Is It Healthy To Separate From Family?
Hey, dudes. It breaks my heart that you’ve clicked on an article called, “Is it Healthy to Separate from Family?” It breaks my heart, because I know what you are going through, and I know it is a tough concept to chew over. I’ve learned from experience that in certain cases, separating from family is the healthiest thing to do. My therapist, life coach, and friends have all been huge proponents of the idea.
However, everyone’s circumstance is unique, so separating from family is always a personal decision. Please do not interpret anything in this article to be direct mental health advice to you. It is simply meant to serve as a resource. I am not a therapist or mental health care professional, but I do have a lot of experience and education on the subject that I’d like to share. I gain a lot of valuable insight from listening to people who have stories similar to mine, and I hope that my story can help you as well.
If you choose not to separate from family, there are ways you can achieve improved relationships like by limiting time spent with them and setting boundaries to keep some sense of peace.
Separate for Safety
There are some factors that can help you determine if it is healthy to separate from family, and safety is a no brainer. You deserve to feel and be safe; period.
If you are in a physically abusive relationship with any members of your family you have every right to end that relationship and cut off all contact.
In many cases, an exit strategy may be necessary, and you may need to seek a new safe place to live. If you do not have the financial means to escape your situation, start doing research on safe shelters near you, but remember to delete your search history on your phone or computer if it is a possibility that looking into such things will cause more violence.
Maybe you have a friend or family member that can offer a safe place for you. Consider all of your options and resources available, and start making a plan. It is extremely rare that physically abusive people stop their violent behavior. Sadly, abuse tends to escalate and can lead to irreparable physical damage and even death.
Everyone’s situation is different. The point is to get out ASAP. It is absolutely healthy and necessary to separate from family if you are in physical danger. Every mental health professional would agree, and if they don’t; fire them.
Separate for Mental Health
Your mental health is as important as your physical health, and it is another huge factor in helping you determine if you should separate from family. While there are many ways family can negatively affect your mental health, I am going to focus on narcissism, because it is especially detrimental and common.
Narcissism
Mayo Clinic defines narcissism as a “mental health condition in which people have an unreasonably high sense of their own importance. They need and seek too much attention and want people to admire them. People with this disorder may lack the ability to understand or care about the feelings of others.”
Speaking from experience, trying to have a good relationship with a true narcissist is extremely difficult, and can be taxing on your mental health.
My Aunt Nicki and Uncle Dick are classic narcissists. One of the smartest decisions I have ever made was moving across the country at age 21 to escape my entire family and pursue a new life. Being so far away for so long brought peace, but also delusion, because family was on their best behavior when I lived several states away from all of them. I recently wrote about this phenomenon in an article on Medium called, “Why Narcissists Kiss Your Ass When You Leave.”
When I moved back to Texas in 2017, I was excited to reconnect with family. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before I realized that they were not worth reconnecting with. Aunt Nicki and Uncle Dick invited my sister, her son, and I to visit them at their house and stay a few nights. It was awful.
Vacation with Narcissists
As soon as we arrived, we were given a tour of their lovely, (yet painfully boring) home, but the tour never stopped. The entire 4 days we were there were spent listening to my uncle brag about his house and his biggest accomplishments in life. It was exhausting. I tried to feed the beast and cater to his need for admiration, but it was endless. My butt was sore from sitting; my ears rang from casual insults; and my soul ached for connection. He showed no interest in hearing about my life. The guy was hogging the mike.
Attempts at diversion were futile.
“Hey, do you have a chess board? Want to play?” I asked.
“Yes, we have chess. My friends won’t play chess with me anymore, because I always win. I used to play chess in the military, and would whoop everyone there. It’s all about strategy. You see, you’ve got to be smart to play chess, and if you aren’t smart, then you have no business even trying. You might as well stick to games like checkers.”
The name is fitting. Uncle Dick is a dick.
Aunt Nicki is a different flavor of narcissist. Like a submissive wife, she yields to Dick’s overarching dominance of the room when she is around him. What else is there to do? He won’t stop. Best to just let him talk until he falls asleep. She drinks her wasteful tiny plastic bottles of shitty wine, and lets him be his awful self.
