I have six children and I’m estranged from all of them --[Reported by Umva mag]

I have six children; and I’m estranged from all of them

‘I don’t want to deal with mental health problems in my everyday life,’ my adult son told me. 

This was over a year ago – and I haven’t seen him, or any of my other five children, since. 

That day, I’d seen them in public and realised I’d been left out of a family event – which had given me a huge emotional flashback to every other time I’d been abandoned. 

After a lifetime of trauma and my family saying I was the problem, I couldn’t take it any more and I attempted to take my own life.

The paramedics were called by my daughter but I refused to be hospitalised. My children followed the paramedics out of the door; and that was it.

Following this, my son refused to answer my text, so I went to his home to ask why they had all chosen to meet up and deliberately exclude me. It was then that he told me he didn’t want to deal with mental health problems.

I’m now estranged from every member of my family. 

Being separated from my children is the hardest thing I’ve ever lived through; but I don’t know why I didn’t sever ties with the rest of my family a long time ago. 

My childhood was split between living at home, being fostered by relatives and being taken into care. 

My father was constantly in and out of prison for violence – once, he broke my little sister’s arm. 

He also found it highly amusing to get us all drunk. 

When I was still a preteen, he was giving us all shots of alcohol, but I threw mine behind the sofa so I could care for my younger siblings. My even younger brother was unconscious and violently sick, lying in the dogbed. 

A few years later, my mother divorced my father; but it wasn’t long before she met somebody new.

He ran me over, dragging me under his car; he slammed my hand in the car door, breaking my finger; and he had me take Valium

A week before one of my teenage birthdays I came home from school to find all my belongings had been moved out of my bedroom and a strange man – who would later be my stepfather – and his two adult children were there instead. 

I fought with my mother – I believe I slapped her across the face. 

My stepfather held me against the wall and told my mother to slap me – which she did – and then he dragged me upstairs and I got carpet burns across my arm. He locked me in my bedroom for a whole weekend, with no food or drink, and said I couldn’t come out unless I apologised to my mother. 

When I went to school, the school counsellor realised something was wrong and I was taken to see our family doctor, then to a children’s home, that night. 

I was there for a few months; then I was sent to live with my paternal uncle, where my eldest brother was already living. 

Living there wasn’t much better. My uncle made me visit my father every month and my aunt was very controlling. 

At the time, I was volunteering with a charity and I’d avoid going home until the last moment. One night, my brother caught me coming out of the park and told my aunt, who accused me of being a sex worker. 

Later, my uncle came into my room and told me he hated me; that I was coming between him and my aunt. 

That night, I attempted to take my life for the first time. I was taken to hospital, where I was treated – and I decided to move back in with my mother. 

It was the worst decision I could have made. 

My stepbrother, who was older than me and married with children, forced me into an abusive relationship; and my step-father and mother kicked me out, saying I’d ruined his marriage. 

I was then reliant on my stepbrother – my abuser – for several months, all while I was still a teenager. He ran me over, dragging me under his car; he slammed my hand in the car door, breaking my finger; and he had me take Valium – intended for his daughter’s seizures – to try and make me more compliant.

It was layer upon layer upon layer of trauma. 

When I grew older, I moved into a hostel for homeless girls. I met someone and became engaged to him.

I found out I was pregnant with his child, and he left me – but I stayed very close with his parents, who essentially adopted me. 

When my daughter was still a baby, my elder brother phoned and said my father wanted to meet her at a family barbecue. I agreed, but only if my daughter’s other grandparents could be present. 

At the barbecue, my father was his ‘public’ persona: Gregarious, happy, pretending we had a wonderful relationship. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘We don’t have that kind of relationship. If you want that, we’re going to have to work on it.’ 

The next day, my brother called me. ‘It’s your fault,’ he shouted. ‘He went home and knocked eight teeth out of his partner’s mouth.’ 

I never saw my father again. 

I met my husband when my daughter was three – he had a job in America, so I ended up moving there for over a decade.

I had five more children with him; and I was besotted with my kids. I absolutely adored their company and I’d have done anything to protect them and make sure nobody ever treated them the way I was treated – I even home-schooled them all.

My therapist once pointed out that I put my children on a pedestal; to me, they could do no wrong. When one of my daughters was caught shoplifting, I blamed myself for not giving her enough pocket money. 

I think my children picked up on this dynamic. After all, if you don’t respect yourself, how can anybody else respect you? 

In the early 2000s, when my youngest was less than a year old, I moved back to the UK with all my children, after making the decision to divorce from their father.

My father died a few years ago, and within weeks of his death, my mother’s husband – her third, at this point – died too, also from lung cancer; and my mother blamed me.

‘It’s your fault,’ he shouted. ‘He went home and knocked eight teeth out of his partner’s mouth.’

She’d been telling me how worried she was that he wouldn’t be able to go up and down stairs, so I’d offered to contact the Housing Department. She’d agreed; but apparently, my stepfather was so stressed out by this impending Housing Officer’s visit that he had to be hospitalised. 

She told me it was my fault that he had to die in hospital. 

A few days later, I attended a memorial lunch for my stepfather, with nearly all the family – where my younger brother told me I’d upset my older brother, and that we were ‘going to talk about it’. 

I went outside to recalibrate. Some of my family came looking for me and my brother started on me again, saying I’d come between him and our older brother. 

I said I needed to go home. The following week, my youngest child – who was still living with me – said they were going for lunch with their sibling. 

I went out by myself that day on a walk.

That’s when I was greeted with the sight of my younger brother, three of my children and their other halves, all saying their goodbyes; and I realised I’d been deliberately excluded. 

That was the night I cut my wrists. 

That same night, my second youngest child sent me a text that effectively said, ‘My peace is more important than your peace; I hope you get the help you need’ – and then blocked me. 

The months since have been incredibly hard. I was already struggling; and the grief of losing my children exacerbated everything. 

Now, I’m gradually finding some self-worth – but it’s a work in progress. I’m doing a part-time psychology degree; I also absolutely love giving to other people – that’s partly why I loved being with my kids – and I’ve refocused that energy on my community, teaching active mindfulness through arts and crafts. 

And I’m slowly healing. Because in being away from my family, I’ve had well over a year where it hasn’t been reinforced to me, daily, that I am the problem. 

There’s a societal assumption that, if children are estranged from their parents, those parents must be abusive. 

People say, ‘Think what those parents must have done!’, or, ‘What must those children have been through?’; but what they don’t know is that estrangement can be so much more nuanced than that. 

I should know – and it breaks my heart.

As told to Izzie Price

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