When Family Stops Acting Like Family

There comes a point in life where the weight of being ignored, dismissed, and discarded becomes too heavy to carry. I’ve spent years swallowing my hurt, making excuses for people who share my blood, and hoping — always hoping — that one day they’d come back to me. But lately, I’m realizing the truth: some people will never care, no matter how much you’ve given them. And that realization, as devastating as it is, might be the very thing that finally sets me free.

I divorced my first husband twenty years ago because he beat me every single day. I left to survive. I left to reclaim my life. And when I remarried, when Tim came into my world, my kids were already grown. My two oldest grandchildren were small back then, and they came to Christmas with us, laughed in our home, tore open presents under the tree. For a time, I thought maybe we could still have that connection. But looking back, I think they came because of what we would give them, not because they truly wanted to be part of our lives. Because now that they are grown, now that they don’t need anything from me, they ignore me completely.

Recently, I found out from a friend — not from them — that both of my oldest grandchildren got engaged. No phone call. No message. Not even a passing word. Just another reminder that I am not on their radar, not someone they think of when it comes to the milestones of their lives. That kind of exclusion doesn’t just sting — it cuts right through to the core. It’s a loud, silent message: “You’re not important to us.”

And then there’s my daughter. Eighteen years ago, she threw me away like I was nothing, and she never looked back. She has a three-year-old child that I have never met.

As for all my children, not once in all this year and a half have they reached out and asked how I’m doing, how Tim is doing, or if there’s anything I need. They know what Tim and I are facing — his PNES, his depression, the hard days where I’m holding both of us together — and still, silence.

People will tell you, “But they’re family.” As if blood should excuse cruelty. As if DNA gives someone the right to take and take without ever giving. But I’ve learned the hard way that family is not defined by shared genetics; it’s defined by love, respect, and presence. And if someone can’t give those, then they aren’t family in the ways that truly matter.

I’m tired. Tired of being the bigger person. Tired of holding out hope for a change that never comes. Tired of giving my heart to people who have proven they will not take care of it. Maybe one day they’ll realize what they’ve lost. Maybe they won’t. Either way, I can’t keep pouring myself into a void and calling it love.

From here on out, I choose peace. I choose to invest my heart in those who truly see me, who value me, who show up. My circle may be smaller, but it will be real. And for once, that feels like enough.