I take pride in being the family member who disrupts the silence. It is a role that has cost me relationships with some of my relatives, but I have never prioritized “keeping the peace” over addressing the elephant in the room.
Growing up, I found myself challenging conversations during Thanksgiving and Christmas, injecting a little too much truth into gatherings that thrived on avoidance. That same instinct fuels my love for disruptive activism today. It has never been about stirring up conflict for conflict’s sake; it is about refusing to let ignorance go unchecked. And while my relatives may have preferred I stayed quiet, I never felt like silence was an option.
Children should be encouraged to express their thoughts freely. Raising a child who questions authority should be a source of pride; it indicates you are nurturing an intelligent individual willing to challenge the status quo and offer a different perspective. It is certainly not a sign of disrespect. When we silence the questions and comments of children, we lose a vital aspect of what makes humans beautiful: their inherent curiosity and zest for life.
Imagine rooms filled with future astronauts, marine biologists, presidents, and doctors, where glass ceilings do not exist, and everybody has the potential to be the next Einstein. You can find that sense of curiosity in any kindergarten classroom, but unfortunately, it tends to disappear by the time kids grow up. The system is structured to produce the future working class, where any deviation from the norm is typically punished unless it can be financially exploited.
If the system has not managed to beat you into full submission, you likely have beef with certain family members. It might be for having interests they dismiss as silly, for coming across as too intense or eccentric, for pursuing your passions without their support, or simply for making choices that challenge their beliefs; stirring up fear and, in turn, hostility.
This was exactly how it felt with many in my family. What began as me asking “why” about simple, everyday choices (something that merely annoyed them) eventually turned into a deeper need for them to explain why they felt so at ease making choices that harmed the most vulnerable people in our society.
I frequently reflect on when one of my extended family members told me she had saved my contact name as “Black Sheep.” I see it as the highest compliment, even though she meant it derogatorily. When she showed me, I could not stop laughing. The fact that I loved it seemed to infuriate her even more. The truth has never been popular, but those willing to speak it, despite the backlash, are the ones making space for those who cannot.
Sometimes I feel like I do not quite belong anywhere because I am not able to look the other way. But here is what I do know: I am building a life that reflects my values, and I would never subject my future partner or children to the ignorance I separated myself from. If the people I build my life with are part of a marginalized group, I will not be the reason they have to justify their existence at a dinner table. That is why I left, why I do not visit, why I would never introduce the family I walked away from to the one I create. And I do not feel obligated to explain that to anyone who refuses to understand.
I will always encourage people to embrace discomfort in the name of speaking up for what is right. But more importantly, I support walking away when the environment no longer feels safe. The truth is, my worst days outside of that toxic space have been better than my best days within it.
Going no-contact is never anybody’s first choice, but it is sometimes the healthiest one. Our family members know why we have chosen distance, and yet, they continue choosing not to change. That is on them. Life is too short to stay tethered to anything that drains your energy, dims your light, or asks you to shrink to make others comfortable.