Wanting to reach out

[Creative_Name]

This past week marks 4 years of NC with my entire FOO.

NC came in sort of a passive way.
in a nutshell, I said I needed to discuss things openly that have been going on in the family and understood if they were unable or unwilling; unfortunately I can't be in relationship until that happens.
One parent ignored. The other said my expectations have always been too high.

So, here we are. About 8 months ago, sent my dad a long message that I felt was firm, boundaried, yet still loving and kind. I waited until I knew I didn't need a response. I said what I needed to say and I wrote it for me. I felt more relief.

He wrote some really nasty and hateful things about me to my husband. I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it felt like when people land from skydiving and the shoot is still full of air - like someone cut all the strings off. I felt free. Free from him being an authority over me, even though I'm 39. Emotionally, mentally...I imagine the people here understand what I mean.

I don't want to be in relationship as they are. But I still have waves of grief over the reality of not having a family. Even though that's my choice. It's not a choice that's made flippantly and for me, it wasn't my first choice.

I have an urge to say something to my dad. I wouldn't even know what it would be because there's actually nothing to say. I wouldn't be heard nor understood. Sometimes people are determined to misunderstand.

There is no hope of reconciliation and I've come to terms with that and realize I will likely never see them again in this life.

It's more grief of what I wish I had. A healthy and safe family.

I guess the urge I had wasn't really to reach out but to "verbally" process and acknowledge that the pain is still there sometimes.

It's not distressing at an identity level anymore. And it's not a dysregulating soul deep pain that overtakes me or derails my life. It's an ache that stirs at times.

This process all started because I was protecting a child in the family and I would do it again.

I momentarily forgot that overall I feel free and at peace. Even my nervous system is more regulated and anxiety is mostly a thing of the past.

I imagine the grief will always be there but continue to lessen.

Ive chosen forgiveness and no longer feel angry, so sadness is really all that's left of "connection."

I recently had an image of my younger self inside the home I grew up in and felt like part of me didn't want to leave. I imagine the house on fire and if that part of me leaves then I leave them all to burn alive in there while I save myself, standing outside watching the house burn to the ground.
Distressing until I realized I was pushed out and they like the smoke and heat. Or maybe more accurately, they don't even see that it's on fire and think I'm crazy for saying it is.

[Sunflower79]

Hi, Creative. 

I totally understand what you're saying here.  I've been NC with my remaining parent for about 10 years and like you it was more their choice than mine- I wanted to speak openly about things and they are not able to because of their PD. That aching for safety and being able to go to someone who loves you when you feel lost and alone is so difficult and my heart goes out to you. I have no FOO members left and it's an experience I wouldn't wish on anyone. 
The imagery you shared about the house fire is so beautiful; you loved the little child inside of you enough to get her out and you are to be commended for that. 
Big hugs to you.

[walking on broken glass]

Hi Creative name,
I agree with all that Sunflower said.
I have also cut off contact with all my FOO. It was a choice but a forced choice nonetheless, like yours. For me it's only been a few months and I still get the derailing pain that you describe from time to time. I hope that in time this will dissipate into a calmer type of sadness. I expect the sadness and grief will always be there in the background. But I hope it will come with some kind of freedom and liberation, like the one you experienced when you sent the letter to your father.
Sending you virtual hugs.