Today several members of my family are packing into their cars from all over the country and heading to Jacksonville, FL, for a family reunion. I, upon initial agreement to attend, am sitting in my living room typing this because maybe when it comes to family reunions, I shouldn’t have to question, “who all gone be there?”
Most of those people I do not know anyway. My father’s father, whom I have never met, had several sets of children. While I am sure it would have been nice to meet some of my Facebook relatives, that is only but so exciting, seeing as how we barely interact. I am not as close to my father’s side of the family, with, of course, a few exceptions. In 2015 I did attend some version of the Lacey Family Reunion. I found out about it a few hours prior to attending; it was 30 minutes from my house. When I arrived, it was a few days removed from having cut all my hair off and going natural. My father’s twin sister didn’t utter a word to me (which I actually appreciate because I unequivocally hate her and she should be in jail for child abuse), his youngest sister sat right next to me and, instead of acknowledging me, repeatedly vocalized her shock over my hair choices (my hair is much longer than hers now).
I’m not completely removed from my father’s family and although we have a rocky relationship at times, I still care for him. My father’s youngest brother is the family favorite, and mine too. We’ve been bonded since before I can remember. He was the first person to take me to Disney. He helps me with my biggest DIY house renovations. He’s given me shelter. He’s been the dad that I needed and didn’t always get and his daughter does not realize the gift she has. He lives about 40 minutes away. We reunite all the time.
In October of 2022, I blocked a third family member on my mother’s side. It was her sister and I had blocked her youngest daughter moments before. In March, my mother’s sister called her to ask if she could get me to speak with her, completely ignoring the fact that my mother hadn’t really felt comfortable speaking with her as well; my block was just more definitive.
For years I struggled to get her validation and winced when the person with the biggest laugh in the room would turn on a dime to send words spewing the air with the intention to cut and blow. That aunt is the fun one. The one with the biggest parties and the biggest heart. A heart that would take her childhood trauma out on me with the slightest hair trigger. The smallest infractions would illicit pure disdain, and there I would stand, in pigtailed defeat, in a pool of joy immediately converted to sadness, upon the direction of her voice. Her ability to be so absolutely loving before she turned on you was what kept you returning and confused. During my aunt’s conversation with my mother, she lamented, “I know I’ve said some hurtful things in the past, but I didn’t mean it.” A woman with a doctorate in education, who worked for the Chicago Public School system for at least three decades, should have meant every mean thing she said because if she didn’t, that would mean that in all of that education, she didn’t know that calling a child “foolish,” with disgust on her breath, (among countless other infractions) for simply wearing a silly hat, was in fact harmful, and that’s even worse because that means she has no sense of emotionally responsible boundaries but is working with children.
She and my mother stopped speaking in 2018. The funeral was only a catalyst, but my mother and I had long been the target of her sister’s cruelty but because they did have their share of good memories. I was disappointed that my mother decided she could no longer exist comfortably in spaces with her. I wanted my mother to speak to her again, but now I realize how selfish that was of me for not respecting my mother’s boundaries and, essentially, her mental health. One of the things that also triggered me about the conversation they had was that my aunt said, “that’s just how I am.” That, for me, means ‘adjust to my lack of adjustment.’
It is a lazy thing to ask someone to accept your cruelty simply because you do not know how to conduct yourself in an emotionally responsible manner. What it also tells me is that the person refuses to acknowledge the boundaries they have crossed and therefore has no problem crossing them again since, you know, they don’t know where they are and such.
I’m saying all of this to say that it is ok to let go.
So many times, we think that a familial bond doesn’t need to be accompanied by the same amount of care as friendships and relationships that we chose. That families stick together no matter what, but how much sticking can you do to someone who pulls you apart?
Every single solitary toxic person in the world is related to someone else. What makes you think that they will not only not take that toxicity out on the people in the closest proximity to them the most, but also not be toxic to their family members at all? The idea that people are required to endure more harm simply because of a DNA test is what allows the continuation of unhealthy behaviors inside and outside of families. If those closest to you cannot get accountability out of you, then really, who can?
It is absolutely ok to cut off people who harm you that aren’t related to you, and it is absolutely ok to cut off people who harm you that are related to you. If their kindness is optional, then so is my communication.
