Blood is thicker than water — But peace is priceless

“Blood is thicker than water.” “Family comes first.” “There is nothing more important than family.”

These were the mantras of my childhood. They were repeated so often they felt less like opinions and more like laws of nature. I was raised to believe that family came above all else. No matter the cost.

I watched my grandmother routinely disrespect my mother and my father. I listened as my mother vented about how cruel and difficult her own mother was. And then I watched my mom show up anyway. She drove my grandmother places. Took her to appointments. Stepped in when the end was near. The insults never stopped, and the disrespect never softened. But my mother never confronted her. She swallowed it all, smiled politely, and carried on as if nothing had happened.

The pain didn’t disappear. It just had somewhere else to go. That somewhere was me.

I used to wonder: Why don’t you tell her she’s hurting you? Why don’t you say something? Why not try to talk it through like adults? Or at least agree on what topics or sentiments are off-limits?

She never did. Because that’s not how it was done. You grin and bear it. You take the abuse. You show up with a smile.

That’s what she was taught. And that’s what they taught me.

But I just can’t do that.

If you hurt my feelings, I want to talk about it. Because that’s what people in healthy adult relationships do. I will express myself. You can express yourself. We can apologize, repair, and try to do better moving forward.

Except…that’s not what happens.

When I bring things up, my mom shuts down or lashes out at me. My feelings are dismissed. Accountability is nonexistent. An apology is something she has never offered.

So I adapted.

I put up walls. I created distance. I shared less. I became quieter, more guarded, less forthcoming, more selective. Because the less I engage, the less I’m hurt. The fewer insults I hear. The fewer reminders I get that my mother does not respect the woman I’ve become.

Over the years the chasm has become wider and deeper. I don’t even recognize our relationship anymore. She used to be the first person I called, the first person I shared news with — good or bad. She knew everything that was going on in my life. I leaned on her for support.

Because the less I engage, the less I’m hurt. The fewer insults I hear. The fewer reminders I get that she does not respect the woman I’ve become.

But as I grew and found my own voice, my beliefs and values began to differ from hers—and from my family’s as a whole. And that’s when I noticed history was repeating itself.

My mother stepped into the role my grandmother once held. Demanding respect while offering none. Saying whatever she wanted without consequence. Focusing solely on what she desires, no matter the collateral damage. My grandmother was the matriarch, untouchable because “family responsibility” ensured compliance. It kept everyone in line. Now my mother wears that crown.

And the cycle continues.

Now, my mother expresses her dissatisfaction with me through my children. My eldest brother—once one of my closest friends—speaks cruelly about me and my husband. We’ve learned he’s actively trying to turn other family members against us with his uninformed rhetoric.

This has been sitting heavy with me lately, especially because we used to spend every Super Bowl at his house. Those memories are warm and happy. But I also know those times are over.

And that has to be OK.

I don’t have to put myself in situations where I am uncomfortable. I don’t have to force myself to be around people who speak poorly about my husband and me behind our backs, then smile to our faces. It’s OK to walk away from relationships that cause emotional harm.

I haven’t spoken to my brother in over a year. I have no regrets. My emotional well-being is worth far more than forced family obligation. If he’s ever ready for an honest, adult, conversation, I’ll always be open to it.

As for my mom, we maintain whatever this fragile version of a relationship is, largely for my children’s sake. It matters to me that they know their grandparents. I loved my own grandparents deeply, despite the dysfunction between them and my mom.

But I will not just show up with a smile to keep the peace.

Family obligation does not mean I have to be a punching bag. Being the matriarch does not grant immunity from bad behavior. When things are said that disparage me, especially to my children, I will stand up for myself: calmly, kindly, and firmly.

I remain respectful. Always.

As with my brother, if my mom ever wants to have an actual serious, adult conversation about our relationship with the goal of repair, I’m all ears. Truly. Until then, I will protect my peace.

I am so proud of the woman I have become.

I just wish my mother was, too.