The Reality Of Going No-Contact
*Six Feet Under theme*
Two years ago, I wrote about separating the home from hometown. “No contact” had already entered modern parlance. More therapy-speak misappropriated, an oversimplification of a complex problem. It didn’t appear in that article and, looking back, I can see why. I wasn’t quite “over it,” and not as enlightened as I thought. I was also a little in love with myself for not begging a friend to drive me past my mother’s.
Going no-contact is hardly new. The technical term is estrangement. It’s an unwieldy word and a discomforting one. That unease is the dreadful tickle of the unnatural, because estrangement is unnatural. What is strange ordinarily becomes known, but what is known can become strange. It isn’t good, cutting a family member from your life. Neither is whatever happened to warrant it.
Going no-contact: why some children abandon their parents.
In most cultures, severing ties with one’s parents carries heavy stigma—heavier than that of the abuse and neglect they endured. This social injustice is only the latest in an often lifelong string of systemic failures to intervene. The backlash for establishing a no-contact rule hits from every side: siblings, relatives, friends, coworkers, strangers on the internet. Many can’t seem to grasp that the harm certain parents have inflicted can and does outweigh the good.
Consider the circumstances that would make a typical person cease contact with their family. A wrong or series of wrongs gone unacknowledged and as such uninterred. Extreme political and/or religious views that jeopardize one’s existence. Absence, neglect, chronic instability. Emotional manipulation, physical violence. What would you do if that was your reality? Would you tolerate abuse just because “they’re family?”
Going no-contact is a measure of last resort. It often means you’ve exhausted every option that involves keeping them around. You don’t block your own mother out of a simple disagreement. The wound is deep, mortal if you subject yourself to more. Worse, it is intentional. It says no one is for you the way parents should be for their children. To get out, you must choose yourself in a way more secure kids could never imagine.
As seen on TV!
HBO’s The Sopranos (1999–2007) gave us a dysfunctional family in three generations. Tony (James Gandolfini—RIP) had sisters Janice (Aida Turturro) and Barbara, whose appearances in the storyline were so rare, two actors played the role (Nicole Burdette, Seasons 2, 3; Danielle Di Vecchio, Seasons 5, 6). Janice proves vital to the plot but Barbara is so insignificant, I forgot her name although I love the show.
The Sopranos electrifies the link between Italian and American family ideals of pride and loyalty. That’s how it gets us on the crime family’s side. Even Meadow (Jamie Lynn Sigler) finds it in her heart to justify her father’s involvement in “waste management.” From that perspective, no one’s hands are clean, except for maybe Barbara’s.
Her relatives, when they do mention her, do so with dismissal, even shame. You might say she’s not about that life. It helps us write her off with them. Why I love Barbara Giglione (née Soprano) has to do with how loud her absence becomes as the show evolves. It’s an accurate depiction of what it really looks like to go no–contact. Barbara gave no speech, no grand announcement. She just stopped showing up.
Recognizing patterns, establishing boundaries
This was a difficult choice. I miss my mom, knowing full well she puts the blame on me for going no-contact. She’s a person after all, someone who had dreams and aspirations well before she had children. That said, people are meant to change, hopefully for better. Cutting off contact with my mother is one of the hardest changes I made. It was also the most liberating.
I know I can call. I still want my mother around, just like I wanted my friend to drive me past her home. How do I know I wouldn’t have gotten out and knocked on the door? Maybe, maybe not, though I do know who would answer.
Valentine’s Day, third grade, February 1999. Ms. Meisner sent us home with a sealed packet the week prior and distributed them on the 14th. It’s the delicate quilting of laudatory comments and preemptive self-absolvement for me. That cursive though! Black stain: incense oil spill c. 2011.
One day in 2018, I realized I hadn’t called for a while. Then I kept not calling. When the freedom I was finding showed its colder side, anger fueled my resolve until I could remember. That anger signals an expectation of an apology, and like her ingrained bigotry, it guarantees more comfort than the task of personal growth. It’s familiar, like I used to be, like she used to be. But familiar doesn’t always mean good. It can mean giving up, for better or worse.
If you’re going no-contact, yes, you will grieve. You will no doubt feel lonely (warning: the holidays can really suck). On the other hand, in addition to freedom and peacefulness, you’ll also find self-respect. It’s like striking out on your own all over again.
It’s true, what is known can become strange. Sometimes, it must.
Howdy! My name is Katy Atchison and I'm an Associate Editor for Broke-Ass Stuart.
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