet the distance feels insufficient. She clings to idealized memories of my childhood, while I yearn to escape the ghosts of my past. She isn’t inherently bad; rather, she is deeply unhealthy. Her presence in my life continues to weigh heavily on my well-being.
I have tried to change her, but that isn’t my responsibility. I have attempted to forgive, but the path to healing is still unclear. It seems the time has come to let go.
For those navigating similar complexities, resources like CDC’s FAQ on pregnancy can provide valuable insights, and you can explore more about home insemination in our other blog posts, such as this one. For practical tools, check out BabyMaker’s home insemination kit.
In summary, navigating a complicated relationship with parents often requires setting boundaries and prioritizing personal healing. It’s essential to recognize when to let go and focus on one’s own well-being, while still seeking support and understanding from trusted resources.