It is Okay to walk away from a toxic relationship. I have done it. And I have had it done to me. And that’s something we don’t talk about: what if YOU are the toxic person?
I will be brutally honest: the times I have been called a toxic person caught me completely by surprise and left me gasping for air not unlike a fish out of water. What happened? Why didn’t I see this coming? What did I say or do and how can I mend the situation? For me, that has always been the biggest question: what can I do to fix this? Because I don’t want to be “that person”.
I can think of three examples, and they all happened the same year. Only one of those came from someone I easily let go. You know the drill? “You feel like that? Okay. Good-bye. Have fun.”
Two came from people I dearly loved and valued. In one case, I will never know exactly why she decided it was time for our friendship of 40+ years to end. She picked something innocent as an excuse to tell me to go to hell: I didn’t see her “like” under a post I made on Facebook and that was “rude” of me. I tried, at first. Facebook has algorithms. You don’t always see all the comments under a post. A “like” is not even an acknowledgement: it’s just proof you spend too much time on the social media platform trying to affirm some other’s person’s feelings. It was for naught: she blocked me, quit answering my letters (I only wrote her one more), and that was that. Forty years of friendship gone over a missed “like” on a social media post.
I probably didn’t need that friendship anyway.
The third, however, still cuts me to the deep. My closest allies and friends tell me to “just let it go” but the pain is as deep as the loss of a child. It was the loss of a child. My youngest. She cut all ties to me and told me she no longer wanted any contact. I was devastated. I went through all the same emotions a parent goes through when a child dies: anger, hurt, sorrow, confusion, denial.
See, I lost a child to death, and I recognize grief when I see it. It’s lifelong. I will grieve that child and the one who disowned me for the rest of my life. The latter did tell me some of her reasons and I have to admit half of what she accused me of was true. I said those things. I did those things. I am guilty. She doesn’t believe I will admit to that, but there it is. Half of it isn’t true, and that is the half she will focus on and there is nothing I can do or say to change that perception. The damage was done and the damage remains.
My youngest is not my natural child. She came to me already traumatized by her mother’s untimely death. Her estranged father had been murdered. She came to me with all the trauma an adoptee comes with. I didn’t know that then and I only know it now because some of my closest friends are adoptees who are active in adoption forums. The loss of a mother leaves a child scarred deep within their psyche and even adoptees who have been raised by loving adoptive parents carry scars and traumatic pain.
I can’t say that even had I known this truth that I would have been a different parent. I treated all my children the same, never taking into account that the newest arrival did not have the familial sense of humor. She did not speak our language. It was cruel of me to assume she did and cruel of me to assume she would adjust. But the worst thing I did was to say she was my foster child when I should have simply kept my mouth shut and allowed someone to assume she was my birth child. She only wanted to belong to a family, and I denied her that in one stupid sentence.
I can’t turn back time. I can’t make it up to her. I just have to live with that memory. And I will forever feel the pain of the loss of a child with her name.
I have thought of arguments. Of countering her with her own faults. To what end? To add to her trauma? To prove to her that I am exactly what she has accused me of: a narcissistic, inconsiderate, insensitive person? “I’m sorry I made you feel that way…” No. I am sorry I said that. I am sorry I was stupid. I am sorry I hurt her. I’m sorry I can’t fix it.
I will strive to be smarter and more compassionate in the future. I will strive to be more careful with my words. I can’t fix the past, but I can be a better person today and tomorrow. And if you are in the same position I am in, I ask you to not try to deflect the pain but to do better. Accept the blame. Bow to the truth. It will hurt.
I buried one child. I lost another. I have one that has switched roles with me and is now my mentor and conscience. I gained a bonus daughter (in-law) who thinks I do no wrong. Three of those I can see and speak to at any time (yes, I speak to the dead and I can visit his grave). The fourth wants to cease to exist in my world and I have to find a way to let her go.
It is Okay that she let me go but it is not Okay.
Jaci Dawn 