Family Estrangement: when it's not your decision

I’ve thought long and hard about whether to post this article. It’s been written for many months but it’s sat, un-posted in the drafts folder, gathering dust. There have been times when my family have struggled with the things I’ve shared and there have been times when I’ve got it wrong. There have been times when I’ve shared stories that weren’t mine to share, or been indiscreet in a way that’s hurt someone and I’m always very conscious to avoid doing that again.

In this instance, I decided that this was my experience and my story to tell. I decided it was worth telling because I know I’m not the only one in this situation and it’s rare that people share their experience from this side of the estrangement. It isn’t my choice to not have a relationship with this person and that’s painful to me everyday, but I’ve also come to a point of real and empowering acceptance about it for the first time in my life. I have gone out of my way to focus on my own feelings around the situation while also adding necessary context without judgement - I hope. If it sounds judgemental in any way, please know that isn’t intended.

This isn’t a sad story - or at least, it’s not all sad. It’s a story about the complexities of life and of human relationships. It’s a story about how the past can continue to claw at the present, about how other people’s decisions and actions can affect those around them for many years and even decades to come. But it’s also a story about why none of that really matters, because when it comes down to it, the only thing I can change and control is my own feelings about it, my own reactions to it and my own actions surrounding it.

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It’s only bloody Friday again - these weeks are rattling by at a worrying pace! Welcome to the second article of the week…I really hope you enjoy it. It’s only fair that I warn you that, unless you’re a paid subscriber, you’re going to hit a paywall at some point in this article. If you want to read this article in full (and get access to tons of other content) then make sure you subscribe for £4.99 a month!

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I’ve read a few articles recently about family estrangement. It’s a subject that fascinates me for lots of reasons - all of them personal - but so far, all the articles are from the point of view of the person who chose to initiate the estrangement. But what if you’re on the other side of that decision? What if you’re the one being cut out? Being discarded?

The feeling of being discarded is an intensely painful one for me.

I use the word ‘discarded’ in a very specific way. It’s the only word I can think of that accurately describes how it feels to realise that where you were once accepted, you are now no longer welcomed.

But first a little bit of backstory. I have two half brothers and one half sister. One brother is from my mum’s first marriage and the other brother and my sister are from my Dad’s first marriage. None of them ever lived with us so, in essence, I grew up as an only child, even though my parents emphasised over and over again that I did have brothers and sisters and that it didn’t matter that they were ‘halves’ or that they didn’t live with us - I was their sister.

The problem is, I don’t think they thought to consider my half-sibling’s feelings before they made this declaration to me. Rather than nurture a relationship that took everyone’s needs and wants into account, I think they thought that, because of genetics, it was a done deal. There was little senstivity given to the situation. It was forced upon us all, without discussion. I get it - they wanted everyone to get along, but simply telling us we must do so isn’t the way to achieve that.

I spent my entire childhood yearning for sibling, for someone who would have my back no matter what.

My eldest half-brother, from my mum’s first marriage, was always lovely and keen to have a relationship but he was 16 years older than me and I rarely saw him. On my dad’s side, my sister was 12 when I was born and my brother was seven. My dad’s divorce from his first wife was a messy, painful, acrimonious divorce that left emotional scars with all involved. I may not have been around to see it or feel it, but I have felt the ramifications of it deeply over the years.

My half-sister from my dad’s first marriage was kind. As soon as I became a teenager she took me under her wing and got me into all sorts of trouble. It was fun and bonding and I loved her deeply for it. I felt honoured to be welcomed into her sphere. I looked up to her, admired her, fell in love with her and wanted to be her. I was too young to understand the importance of being myself and so, instead, I would bend myself into what I thought she wanted me to be. I would make myself lovable, wanted, unable to be discarded.

On the other hand, my half-brother was less enthusiastic about a relationship with me.