One day, Dick offered to take us all for a boat ride. “Oh hell no,” I thought, as I remembered the story of him angrily flinging fish guts onto my 8 year old cousin’s tiny shoes for not knowing how to gut fish. That was a long time ago, but only a few years earlier he had made my nephew cry on the boat just by being mean again.
“No, that’s OK,” I said. “Aunt Nicki, can we go see the alligator farm instead?”
The mountain views on the way to the alligator zoo were gorgeous, and I was just soaking in the scenery when out of nowhere, my aunt started with her bullshit.
“Your cousin doesn’t have a retirement plan.” she said with a frown.
“Oh… Um. I think he knows that, so I guess he doesn’t care. I’m not worried about it.” I replied.
“Your sister still orders food for your nephew at restaurants, did you notice that last night? He’s 18 years old!”
“OK, but he’s a sweet kid. He’s polite and well-mannered. I think he’s going to turn out fine. I’m not worried about either of them.”
Every attempt I made at rerouting the conversation towards positive talk failed. Nicki just couldn’t stop. Her small mind views gossip as a bonding technique, but I knew that I was not immune to her trash talk. People like that just rotate their focus to whoever isn’t in the room at the time.
I spent the last 2 days of the “vacation” in my guest room, and eventually Nicki came to ask if something was wrong. At first, I told her nothing was wrong, but after she pried, I began to sob.
“You act like my sister is your favorite,” I cried.
“That’s because she visits us more. You just moved away and were gone for 10 years,” she retorted. Notice how she didn’t deny favoritism?
“Dick is being mean. Out of nowhere he said he was a better employee and a harder worker than me, and that I move across the country too much. I moved out at 16 years old, have supported myself ever since then, graduated high school with a high GPA and perfect attendance, got my bachelor’s degree, and have only moved 2 times in my whole life. Why would he dis my work ethic?”
“He didn’t say that,” she denied while shaking her head. This is called gaslighting. The bitch asked me what was wrong, then called me a liar and dismissed my feelings. It’s sick.
“Are you ever proud of me?” I asked while tears rained down my cheeks.
She threw up her hands in genuine confusion and exclaimed, “You haven’t done anything to be proud of lately!”
That was the year I completed my first year of teaching 8th grade science, completed construction and payment of my home, and got engaged to the love of my life.
The next day, as we were getting ready to leave, Dick was still going on about his stupid house saying, “I think I’ll paint the shutters purple.” By this point, I was so fed up with their casual insults and rampant bragging that I couldn’t help but snap, “You’ve already got pink benches, so if you paint the shutters purple it’s going to look like 2 women live here.” (Two women living together is fine with me by the way. A man wanting pink and purple decorations is fine, too. I was just trying to strike back with casual insults the way he had done to me for the past 4 days. It worked.)
What Dick said next will never cease to amaze me. There he stood in front of his 3-story home and his brand new Cadillac, wearing a boring collared shirt that probably cost $150. After insulting me all weekend, his response to my one and only comeback insult was, “Maybe we should get in a fist fight.” I am not kidding you. He said those actual words to me.
I don’t speak to them anymore, because I don’t see the point. They have made it clear that they have a very low opinion about me, and spending time with them makes me feel horrible.
If you can relate to my story and have a narcissistic family, then separating from them might be the healthiest way to protect your mental health.
Your Family Doesn't Value You
If your family doesn’t value you, it may be in your best interest to separate from them. Sadly, I have many personal experiences to share that reveal how little I am valued by my entire family.
No One is Ever on Your Side
If no one is ever on your side in times of conflict, it is very likely that your family just doesn’t value you. This has been the case for me my entire life.
