When a writer cuts off communication with their family

In a new anthology about estrangement, writers from Cheryl Strayed to Stephanie Foo discuss the nuances of going "no contact"

May’s Book Club Pick circles a topic I’ve thought about nearly every day since 1990: family estrangement. Already in? Get the book and RSVP here!

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a personal connection

Before she got sick (though we never called it that), my mother was a child psychologist. She loved dancing in the living room, five-dollar words, and reading into the emotional meaning of other’s behaviors, even mine. She filled me with a love that felt boundless and gave me a sense of being fully known. Then, when I was 12, she began to hear voices.

Around that time she quit her job and spent hours staring at the newspaper “for messages” and sweeping her finger inside the mouthpiece of the kitchen phone. Sometimes she covered it with aluminum foil. She never admitted anything was wrong, so my mother remained undiagnosed and untreated my entire childhood. And I helped keep her secret, telling no one about the voices or the foil, so neither of us would be judged. Or, as it turns out, supported.

In some families, “bad daughters” get that name when they choose to look after themselves. —Melisse Gelula

Going “no contact” is often a last resort after years of trying to fix the relationship. I didn’t stand a chance at 12 years old, the same year I wore leg warmers, sang in the Rainbow Connection chorus, and reminded my mother we needed dinner. Neither did the parentified 15-year-old me who worked 20 hours a week at an old-school Jewish deli to cover bus fare for school, all my clothes, and most of my meals, hoping my helpfulness would heal my mom. At 17, I figured out that I couldn’t save my mother. But I could save myself.

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I’m simplifying what’s a very complex relationship. It warrants a whole book, which is the subject of my memoir in progress these days. That brings us to…

what we’re reading

Addressing estrangement, its nuances and myths, was the inspiration for a brand-new Catapult anthology, No Contact: Writers on Estrangement (April 28, 2026), which launched this week. It contains 32 essays from such literary luminaries as Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, and Domenica Ruta 🧿 — and it’s our May Book Club Pick!

💥 May Memoiring Book Club Author Event 💥

No Contact: Writers on Estrangement

Conversation with Jenny Bartoy, Stephanie Foo, and Emi Nietfeld

Wednesday, June 3 | 6:30–7:30pm ET

Free for Memoiring Subscribers of all tiers!

No Contact editor Jenny Bartoy will be joining us at Memoiring, along with Stephanie Foo, author What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma, a New York Times best-seller, and Emi Nietfeld, author of Acceptance: A Memoir, an NPR Book of the Year. It’s going to be an amazing, full-house conversation. Don’t miss it!

A Cornell University study found that at least 27 of American adults are estranged from a family member, and recent elections likely widened the rift.

“Estrangement pops up in the news with some frequency, though it is too often the subject of articles lacking nuance and judgmental op-eds that dismiss the complexity or validity of the experience. The glossy lure of a united family remains powerful,” writes Bartoy in the introduction.

I was trying my hardest to heal us—even as I worried it would cost me my life. —Emi Nietfeld

Some topics for our conversation might include:

• ambiguous loss and grieving someone who’s still alive

• protecting the family institution over all else

• the trope of reconciliation, forgiveness, and holding grudges

• complex trauma + researching a hybrid memoir

• the ethics of writing about family and family estrangement

As always, we want your content and craft questions to inform our author conversation. You can submit them in advance, here in the Comments, or during our Zoom event and we’ll take as many as we have time for in the hour.

We do not record these Zoom events to allow for maximum candor. So get your copy of No Contact and save your spot at our very special author event now!

Thanks for being here. Memoiringly, Melisse