In December 2018, aged 27, I broke up with my partner of eight years and spent Christmas with my mum and stepfather. 

As soon as I walked through the door, my mum told me my hair looked bad. 

A week prior to this, I’d visited my dad. 

My parents divorced when I was five and splitting time to tend to their needs was normal for me. I had always been expected to be the one to listen to their rants, give advice or just be an emotional dumping ground for them to unload on to. Except this time, I needed them to return the favour.  

I felt lost, unwell and heartbroken… and yet, instead of a hug, a hot drink and comfort, my dad spent three hours talking at me.

He didn’t stop to take a breath, much less ask if I was OK. During his monologue, he touched on his doomed relationships; how every woman in his life had wronged him and how I was so lucky to have a father like him.

I just stared at the wall opposite.

I left the next day, deciding that Christmas with my mum would be preferable as I couldn’t bear his self-absorbed drivel any longer. But after arriving at her place, the rest of the Christmas period played out much the same way and I didn’t get any form of the comfort or affection that I craved. 

All I received in the shape of support were a few comments here and there – maybe I could take a walk to feel better? Why was I dressed like that? (I was in a hoodie and jeans; what was wrong with that?)

But never: ‘Are you okay?’ Never a hug. 

My step dad looked on with a defeated look in his eyes – he knew what my mother was like and he knew what to expect if he called her out on it. 

If we said anything, my mum would give him and the rest of us the silent treatment, sometimes for weeks on end.

Pissing her off would then lead to weeks of passive aggressive comments. My stepdad is a coward but I can at least understand why – it just isn’t worth crossing her. 

My half-sister, who is 10 years younger than me, hugged me with more compassion than my mother ever could, yet we both felt powerless in calling her out for her actions.

I was defeated… and the rest of my family knew it was a lost cause to ever try to explain to her that maybe she could be nicer. I used to joke with friends that I didn’t like to be hugged because my mum never hugged me as a child – and suddenly at Christmas it made sense. 

I struggled to recall any moment in life in which my mum embraced me – affectionate touch was non-existent in our household. I had grown up in an environment with no love.

I can’t remember my mum ever asking about my day or showing interest in the things that interested me. I was forced to give up playing tennis when we moved areas when I was 11 – and it was because my mum couldn’t be bothered to help me find a new sports centre. 

I walked away and promised myself that I would never let her or anybody else make me feel that unloved ever again

I was a bit of a tomboy growing up thanks to being sandwiched in between two brothers but when I turned 16, I started experimenting with make-up and more feminine clothing – something my mother wasn’t happy about.

She always told me I looked bad or that I looked fat, that my hair wasn’t nice. I had almost straight As at school but it was merely expected, not congratulated. 

Every birthday, I’d come down to a few gifts on the table and that was it. Sure, we didn’t struggle for money or nice things, but I can’t recall a single moment in my entire childhood or adolescence in which my mum said ‘Are you OK?’ – it was always ‘get over it’ or ‘stop being upset’.

I was never allowed to verbalise displeasure or show emotions; I was expected to always be composed, stoic and emotionless. She always looked embarrassed if I ever cried. 

And then if I ever tried to find a connection with my father, it would also fall on deaf ears. 

He could only hold a conversation if the topic was about himself – even at the expense of his relationship with his only daughter. When I was 22, I told him that I had finally got a diagnosis of endometriosis after suffering with symptoms since I was 11 years old. 

Almost immediately after he realised it was related to my menstrual cycle, he retorted with ‘I don’t want to hear about women’s problems’.

I remember sobbing to myself in bed one night as I’d never felt so alone in all my life. 

Christmas was supposed to be a magical time to spend with family and, given the circumstances, I assumed spending time around my parents would make me feel better after a bad break-up. 

Instead, I was hit with a gut-wrenching realisation that, even at my lowest, my parents could still not show me love. 

On 27 December, I got up at 5am and packed my bags.

My mum is an early riser too so I told her work had called me in and I had no choice. In reality, I begged work to let me go in.  

As I was leaving, she smiled and told me to get home safe. It was like staring into an empty vessel. I was done. I walked away and promised myself that I would never let her or anybody else make me feel that unloved ever again.

I texted a group chat that had my mum and stepfather in and said that if they didn’t have anything nice to say, then they should say nothing. I left the chat.

My stepfather text me a few days later to try to get me to rejoin but after being told that I should apologise to my mum, I told him I’d rather live in a flat with my ex in a town that I knew nobody in then move back in with them.

I also told him to tell her that she needs therapy and that I won’t speak to either of them until she’s reflected on the situation. I text my dad saying the same thing.

My parents have my telephone number, they know they can text me and make it right and yet they haven’t

It’s been three years since I made that decision – I’ve not seen my mother, her husband or my father since.

My parents have my telephone number, they know they can text me and make it right and yet they haven’t.

I spent the following months in a daze, attempting to work and keep my head above water, but I struggled. 

I lost 20kg in three months, my hair started falling out and I was alone in a town that had never felt like ‘home’.

After realising that I felt suicidal, I started therapy. On the rare occasion that I’ve shared this with others, I’ve explained that there wasn’t a singular event that pushed me away, it was ‘death by a thousand cuts’.  

Spending months in therapy helped me realise that every time my parents had dismissed my needs, rejected my affection or made callous remarks dressed up as jokes, they were hurting me.

It wasn’t abnormal to want to be loved. I had an overwhelmingly negative view of myself and my self-esteem was non-existent. 

Therapy was crucial in showing me that when I met my ex, I had fallen in love with a person that emulated my mother in similar ways: stoic, cold and reluctant to communicate their needs. 

I didn’t realise it at the time but breaking up with my ex was the catalyst I needed to break up with my parents. All I had ever wanted was someone to show me love, and none of them could.

It took a while, but I began to realise that the problem was with them, not me. Attempting to get affection from them would ultimately continue to damage me as they were incapable of doing so.

It’s hard to explain this to people with loving parents, but I can count on one hand the number of times that my parents have ever shown me affection – and I could write a book about all the times they’ve made me feel worthless. 

The truth is, my life has been better ever since I severed all ties with them. Every day since then, I’ve looked back on my childhood and early adulthood and realised there were so many questionable actions they made. 

It was only when I had nothing left in life, when I fully cut them out to save myself from further hurt and trauma, did I realise I had to take care of myself.

Since parting ways with them, I’ve lived on my own, met the man of my dreams, been promoted at work and started my own side business. Throughout the pandemic, I worked on the frontlines as a nurse and in mid-2020 my appendix burst. I’ve survived it all without any help from my parents.

They haven’t met my new partner, they don’t know where I work and they have no idea how well I’ve done since I cut them out. 

They have had the chance to rectify their wrongs but the idea of expressing remorse or candour with their daughter is beyond them. They both lack empathy and are terrified or showing vulnerability at all. 

I’ve never heard either of them say sorry for anything – I can’t see that changing now. 

Recently, I was nominated for an award at work. We were treated to a fancy lunch and received mementos for the occasion. Someone I went along with remarked that my parents would be proud of me.

I wish they were.

Degrees of Separation

This series aims to offer a nuanced look at familial estrangement.

Estrangement is not a one-size-fits-all situation, and we want to give voice to those who’ve been through it themselves.

If you’ve experienced estrangement personally and want to share your story, you can email [email protected] and/or [email protected]

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