Should I stay or should I go now?
Should I stay or should I go now?
If I go there will be trouble
An’ if I stay it will be double
So come on and let me know– “Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?”
              The Clash
[A NOTE: This is aimed at folks who are no longer experiencing physical or sexual abuse. It might apply to folks who are experiencing emotional abuse. If you are currently experiencing physical or sexual abuse, please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at: 800-799-7233.]
Do you have contact with the folks who abused you?
Why?
I don’t have contact with my mom. I cut her off at 14, and have only seen her twice since then (my high school graduation, which she insisted on attending, and my sister’s wedding).
It was SO easy to cut her off. SO easy. Partly because I was 14. Partly because she was screaming at me that since moving in with my dad, I had become a “complete whore” (apparently you don’t have to go all-in on the whoring thing, but I’m not one for half-assing anything). Partly because her awfulness was just so very blatant. It was easy to walk away from that and see how it was the healthy choice.
My dad and sister are a different story. For years, I believed my dad that it was my job to take care of them. If I didn’t do it, who would? They clearly needed help. As a matter of fact, they were so needy that my therapist after college, Bennett, thought I was exaggerating. Then, when I made it clear I wasn’t, he was positive I was actually talking about my cognitively disabled sister whenever I mentioned my dad. He thought I couldn’t accept her diagnosis, so I talked about her in code.
Yeah, NO. Bennett finally saw the light when I told him about my weekend. I’d been having fun watching a movie, and then my dad called. He was calling to tell me that he was on the way to my apartment (that I shared with my boyfriend) with my sister and her husband because they were homeless. They were homeless because they’d had a violent fight, both of them hitting each other, and had been evicted for noise violations. There was no way he could take care of them, my dad argued, so I would have to. I told my dad to turn his damn car around. There was no way those two were moving in with me.
My boyfriend was amazed. “I really thought you were going to let them come here,” he told me. I can’t blame him. He’d watched me contort myself in so many ways to care for my dad.
When I told Bennett about this, he immediately apologized for not understanding the situation. “I didn’t think it possible that your dad was that needy,” he explained. Then he asked the question that every single therapist I’d had to that point (3) asked: WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO HIM?
“He needs help. He needs someone to listen to him, take care of him, help him with my sister,” is what I answered every time. “Plus, when he dies, my sister becomes my responsibility. She needs a competent adult to care for her. So, it makes sense for me to be involved in her life and care now.” I didn’t tell any of my therapists that I was sending him money every month. I felt I had to, even as I racked up credit card debt to buy food. Yes, I put sending them money above buying food.
My first three therapists were men. I thought it was easier for men to suggest that I cut them off. After all, my father told me repeatedly how I was just like his brother, my uncle: selfish, uncaring, unwilling to do the work of caring for people whom I was responsible for. I’d been hearing that for years.
It took me six more years after that conversation with Bennett to cut my dad off. In that six years, I had moved from NYC to Boulder, CO for grad school. I’d achieved a new level of poverty, which meant I couldn’t send money any longer, the first separation from them. My boyfriend and I had ended our relationship, and I really struggled to make friends in school. It was a very lonely time for me, and the idea of cutting off my dad seemed pretty scary. But every conversation we had left me feeling exhausted. I started scheduling conversations so that I could have the next day to recover.
I saw my new therapist, a woman, after one of these calls. As I told her about it, she asked, “Are you angry?”
“I don’t know.”
“You sound pretty angry. Do you feel angry in your body?”
“I don’t know. I can’t feel anything in my body.”
“That’s a trauma response.”
I stared at her. I realized I literally had no idea if I was angry or not. I didn’t know most of my emotions.
“You know,” she said quietly, “You really don’t have to talk to him. Or your sister. You don’t have to take care of them. The only thing you have to do is take care of you.”
For the first time, I didn’t immediately argue that they needed me. I just sat with the idea.
Driving home, “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” by The Clash came on a mixtape I was playing. (Yes, my car had an actual cassette tape player. My car was also old enough to drink legally.) And some of the lyrics kept repeating in my mind: “If I go there will be trouble/And if I stay it will be double.”
It was true. There would be some trouble if I cut them off. And there was going to be so much more trouble if I stayed in this dynamic.