In a previous article I wrote called, “Childhood Trauma Causes Lasting Codependency,” I talked about how my meth addicted mother turned her parents against me so easily. She played the victim as hard as she possibly could, saying that I was a horrible kid who was making her life hard. Despite my mother’s obvious addiction issues, my grandparents were eager to side with my mom and verbally tear me apart, calling me a loser and telling me that I would never amount to anything. No one asked me how I was handling their divorce. No one asked me if I felt safe around my mom. I was definitely not safe, by the way.
My mom kicked me out for expressing that I missed my dad, and dad refused to take me in at first. After he reluctantly agreed, I lived with him and his girlfriend in peace for awhile. They were also on drugs and we functioned mostly like roommates who ignored each other. However, after his girlfriend had threatened to hit me one too many times, I finally snapped and told her if she ever hit me, I’d beat her ass down. Dad was appalled that I had defended myself and sided with his girlfriend.
After that, we all continued to live together, but we ignored each other even more than before.
My grandmother chewed me out the same way the other grandparents had, telling me that it was my fault my dad was stressed out, cussing at me, calling me a loser, and telling me I would never amount to anything. When I finally talked back to her, she played the victim to the entire family, and turned me into the devil. Grandmother took my dad’s side, and he took hers. All of my aunts and uncles joined in to pick me apart like roadkill. Everyone was always on everyone else’s side.
Red rover, red rover let Katy come ove- actually no, we hate her. Stay away, Katy…
Bros Before Hoes
As a teen, my family made me feel isolated and alone. However, I did have one cousin that I had always thought of as a brother, because we were so close. His friends became my friends, and I dated one of his best friends for a few years. If I had known my cousin and his friends lived by a “bros before hoes” code, I would have never invested so much time and energy into those relationships.
My boyfriend and I got an apartment together when we were both 18 years old. One time during an argument, I kept asking him where he had been all night, because he didn’t come home until 4 a.m., and he wasn’t wearing shoes. I didn’t call him names or threaten him; I just kept demanding to know where he had been.
He said, “If you don’t shut up, I’m going to grab that baseball bat and beat you in the skull with it.”
Shocked and afraid, I shut up. Moving out took some time, as I had to save up some money and try to figure out who I could trust for a new roommate. I couldn’t work full time if I wanted to keep my grades up in college, and I couldn’t bear the thought of dropping out.
I told a few “friends” about the threat, and they acted as though I had said nothing at all. There was no response; no offer of a safe place to stay. No one even offered a comforting word like, “You don’t deserve to be talked to like that.” When I told my cousin about the threat, I thought, “Surely he will care about me and my safety.” I was wrong. He also acted like I had said nothing at all.
In the few months that I was trying to figure out a new living situation, I cheated on the guy with a girl that he had always crushed on, partly as revenge, and also because I just wanted to.
When I was finally able to move out, I told my cousin that if my ex-boyfriend was a real man, he would never treat a woman like that. My cousin glared at me with more hatred in his eyes than I had ever seen and responded with, “If you were a real woman, you would have gotten out of that situation sooner, and not cheated on him.” How dare I hurt his precious friend?
His ability and willingness to make me the bad guy in that situation proved that he didn’t value me at all.
Everything is Always Your Fault / Scapegoating
In an article I wrote on Medium called, “Why Do They Gut Me?“ I tell the heartbreaking story of how I sacrificed so much to save my mom’s life after a horrific overdose when everyone else in the family was willing to let her die. I succeeded in helping my mom get well when everyone said it was impossible, I never rubbed it in anyone’s face whatsoever, and I never will. It’s hard to love an addict, so I forgive them for leaving her all alone to die.
Unfortunately, after a few months of renewed vitality, mom’s cardiovascular health began to suffer, most likely because of the shock of quitting meth after a 40 year streak.
Read the article I mentioned for full details, but basically I became the scapegoat, (again,) for mom’s depression that accompanied her declining health. It was obvious that the real problem was that she got sober too late in life. But, my aunts and sister conspired and blamed me for mom’s depression; blaming it on the fact that I was only allowing her to eat healthy foods.
I still gave her some sugar, some junk food, and some cigarettes. I just didn’t let her overdo it on anything unhealthy. For example, she really loved these fried fruit pies from the gas station, but they hurt her stomach and were filled with chemical preservatives. So, I made her organic fried fruit pies from scratch with icing and everything.
