All names have been changed.

Strap yourselves in — this is a long one. AITAH for cutting my family out of my life?

Last year, I suddenly had to move out of the house I was renting because the owners were selling. I struggled to find somewhere else and, as a last resort, I moved in with my grandma. I stayed there for about 6–8 weeks, and everything was okay — she was a little clingy, but manageable.

Around week 9, my grandma was called in for a surgery she’d been waiting on. My aunt Sharon moved into the spare room to help with her recovery, just like she did after my grandma’s last surgery. About a week into recovery, things weren’t going well, and I suggested she go back to the hospital so the doctors and nurses could help her. (Side note: when she first came home from hospital, it took 3 hours and 4 people to help her out of the car. She had refused to stay in hospital post-surgery, insisting on recovering at home.)

One day, on my way to work, I found out a colleague had tested positive for COVID. I’d been feeling run-down, but hadn’t thought much of it. I had a test in my bag, so I pulled over, took the test — and it was positive. I turned around, grabbed some masks and meds from the pharmacy, and went straight home to isolate. On the way to my room, I passed Sharon and let her know I had tested positive.

While sitting in my room, feeling overwhelmed and panicking (last time I had COVID, I was very sick and had to be monitored hourly), I got a message from Sharon telling me I had to leave and find somewhere else to stay. She even suggested some local hotels and said she’d look after my dog in the meantime. She also mentioned that my grandma had been taken back to the hospital.

In a panic, I called my dad. I had nowhere to go — staying in a hotel at $120–150 a night wasn’t an option. He spoke with Sharon and they agreed I could stay the night at my grandma’s house since she was in hospital. Two days later, I moved into my dad’s place — a small bungalow behind my Uncle Karl and Aunt Moira’s house (which they own). My dad went to stay with my cousin Trish so I could have some space.

All I had was a backpack of clothes and my laptop. I felt completely abandoned, like I’d somehow done something wrong. I had multiple panic attacks. I missed my dog terribly. My dad eventually picked him up for me and brought him to the bungalow — but when he arrived, Karl shouted from his back door that my dog wasn’t allowed inside. (Mind you, this had never been an issue before.)

A few days later, I tested negative and had no symptoms. I messaged Sharon to let her know, but she still wouldn’t allow me back at my grandma’s house. I had to buy new clothes because I had run out and couldn’t do laundry — the machines were in Moira and Karl’s house, which I didn’t have access to. I vented to my friend Bek, who was a huge support. Another night, I went to the beach — my happy place — to reset.

Then I started receiving abusive calls from Sharon, calling me selfish and disrespectful for wanting to come back and for “dragging” my dad into the situation. Eventually, my friend Mel offered me her house for a week while she was overseas. I agreed and returned to my grandma’s to collect some things — and my dog.

When I arrived, Sharon verbally attacked me again. It triggered another panic attack. After that, I went no contact.

I was due to fly interstate for a sports competition, but needed my suitcase from my grandma’s. I tried calling her, which turned into an argument, and Sharon ended up yelling at me over the phone. I waited until the last minute to go back. Dropped my dog off with Tahlia, but had a panic attack on the drive — I was terrified. Luckily, they were both asleep when I got there. I packed, slept, and left the next morning. My grandma and I had a tense but civil goodbye.

While away, I stayed no contact to focus on my competition and enjoy the time with friends. When I got back, I picked up my dog, went straight to bed, then to work the next morning. As I left for work, Sharon gave me the nastiest death stare. I was already dreading coming home.

That evening, I had my friend Willow on the phone (in my headphones) as I walked through the door, because I didn’t feel safe. I wanted to nap before my night classes, but my grandma said we needed to talk. She told me how disappointed she was in me, that I’d disrespected the entire family, and that I owed everyone an apology.

Then Sharon came in and started berating me — calling me pathetic, disgusting, immature, and saying her son would never behave like me. She also yelled at me for involving my dad again. Willow heard everything. My grandma said me having a friend on the phone showed how little respect I had. (I’d never even told my friends anything bad about her — but now they were hearing it firsthand.)

I kept telling Sharon to stop yelling and pointing in my face. She didn’t. I called my dad again, unable to cope. That led to more yelling — how dare I call my dad again. My grandma started repeating things from private conversations I’d had with my mum while I was staying at my dad’s. That crossed the line. I told them I was going to my room to pack — and was told that walking away proved how disrespectful I am.

I called my brother, asked if I could stay with him, and had another panic attack. When my dad arrived, he had heated words with Sharon and my grandma. We packed up my stuff, loaded the cars, and left.

Two weeks later, I found an apartment. But I still had to go back to my grandma’s to collect my furniture and boxes from her garage. I called ahead to arrange a time to talk and collect my things. My brother was supposed to come with me as a witness but bailed last minute. When I arrived, my grandma offered tea and said we’d talk outside. My heart sank — we meant someone else would be there. Sure enough, Aunt Moira was sitting there, glaring at me.

I started the conversation with an apology and said I wanted to clear the air. My grandma refused to accept my apology unless it was directed to the entire family. I said no — after the abuse I’d endured, I didn’t want a relationship with them. Things got heated again. Moira blamed me for my grandma’s poor recovery and demanded to know what my doctors had said about COVID and my panic attacks. I said that wasn’t their business. My grandma insisted it was.

Moira demanded to know when I’d collect the rest of my belongings. I told her it wasn’t her business — they were in my grandma’s garage. My grandma disagreed, saying Moira had every right to know. Yet somehow, I wasn’t allowed to call my own dad for help?

When I went to retrieve the few things I’d left in my old room, they were gone. My grandma kept insisting I hadn’t left anything. I listed everything — she kept denying it. Then Moira chimed in and told me to check the other spare room. There it was. My grandma had been gaslighting me, again. She told me I was a liar and needed to take a look at myself in the mirror.

So much more happened, but eventually I got everything out of her house. I’m now in my own apartment, feeling relieved.

I wasn’t invited to any Christmas events — and honestly, I’m grateful not to be around toxic people. My birthday passed without a single message. I haven’t spoken to my family since October, and I have no intention to.

Now, I’ve recently been on a game show — one my grandma and I used to watch together — and it’s about to air. I half-expect her, or someone else, to reach out or send my dad to do it.

So… AITAH For how everything unfolded? For going no contact? For continuing no contact once the episode airs?