Breaking Away from Toxic Family Ties

It took me a long time to find my voice and to finally cut ties with my side of the family. For years I stayed quiet because I didn’t want to break away from them.

I had always been a very family-oriented person. I loved the idea of belonging to a unit, of feeling wanted, of having the kind of life you see in Bollywood films where the family stands together through everything and lives happily ever after.

But that was not my reality.

I was bullied. I was put down. I was not allowed to live my life the way I wanted.

Yet they were still my family. And I held on to the hope that things would somehow become the version of family I dreamed about.

There were moments when it felt that way.

Moments where I was the proud daughter of loving parents. Moments where my brothers would spoil me with gifts. Moments where I could just be myself and enjoy the things I loved.

Those moments did exist, but only occasionally.

With my parents, those moments happened when we were in India. Over there, they were incredibly proud of their UK-born daughter. The one who did well in school. The one whose London birth alone seemed to elevate their status in the community.

Looking back now, I realise it was more about them than about me. But as a child, being wanted and shown off was exactly what I craved.

I loved being taken around, treated like a little princess, and made to feel like I was the centre of their world. Those visits to India were the times when life seemed perfect, and I treasured them.

With my brothers, I lived for the festivals and special occasions when we would all be together. We would laugh, joke and mess around like normal siblings.

But those moments were few and far between.

And yet they were enough to keep me tied to my family. They were the memories that made me tolerate the bullying and toxic behaviour, because I kept hoping that one day those good moments would become the norm.

Holding On to the Dream of a Perfect Family

After I got married, things changed.

For the first time in my life, I experienced what real support looked like. My husband showed me unconditional love. He stood by me, no matter what.

But even though I finally had someone who truly cared about my wellbeing, I still couldn’t let go of my dream of having the perfect family.

I imagined a future where all our families would meet up on weekends. Where we would spend time together and support each other.

I imagined having children who would grow up surrounded by cousins and extended family. I pictured five protective male cousins guiding my future children.

If I had boys, they would look up to them like older brothers.

If I had girls, those cousins would protect them, scare off any bullies, and treat them like princesses.

That was the dream I held on to.

But it was not meant to be.

No matter how much I tried to hold on to that vision, my family’s behaviour towards me — and at times towards my husband — reached a point where it could no longer be ignored.

I had to face the reality that I was better off without them than staying in that environment.

The Breaking Point

There is a line from a Bollywood film that, when translated, says:

“Never scare someone so much that their fear disappears.”

That is exactly what happened to me.

My family bullied me to the point where I eventually had nothing left to lose by standing up to them.

And that moment came after one of the most traumatic years of my life.

In the same year, I lost my father.

I lost a dear colleague.

And the most devastating loss of all — I lost my first pregnancy.

None of that pain was acknowledged.

There was no sympathy. No comfort.

Instead, that was the moment my family chose to pressure me into selling the house I owned — the very house I had grown up in and had maintained for years without their help.

The sad part is that I actually agreed to sell it.

My dream of one day having a happy family relationship made me believe that my siblings still had my best interests at heart.

But I had just undergone surgery and had been signed off work to recover. All I asked for was time to heal.

That request was taken as defiance.

The bullying intensified.

They called me names. They threatened to throw me out of the house that I legally owned. The pressure became relentless.

Eventually, I reached my limit.

Choosing Myself

I hit rock bottom, and in that moment I finally saw the truth.

My family were never going to change.

They were never going to love me for who I was.

They were never going to appreciate what I had done for them.

And they were never going to treat me with the respect I deserved.

So I made the hardest decision of my life.

I walked away.

I stopped answering their calls.

I cut contact.

I reported the harassment to the local police station.

And I hired a solicitor to deal with the house.

Taking that step meant letting go of the dream I had carried for most of my life — the dream of one day having a happy, united family with my side of the family.

But it had to be done.

Protecting My Future Children

At that time, I was married and hoping to start a family.

When my miscarriage was dismissed as something minor — an inconvenience rather than a devastating loss — something inside me changed.

I knew in that moment that I could never allow my future children to grow up around people who could be so cruel.

If my family had simply shown kindness during that time, I might still have remained part of that family.

And sometimes that thought scares me.

Because it means my daughters might have grown up around that toxicity.

I might have dismissed the behaviour, telling them, “It’s fine, they’re family. Don’t take it to heart.”

In doing so, I would have unknowingly passed my generational trauma on to them.

The Life My Daughters Know

Today, I look at Maanvi and Jiya and I see two incredible girls.

They are loud.

They are smart.

They are confident.

And when they set their minds to something, they are unstoppable.

Their confidence and self-esteem come from growing up in an environment where they were never exposed to the toxicity I experienced.

No one belittles them.

No one makes snide comments about them.

No one makes them feel small.

All they have ever known is unconditional love and support.

They have their dad, me, and his side of the family. They also have the carefully chosen people I kept in my life from my past — like their godmother and my best friend from university.

Those relationships are built on respect, kindness, and love.

The Quiet Loneliness

But I won’t pretend it’s easy.

Not having anyone from my side of the family can sometimes feel lonely.

There are moments when I wish I had somewhere to go where I could simply be someone’s daughter again. Somewhere I could rest and not just be a mum or a wife.

A safe haven.

But despite that loneliness, I would still make the same choice again.

Because I would rather carry that loneliness than allow my children to experience the trauma of toxic relatives.

Walking away from family is never easy.

But sometimes, protecting your peace — and protecting your children — means choosing distance over loyalty.

And for me, that choice changed everything.