Mel Robbins recently wrote an opinion piece in The New York Times, titled “Life is Too Short To Fight With Your Family.” As a family therapist and social worker who has worked with children and families in foster care for over five years, I was intrigued by what this renowned podcast host and best-selling self-help writer might have to say about family dynamics. When I read the article, however, I couldn’t believe her words.
Although the main themes of the article are about acceptance and forgiveness, she also implies people aren’t trying hard enough and are too stubborn. She argues, “We’re letting our closest relationships disintegrate through neglect, busyness and an unwillingness to move past the things that bother us.” She also assumes that fighting with family is trivial in the grand scheme of things, writing, “Everything doesn’t have to be so darkly serious – and relationships don’t have to be a battle of wills.” To me, the whole thing came off as both shaming and one dimensional.
There are many reasons why cutting contact with family might sometimes be the best thing a person can do for themselves, like in the case of physical, sexual, emotional and/or psychological abuse. Just because they’re family doesn’t mean it’s OK for them to hurt you and that you have to continue tolerating it.
These days, news outlets and social media are positioning cutting off contact with your family as a “growing trend,” as Oprah recently explored on her podcast. However, calling it a “trend” feels dismissive.
As a Korean American immigrant from an extremely enmeshed, religious family, I never imagined a world without my parents at the center of it. As a child, there was no room for my dreams or goals ― the only dream that mattered was their divine calling to God. My parents loved me when I was a good little church girl, when I got straight A’s, or when I quietly sat still and escaped into my books. Anything outside of this was sinful and in direct disobedience to my patriarchal father.
When I couldn’t be that God-fearing Christian anymore, nothing else mattered. I eventually internalized, I will never be enough no matter how hard I try. I’m a bad daughter because I can’t just do and believe what they want me to. Filial piety was at the core of my Asian family’s values, which exacerbated my guilt and shame.
After decades of grappling with my religious trauma, at 25 years old, with the help of my first therapist, I finally “came out” to my parents and told them I no longer go to church. My father was furious and tried to disown me, but thankfully my mother was more forgiving and patient, telling me that she would still love me anyway.
I tried my best to make it work with my dad for my mom, as I often did growing up. I even tried having a relationship with only my mom, but that’s not how their marriage works: They come as a pair. After years of trying to assert my boundaries and live my life how I wanted as a financially self-sufficient adult, I couldn’t take it anymore.
My breaking point was when my dad told me never to set foot in their house again. This time I listened. For five years, I not only didn’t set foot in their house, I also didn’t text or call them. I only had my parents and brother with me in the States, and life was lonely as the outcast and family scapegoat, but it was nowhere close to the loneliness I felt whenever I was around them.
I cut contact not to punish them, but as a way to center myself and my needs ― something that felt impossible in my traditional, immigrant family. During those five years, I focused on healing so that I could move forward.
Even though I wasn’t in contact with them anymore, I could still feel the sting of my father’s words in every ounce of my being. It didn’t matter that the trauma was over because that’s what trauma does to you ― it lingers, festers and grows beneath the surface. Without them, I was still the people-pleaser, desperate for validation and acceptance, terrified of upsetting authority figures, and looking for love in all the wrong places because I just wanted someone to finally see me.
Thankfully I continued therapy and focused on self-love and self-validation. I started working with a somatic therapist who helped me metabolize the endless grief I felt about my parents and our complicated relationship. I joined Co-Dependents Anonymous and found a community of people going through similar struggles as me. I leaned on my extended family in Korea who never stopped loving me, even with an ocean between us.
I participated in psychodrama workshops where we acted out and rewrote the painful stories in my nervous system from scratch. I went to ayahuasca retreats and met my ancestors who continue to cheer me on from the beyond. I tried Ketamine Assisted Psychotherapy and all sorts of psychedelic therapies to help me break free. I even tried family therapy with my parents, which lasted three sessions before we went back to no contact.
I learned how to soothe the inner children in me who kept getting triggered. It took five years and what felt like never-ending work to get to where I needed to be to meet my partner, whose love and acceptance I never had to work for.
This is what’s great about cutting contact with family ― it doesn’t have to be forever. Sometimes you just need some time and space to heal so that both parties can reflect and grieve. Those five years included some of the most heartbreaking moments in my life, but I would never change it, because it got me to a place where I could actually accept my parents and our relationship for what it is.
With my partner, my ally in life, I felt safe to renegotiate my relationship with my parents. Except this time, I invited them into my world, instead of trying to contort myself into theirs. Reestablishing contact didn’t start with a huge aha moment or tearful reconciliation, because I know that this isn’t possible for us. Once I accepted these limitations, I chose the only route my parents were familiar with: forget and pretend like nothing happened.
A younger part of me hated this and screamed inside, but the healed adult in me didn’t need their acknowledgement anymore. I invited them to our wedding, but only as my parents ― not as a pastor and his wife. There were to be no prayers, no evangelizing the attendees, no shaming our guests and me for drinking alcohol, and no disapproving glances at my tattoos. They showed up as two loving parents who just wanted to support their daughter, even if they didn’t agree with everything she stood for.
These days, I continue to have a relationship with my parents, but it is very boundaried. So far, they’ve respected every “no” I’ve clearly stated. On the surface, some aspects of our relationship are still similar to what it was like in childhood. Except now, I’m choosing to be there instead of feeling forced and trapped.
It’s not the happily ever after I wished for as a child, but this is the best that we both can do. I feel grateful for our time apart, because it helped us gain the insight that we’d rather have a small space in each other’s lives than no space at all.
As a therapist, I’ve found that there is room for rupture and repair if both parties are open to it. I needed to heal from my childhood trauma so that I could show up as the adult I am today ― capable, able, willing and free. So no, Mel Robbins, I don’t think life is too short to fight with your family. If anything, life is too short not to fight for what you need.
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