CUTTING TIES

For people who have experienced trauma at the hands of a relative, choosing to cut contact is often the last resort. Here, one woman explains the toll it can take on your mental health, and how therapy and boxing have helped her to forge a new future with

What it’s really like to be estranged from your family

The memories I have of my wedding day are bittersweet. It was a beautiful occasion and I was marrying the man I loved. But in the days and weeks that followed, when I should have been wrapped up in newlywed bliss, all I could think was: ‘That’s the day I lost my family.’ Becoming estranged wasn’t a choice I made overnight, by any means. Since childhood, I’d suffered years of physical and emotional abuse at the hands of my dad. (Abuse I never reported to the police after teachers didn’t believe me when I opened up about it at school.) The final straw came in May 2018, when I refused to let him use my name to buy a house using the help-to-buy scheme, prompting a string of abusive messages. So when my now-husband Alex* and I decided we would get married in the following

March, when I was 26 years old, I made the decision not to invite him.

While my mum initially claimed to understand, it soon became clear that, as she saw it, I’d be cutting myself off from her, too. The day I showed her my wedding dress, she accused me of being unfair, and it was the last time we spoke. Soon after, my dad called to tell me I’d regret not inviting him. I haven’t spoken to him since. I’d tried to hide from Alex the abuse I’d suffered over the years, but after five years together, he knew enough. We worked together on an email explaining that I didn’t just want my dad out of the wedding – I wanted him out of my life for good.

The wedding itself was a small affair, particularly considering I have a large British-indian family. My brother, then 16, was the only member of my immediate family who came. As he walked me down the aisle, he admitted that it was the last time he’d be able to see me for a while as our dad wouldn’t allow it. Hearing those words felt surreal, as did the whole day. I don’t think I was truly present at all.

Coming to terms with my new situation afterwards was incredibly isolating. Losing my family felt like I was grieving their deaths and I missed my brother so much. Any time I was alone, I’d burst into tears, and I spent hours wondering if I should have done something differently.

Out of my extended family of more than 100 relatives, I now only speak to three. My friends are loving and supportive, but when I hear stories of people relying on their parents – for comfort after a break-up or even for help with a house deposit – it reinforces how alone I am. Christmas is easy (I spend it with Alex’s family), but festivals like Diwali are the hardest. I’ve lost that connection to my roots, and someone to teach me about what it means to be Indian, along with my invitation to big, traditional weddings. It feels like I’ve lost more than just my family: I’ve lost a whole culture. And some days, like my brother’s birthday, are so painful that I struggle to speak.

Sessions with a therapist – the same one I’ve been seeing since just before the estrangement – have been invaluable in teaching me forgiveness and helping me to work through the abuse. The amount of mental processing I do while running is incredible, too, and boxing helps me feel strong. I never wanted Alex to feel like he had to ‘look after me’ in the absence of my family, and boxing

‘Losing my family felt like I was grieving their deaths – I missed my brother so much’

gives me the sense that I’m my own person – something I never felt growing up.

It’s only now that I realise my parents don’t really know me – we might share some interests, but I don’t think they could tell you who I am fundamentally, or what I stand for. Cutting myself off meant I felt free to explore my own interests for the first time – even small things like tending to plants. Becoming estranged from your family is terrifying, but I’ve learned that people – myself included – are so much more than their fear. You get to build your own support system and your own future – the great friends I’ve held on to are so much more like family than the blood relatives I’ve lost. Above all, I now know that I’m enough, and that’s the most valuable thing in the world.