Going 'no contact:’ Not easy, but often necessary
It can be a much-needed mental reset, albeit an imperfect one.
Off and on in the course of my adult relationship with my mother, I have had to go “no contact.”
This term means different things for different people, but for me “no contact” means I prevent her from directly contacting me by phone, text and social media.
I never make the decision lightly. I know it causes my mother pain and I have no desire to make my mother suffer. But I also have no desire to suffer for my mother, which is something I did for years before I realized I didn’t have to be her emotional punching bag just because she lacks self-awareness.
She can throw a lot of punches, metaphorically speaking. Sometimes her punches are intentional (sending me a string of angry texts, emails and voicemails at 2 a.m., 3 a.m., 4 a.m., and 5 a.m.) and sometimes not (sending me silly memes at 3 a.m. that still wakes me up in a panic).
When her instability, unpredictability, or sometimes outright hostility start to impact my mental health—when my phone’s “silent mode” fails to calm my nervous system—it’s time to go no contact and lock down my phone, so to speak.
How I know it’s time
I am currently in no-contact mode. A few months ago, my mother became unstable at the same time my sibling was struggling with severe addiction. It was too much to handle both. I knew I was overwhelmed because I could feel how unregulated I was.
My mental health was headed in a scary direction.
Unregulated means I’m so tired and stressed out that I can’t control my emotions. I start to fail at “adulting,” and I lose the ability to compartmentalize to get through the day. It leads to me doing things like bursting into tears when a grocery store cashier told me she liked my name and I told her “it’s hard to live up to.” I also will experience a resurgence of PTSD symptoms, like nightmares and flashbacks.
When I am unregulated I have to dramatically ratchet up the amount of rest and solitude I’m getting to feel normal. But as a working parent with bills to pay and meals to make, adding a bunch of rest and solitude isn’t practical. Going no-contact is.
The pros
Once I’m in no-contact mode, my mental load dramatically lightens.
My nervous system gets a break because I’m no longer in chaos mode, I’m in what I call oblivious mode.
And as long as I can make peace with oblivious mode, I can feel peace in general.
My phone is not blowing up with drama, and I’m not seeing inappropriate or awkward social media posts.
THIS IS GOLDEN. Taking a break from the chaos is a survival mechanism — a healthy one.
The cons
That said, it’s not a perfect solution. As I’ve written before, difficult loved ones can and will ignore boundaries, including the desire to limit contact.
I still feel guilty. I still wish things were different. I still doubt myself. I still get contacted by her in sneaky ways.
Worst of all, I still worry: Catastrophic things could happen and I won’t know about them until it’s too late. And when a family member has engaged in near-death self-harm in the past, this is a REAL risk.
For me, I accept the risk of something bad happening for the inner peace.
A time to regroup
One benefit I remind myself of is that if a catastrophe does strike during the no-contact period—and I’ve had enough time to recenter myself—I’ll be in a much better position to handle the crisis, if I choose to handle it. At the very least, I’ll be a bit more well-rested.
For some people, the time off may be a gateway to a permanent or semi-permanent break. One might reasonably conclude that life is better without the turmoil.
And that’s OK, too, even if it comes with grief. This is a type of loss, after all.
A necessary loss, but a loss no less.
🌵
For more info on going no-contact, this article lists out six steps. I read it after I wrote this piece, and it’s nice to see how in alignment I am with the recommendations.
As always, thank you for reading
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I am so glad this conversation is happening and mental health is normalized and prioritized.
I hope you find this time restorative, Joy. I know how hard it can't be to go 'no contact.' My sister wrote the poem below on Father's Day this year. I thought I'd share it with you (and whomever reads it):
No contact
For my final act—
I’ll choose no contact.
You’ll never hear another word from me.
On this Father’s Day, you can have dinner with silence.
Eat your own words, sit with your violence
And pretend you don’t deserve this.
When you have nobody—not a single person left—
Will you finally blame yourself?
Have you prayed enough to God for answers
As to why you’re alone, why nobody is coming to help?
Did you ever think for a second that this—“no contact”—IS the answer to your prayers?
Or is there so much to sift through, a lifetime isn’t enough to peel back all the layers
To reveal the truth.
Maybe one day you’ll discover the truth.
Or you can feel sorry for yourself,
Live in a false reality,
Ignore what you’ve heard
In an effort to self-soothe.
In case it isn’t obvious—you caused this.
Nobody wanted to sever ties but it was the only option we had left.
And we chose peace.
No longer raising my voice.
No longer taking the punches.
No longer taking lashes for your lash outs.
The “nice, godly preacher father” act fades into the background—meaningless noise.
Your name now only a distant memory.
I try to forget.
I try to erase you.
I can go everyday for the rest of my life without ever missing you.
I’ve done exactly that and I hope someday you find the lesson in it.
As a child, I prayed in my bedroom alone while all hell was breaking loose.
I didn’t pray for you to change.
It was obvious you were incapable.
Instead—I prayed to keep hatred out of my heart
Because it was too heavy for me to carry.
There was only one way.
So I went no contact, “dad”.
And I’ll never look back.
I have no words of wisdom or hope for you on the day you finally pass.
Good luck in Judgement Day.
Only time will tell if we see each other again someday.