Mixed Signals, Clear Boundaries

Some days, no matter how hard I try, I still can’t understand Vic’s family — or what their intentions truly are.
Their behaviour has been inconsistent, contradictory, and at times deeply hurtful. And the more I sit with everything that has happened, the more I realise that I don’t need to make sense of them — I only need to make sense of what’s right for me and Kenzo.

His sister once dismissed my grief for Vic as if it didn’t matter at all.
His brother accused me of “having my hands on Vic’s house and car keys,” as though I somehow took something that belonged to them, as if the life Vic and I built together — the home, the memories, the shared responsibilities — suddenly ceased to exist because it was convenient for him to rewrite the story.

To them, I was simply “the ex-wife.”
A title they weaponised whenever it suited them.
But grief doesn’t obey titles.
Love doesn’t disappear just because a relationship changes form.
Two decades of history don’t vanish because someone chooses to erase them.

And then, unexpectedly, his mum sends me emotional messages — like the one she sent the other day — speaking of memories, struggles, and the pain of last year as though we are still connected, as though the months of silence and accusations never happened. And I find myself questioning:

Why reach out like this?
Why now?
What exactly do they want from me?

His sister made contact with Kenzo on his birthday… and I appreciated that.
But, not one message checking how I was coping.
Not one acknowledgement of the emotional load I’m carrying alone.
Not one moment of basic compassion.

It’s difficult to ignore the pattern:
Silence when support is needed.
Accusations when something is convenient.
Sentimental stories when guilt or emotion resurfaces.

It leaves me wondering if they see me as someone they can emotionally pull in and push away whenever it suits them. Someone they expect to absorb their hurt but never receive care in return. Someone they can blame in their anger and reach for in their loneliness.

And I’ve reached a point of absolute clarity:

I refuse to be treated like that.

I refuse to be drawn into emotional inconsistency, double standards, or selective kindness.
I refuse to let anyone destabilise the peace I’m building for myself and for Kenzo.

My boundaries are firm now — not out of spite, but out of survival.

I will protect my wellbeing.
I will protect Kenzo’s stability.
And I will keep distance from anyone who brings confusion, tension, or emotional volatility into our lives — no matter who they are or what title they hold.

I am done trying to interpret mixed signals.
I am done carrying the emotional weight of other people’s unresolved feelings.
I am done allowing anyone to make me feel small, guilty, or “less than” for simply honouring the life I shared with Vic and the grief I still live with.

From here forward:

I choose peace.
I choose clarity.
I choose us.