No Contact

Thoughts From An Abandoned Child

I think everyone can think of at least one awful thing their parents have done over the course of their lives. Unfortunately, only the lucky ones can also think of the good things. Realistically, family relationships are a mixed bag. Not all negativity means no contact is necessary, but when a relationship is only negative, it can become a safety issue.

That can look like physical abuse, mental abuse, or both. Once abuse is the only thing left, it’s no longer safe to stay in contact with a parent. Parents will often call no contact or limited contact “abuse,” and while it can be used that way, more often than not it’s just parents being pissed they don’t have unlimited access to you. That victim mindset becomes a tool to try to break down your boundaries.

Being no contact with a parent—or any loved one—isn’t the easy way out. It hurts. It’s hard. And it can cost a child everything, no matter their age. I know this firsthand, and I can tell you it’s not as simple as just not talking to them.

I have been no contact with my biological father for ten years now. That’s half of my life without seeing or hearing from him. My situation is different from a lot of no-contact stories because he’s been in prison that entire time—and will be for another eleven years.

When I did know him, our relationship was court-ordered trauma. I lived through almost a decade of severe abuse and neglect. He only showed up when it benefited him—when being a “parent” might get him a lesser charge, or when he needed something from my grandparents. His reward for exposing us to drugs and violence was money or lawyers. To him, we were bargaining chips. We were the thing he used to try and pull his parents back in after they cut him off.

One fateful day, we got a call. My siblings and I sat down while my grandparents explained that he wouldn’t be coming home or climbing through my window anytime soon. The relief I felt at eight years old is the reason I’ve never reconnected with him.

I was court-ordered to see him in prison for almost two years. But like most things in my family, that deal eventually fell apart. When I was ten, I was made to cut contact with him and all of his family. And honestly, that was comforting.

Once the court order went away, so did their interest. Don’t get me wrong—they tried to reconnect for a while, but like always, they eventually gave up.

Around that time, I was informally adopted by my stepdad. Once he showed me how a father is supposed to treat their children, I knew I didn’t want my biological father back in my life. I didn’t deserve a father like that.

At twelve years old, I decided it wasn’t worth the stress or emotional damage that came from trying to mend a nonexistent relationship with my biological father and his family.

And that was a hard choice to make as a teenager. I didn’t make that choice because I was forced to, or because a better deal came along. I made that choice because my dad showed me that a father shouldn’t make you feel like a wet, twisted sheet inside every time you hear their name or see their face.

A father should want to go to school events and be part of your life every single day—not just when it’s convenient or when they need something.

That realization was the push I needed to go completely no contact. Up until sixth grade, I was still writing the occasional letter, but I never got anything in return—and honestly, I wasn’t interested in it anymore. I wrote my last letter during the summer between sixth and seventh grade.

In it, I told him I was disappointed. I explained that I no longer thought of my biological father as my dad. I told him I didn’t want to carry the weight and shame of having his last name if he wasn’t going to be in my life. His surname tied me to the crimes he committed and the life he lived, and I didn’t want that anymore.

I had no respect or love for him left in my heart. I was trying to recover from severe mental illness, and moving on was a start. Healing from him has been a lifelong challenge.

It’s been a decade of absolute no contact, and it’s been the most rewarding hurdle I’ve ever overcome. But now that I’m older, some things have changed.

Like a lot of adopted kids do, I got curious about where I came from. I didn’t know my biological father very well—I was eight when he went to prison, and I didn’t see much of him even before that. By the time I was eighteen, I hadn’t seen or heard from his family in about eight years.

I reconnected a little, but it didn’t feel the same.

They don’t feel like family anymore after all the years that have passed. They feel like spare parts of me. I know they’re family—and family is a piece of you—but at this point in my life, I’ve built my own family. Now I’m trying to figure out where they fit in, and I’m not sure they do, at least not as they are right now.

I think the hardest part of reconnecting is knowing it will eventually have to end. Our relationships have an expiration date. Once my biological father gets out in eleven years, they will support him. He’ll be in their lives and their homes, and that’s their right—I would never ask them not to. But once he weaves his way back into the family, I’ll have to distance myself again.

Eleven years might seem like a long time, but after spending ten years trying to forget the pain and suffering my family put me through, the next eleven feel precious. It’s time I can spend getting to know my family again and deciding—on my own terms—whether I want them in my life.

But those eleven years are also a looming threat. Each year brings its own version of that threat, but the biggest one stays the same: my safety and stability feel more at risk as time passes. So before those eleven years disappear, I’m going to do my best to figure out where these relationships stand, on my own terms.

leave a comment below and share your thoughts on no contacts relationship! i’ve been seeing a lot of both side on social media again.

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