I quit 2 jobs, put my life on hold, flew across the country, nursed my mom back to health, cleaned her house, did all of the paperwork to get her set up with Social Security payments, and so much more. After all I had done for my mom, when they were all content to let her die alone in her house, family literally blamed her depression on me.
If your family treats you like everything is always your fault, this is called “scapegoating.” Scapegoats are convenient targets to blame everything on, partly because we are just different. Our independent minds make us stand out from the herd. Scapegoats are used to shift the guilt. In my case, my family obviously felt guilty for not helping my mom and they felt stupid for saying that her recovery was impossible.
If you are the family scapegoat, separation may be necessary to find peace in life.
Your Feelings Are Minimalized or Dismissed
If your feelings are minimalized or dismissed altogether, if may be best to separate from family. When family refuses to acknowledge your feelings it shows a lack of respect and concern and can make you feel like you don’t exist. At least that’s how it makes me feel; completely erased.
Like I mentioned earlier, when I lived with my dad and his girlfriend, we all ignored each other. No one ever asked how I was doing, and no one cared. We didn’t eat meals together or spend time together in any way. My sister was older and didn’t live with us, but when she came over to visit, my dad would actually come out of his bedroom and visit with her. I would surface too, excited for some type of engagement, and I remember very clearly how it always went down.
If I said anything, anything at all, my sister would always respond with, “You’re sooooo stupid,” and dad would slap his knee, howl with laughter, and act like she had just told the most witty joke in the world. I put up with this for awhile, but one time the insult caused me to sulk to my bedroom and cry.
A few minutes later, my sister opened the door, and said in a pissed off tone, “What are you doing?”
With tears on my face I said, “Can you please not call me stupid anymore? It hurts my feelings.”
She crossed her arms, scoffed, said, “Whatever,” and then she left.
Treating me like my feelings don’t matter is probably the strongest tradition in my family.
When I told Nicki that Dick was being mean to me, she told me that I, “Got my feelings hurt,” instead of saying, “I’m sorry he hurt your feelings.”
A few years ago, my sister begged me to come to a party at her house, and within 5 minutes of my arrival, she made fun of my boobs to her friends when I left the room. Her friends cornered me like bullies and demanded I lift my shirt. I didn’t comply. Later that evening, one of the girls became extremely violent with her husband in front of their toddler son. The next morning, when I expressed to my sister that everything that had happened made me feel insulted and unsafe, she denied making fun of me and denied that anyone’s safety had been at risk.
About a year later, my sister even called me out for gossiping to family about the party, and when she did, I admitted it and apologized. I used the opportunity to ask her to apologize for making fun of me at the party. She not only denied her cruel behavior, but even added that she would never let someone talk badly about me. How sweet.
She only admitted to making fun of me at that party years later when she got angry with me. At that time, she technically apologized, but it was extremely sarcastic and dismissive.
Favoritism
Trash Talk
Favoritism can be highly damaging especially for those that are never deemed the favorite.
If you have read through my experiences, you are probably assuming that I have never been the favorite of the 2 sisters, but it’s more complicated than that. As I mentioned, when I moved across the country at a young age, family was on their best behavior, but I guess what I meant is that they were acting like I was their favorite while trash-talking my sister.
When I lived far away, phone conversations with most family members would often devolve into them gossiping about my sister to me. “Her house is dirty and covered in animal shit. She has too many pets.” “Your nephew’s step-sisters are violent to him.” “There’s something wrong with your sister, I think you’re doing better than her.”
I never participated in the trash talk and always countered with a positive comment about my sister like, “I think it’s sweet that she has a big enough heart to adopt so many animals in need,” or “I think she is doing just fine.”
For some reason, when I moved back to Texas, the favoritism seems to have shifted back to my sister. It’s hard to tell, because my aunt did attempt to gossip about her to me on the vacation I mentioned above.