I cut my sister off first. She had beaten me, and still had a tendency to yell at me when we talked. I changed my phone number and gave the new number only to my dad. Four months later, my sister called me. When I confronted my dad, he told me that he had to give her the number because she wouldn’t stop hounding him for it. I hung up and changed my phone number again. Neither of them have it. They had my address and my email address. And every few weeks, I’d receive a letter or an email asking me to please share my phone number, telling me how unfair I was, etc. Guilt trip after guilt trip. It had worked in the past, so it’s not surprising they tried it again.
One thing I’ll say for my mom, when I cut her out, she let me go.
For a year, I still called them monthly (always using *69 to block my number from their caller ID). And then I got tired of being yelled at every month, of being told how selfish and unloving I was. So I started only calling for birthdays and Christmas. Except I started getting very sick every Christmas. I’m not a fan of Christmas, but I didn’t want to be sick for it. I decided to tell them I was going on a silent retreat every year, and that I would call them a few days before the actual day. For whatever reason, that’s worked out OK for me.
Then it was time to move. And I realized I could stop the nightmares of my dad showing up at my door by simply not telling him where I was moving. But I didn’t want to pay for a post office box just for them. Happily, a friend volunteered to give her address. So, now they mail stuff to my friend a few times a year.
No one in my immediate family knows I have children. If I have my way, they will never know. I am stopping the cycle of violence on both sides of my family, and one of the best ways to do that is for my children to never ever be exposed to it.
So often, when I talk to other kids who have experienced abuse, they are both intrigued and kinda horrified that I cut my family off. I remember feeling that way. Wondering what kind of person would do that, and did I really want to be that kind of person? Wondering how you really did that – not just the logistics, but also, how did you keep your resolve? But mostly, what I needed, and what other people seem to need, is permission. So here is your permission slip:
I, Dawn, give you, __________________, permission to love yourself first. Permission to take care of yourself the best way you can. Permission to cleanse your life of those who have hurt you. Permission to focus your energy on those who build you up, love you, and want the best for you with no agenda of their own. I give you permission to have more peace in your life, more kindness in your day, more freedom from pain.
From someone who’s been there and done that: It’s much much better.
Some logistical points:
1. You don’t have to do it all at once
It’s a big change. Maybe you just want to cut down on the number of calls. You can do that. You can decide on a good boundary and inform the person(s) of it. And then you need to follow it. It’ll be good practice for you.
Say, for example, you decide one call a month will do. You schedule the call. And then you let all other calls go to voicemail. And then, this is important, someone else listens to the voicemails. OR, You get a google voice number and let it email you a transcript of the voicemail. (Google voice is really great for awful family members, FYI.) YOU DO NOT LISTEN TO THE VOICEMAILS.
Repeat:Â YOU DO NOT LISTEN TO THE VOICEMAILS.
And, once you’ve got a few months of this boundary maintenance completed, you can choose to add a new boundary. It’s OK for you to ease into this.
2. And, if you want, you CAN do it all at once
This is much easier if you are moving, or don’t live near your previous abusers. Change your phone number, find someone who will let them mail things, and change your primary email address. Block them on social media, and severely limit the access their friends have to your social media.
3. Don’t get mad at yourself if you are tempted to contact them
No decision has to be final. You can reevaluate if necessary. Even if you think it should be final, you’ll probably be tempted to get back in touch for some reason.
Last week, my friend delivered a birthday card my dad had sent. In it, he told me what was going on with him and my sister, including the information that he had fallen and needed several stitches in his scalp, plus his car had died and so it was hard for him to get around. He also sent me a present of $10 that I know he can’t afford.
After I got that card, I immediately started wondering if I should save up and get him a computer so he could at least get online since he was mostly trapped at home (there’s very limited bus service in his rural area). Maybe I should visit him? He’s going to die, maybe soon, I thought, shouldn’t I see him one more time to say goodbye?
I mentioned this to my current therapist (a woman). Her immediate response: You can say goodbye without seeing him. I promise. I will help you.
I realized I was, once again, trying to take care of him. That I fell into that pattern, again. Of course I did. I lived it for over 30 years. It’s OK. And, I don’t need to take care of him. I need to take care of my children. And since he has made it impossible for me to safely take care of him and my children, I choose my children.
It’s not easy, and it hurts in many ways I never anticipated. But it’s healthier and happier.
What do you think will be healthiest and happiest for you? Join me at www.facebook.com/QuietStormsCO and let’s chat.