Growing up, my home was a battlefield. My father, addicted to alcohol and drugs, would physically abuse my mother. As a child, I became a protector, standing between my parents during violent outbursts, cleaning wounds, offering comfort, and even reviving my mother when she fell unconscious. Our home was filled with broken objects, bruises, yelling, and fear. I even discovered knife marks on my bedroom door, a chilling reminder of a night when my father, hallucinating, believed we were demons.
While my father was capable of incredible communication and affection in his sober moments, his addiction overshadowed those glimpses of a loving parent. My mother, though a functional parent in terms of providing for us, was emotionally unavailable and hyperfocused on my father. Any affection she showed us was fleeting and often overshadowed by her own struggles.
When I was a teenager, my parents separated, and my mother’s abuse took on a new form. She relentlessly criticized my appearance, expressing embarrassment over my school achievements, and even limited our food intake, forcing us to compete for scraps. Her gaslighting tactics only added to the confusion and turmoil.
Throughout my adolescence and early adulthood, I attempted to bridge the gap with my parents, even inviting them to group therapy. My mother’s promises of change were always broken. It was only after the birth of my son and an incident where my mother threw something at my stepfather, endangering my child, that I realized the cycle of abuse had to end.
I tried setting boundaries with my mother, but they were repeatedly violated. Her response to my attempts to communicate was often anger, denial, and further abuse. Ultimately, I made the painful but necessary decision to sever all contact with my mother.
The revelation that my father was not my biological parent was a further betrayal, confirming the depth of the lies I had been subjected to.
While I grieve for the family I never had, I have built a fulfilling life with my son, my loving partner, and a supportive network of friends and colleagues. The decision to be estranged from my family was a difficult one, but it was the right one for my well-being and my son’s future. I have learned that no one owes abusers anything, and I will never look back.