I can’t give a thorough explanation for this behavior, and I’m honestly glad I’ll never fully understand it. But, I think the gossip and favorites game is a shallow attempt at bonding, and my refusal to participate was probably seen as a refusal to bond. Small minds simply don’t understand how to form and maintain healthy and authentic relationships.
You Are Labeled the Devil
If you are labeled the devil by your family for minor things, I am right there with you.
While reading through this article, you are probably thinking that I am the one who has cut ties with my family for the way they have treated me my entire life. Ironically, that is not the case. Except for Nicki, Dick, and my junkie twin uncles, I have not been the one to burn the final bridges.
The final bridges were burned when I decided to sell my property and move to Alaska. My decision was based mainly on the fact that I do not feel safe living so close to my sister because of the violent company she keeps and the way they treated me like a target at that party. I also don’t feel valued, because she prioritizes all of her time with those people instead of me. I just don’t feel like I belong here anymore.
The entire family has labeled me the devil, because the family cemetery consisting of 6 monuments is on my land. All were cremated; there are no bodies buried there. Under normal circumstances, I would agree that it seems a little heartless to give up land that has been in my family for over 100 years. But, these are not normal circumstances, because of the following:
- I was the only one that lifted a finger to help my mom when she was dying. So, why is the small monument that represents her life more valuable than her actual life was? Why do shallow people value the dead more than the living? Those that have disowned me over my decision to sell my land, lived within 5 minutes to 5 hours away from my mom and deliberately chose not to help her in her time of need. I quit 2 jobs and flew across the country to save her life and spent months helping her get healthy.
- I offered 2 options to preserve the cemetery: 1. Turn it into an official county cemetery which would make it illegal to alter or destroy; regardless of who buys the property. 2. Help my sister relocate the monuments to somewhere beautiful on her land.
- When our grandmother was alive and owned my land, she spoke of selling the property often, and everyone still respected her. She never once mentioned how to preserve the cemetery where her sons and husband were buried, and no one asked about the subject. Everyone loved her until the day she died, even though she was insanely cruel, demeaning, and extremely narcissistic.
- When our Aunt Mary was alive, she was inches from actually selling the property. The only reason she didn’t sell the land is because she died before she could. Like our grandmother, she never once mentioned an option for how to preserve the cemetery. Everyone loved her until the day she died.
My junkie uncle tried to have sex with our cousin at a family reunion when she was only 12. He also slapped my sister on the ass when she was a teenager. But, when family sees him, they smile and say, “Hey, Uncle Jay!”
My grandmother disowned my sister for over a year and refused to talk to her on the phone, because she didn’t like her husband. When my sister offered to come and visit alone, our grandmother still refused. However, as soon as grandmother needed help, my sister was there for her, kissing her mean ass until the day she died.
Nicki and Dick are cruel to everyone, but family just accepts their behavior.
My mom threatened to kill me often during the worst of her meth and alcohol binges when I was just a teenager. Her logic was that a mom and daughter suicide/homicide would make my dad feel bad for cheating on her. To this day, family always speaks kindly of my mother and says the phrase, “She was a good person.”
My dad ignored me, didn’t want me, called me stupid, always sided with everyone except for me, and kicked me out when I was 16 and didn’t even call or check in on me to see if I was surviving. To this day everyone says the same about him; “He was a good person.”
They are all a big happy family, pardoning each other for their numerous transgressions, but I am the devil for the smallest and slightest of offenses.
How to Heal After Separating from Family
After reading through my experiences, you can probably see why going my own way is the healthiest option for me, but that doesn’t mean it has been easy. If you end up officially banished from your family like me, or if you have decided to light the match and burn the bridge yourself, be prepared for emotional fallout. Wounds like this cut deep.
Separating from family is psychologically damaging even when it is necessary for you to live your best life. But, there are ways to heal from the sadness associated with this tragic event.
Check back next week for a full article dedicated to helping you overcome the trauma and heal after enduring this major life change. Until then, please be kind to yourself, because somebody has got to!
Thanks for reading!
See you next week!