My Parents Wanted Me And My Siblings To All Look Identical.

The Flying Monkeys and the Intervention of CPS

On our third day in Scotland, after I’d spent two hours in our hotel room responding to family texts instead of hiking through the Highlands like we’d planned, Lily took my phone out of my hands. “This has to stop,” she said firmly.

“They’re ruining our honeymoon. You’re letting them ruin our honeymoon. We need help.” We found Dr. Hannah Griffiths through an online directory, a family systems therapist based in Portland but offering telehealth sessions.

She had 16 years of experience specializing in emotional abuse, parentification, and toxic family dynamics. We scheduled an emergency video call for that afternoon, sitting in our hotel room overlooking Edinburgh while Dr. Griffiths listened to me explain 18 years of exploitation and the current crisis.

She didn’t interrupt, just took notes and occasionally asked clarifying questions. When I finished, she was quiet for a long moment.

“What your parents have done is called parentification,” she finally said.

“It’s a form of emotional abuse where parents inappropriately assign adult responsibilities to their children. You’ve been exploited since age nine. You’ve sacrificed your childhood, your adolescence, your early adult life to parent their children and now they’re escalating because you finally set a boundary.” She spoke with clinical detachment, stating facts rather than making judgments.

“The emergency they’ve manufactured—demanding you cancel your honeymoon to care for teenagers who don’t need intensive care—is a control tactic. They’re testing whether you’ll break and revert to old patterns. And the family-wide attack, recruiting relatives to harass you, is called flying monkeys. It’s deliberate abuse.” Hearing a licensed professional with credentials call this abuse changed something in my brain.

It wasn’t just Lily being overprotective or me being too sensitive. This was real, documented, clinical abuse.

Dr. Griffiths gave me homework: document everything. Every text, every voicemail, every guilt trip—she wanted dates, times, exact wording.

“If your parents escalate further,” she said, “you may need legal protection. I want you to have evidence.”

I thought she was being paranoid; I didn’t know yet how right she was. We stayed in Edinburgh for 4 days, then drove north into the Highlands like we’d planned.

The scenery was breathtaking: rolling green hills, ancient castles perched on cliffs, lochs that looked like glass. We toured Stirling Castle, drove through Glencoe, stopped at small distilleries where they made single malt whiskey in copper stills.

It should have been perfect, but my phone buzzed constantly, sometimes 50 messages a day. My mother’s texts evolved from hurt to aggressive to openly threatening.

“You’re destroying this family. Everyone knows what you’ve done. There will be consequences for this betrayal.” On September 1st, 5 days into our trip, my mother sent a text that made my blood turn to ice.

“Since you’ve abandoned your responsibilities, we’re filing a formal complaint with Adult Protective Services. The twins and Aninsley are being neglected because you’re not here to care for them properly. Enjoy Scotland while you can.” I showed it to Lily, my hands actually shaking.

“Can she do that?” I asked.

“Can she report me to APS for not babysitting?” Lily, with her years in pediatric medicine and the bureaucratic nightmares that came with it, looked skeptical.

“Adult Protective Services is for elderly or disabled adults being abused or neglected. Your siblings are teenagers without custody arrangements. I don’t think there’s any mechanism for that complaint to stick.” Dr. Griffiths, in an emergency session that evening from our hotel in Inesse, was more direct.

“Your mother is bluffing,” she said flatly.

“She’s trying to scare you into coming home, but she’s actually creating a paper trail that could backfire spectacularly because she’s essentially documenting that she can’t parent her own children without her adult son’s unpaid labor. That’s not going to look good if any agency actually investigates.” She was right about the bluff.

No one from Adult Protective Services ever called, but the threat had been made and it sat in my stomach like poison. 2 days later, September 3rd, I got a call from an unknown Oregon number.

I answered wearily, expecting maybe a telemarketer or wrong number. Instead, a professional male voice said, “Is this Alex Brennan?”

I confirmed. “This is Troy Vandermir from Child Protective Services. I’m calling because we’ve received a concerning report about minors in your household.”

My brain stuttered over the words: minors, household. “I’m sorry,” I managed.

“I don’t have any minors in my household. I’m on my honeymoon in Scotland. Are you sure you have the right person?” Troy Vandermir sounded puzzled.

“The report lists you as the primary caregiver for three minor siblings: Jordan, Riley, and Aninsley Brennan. It states that you’ve suddenly abandoned care without making alternative arrangements, leaving the children in an unsafe situation.” The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity.

“My mother filed that report,” I said, “and she lied. Jordan and Riley are 19 years old. They’re adults. Aninsley is 17 but she’s with our parents, who are her actual legal guardians. I’m their 27-year-old brother. I have no custody, no guardianship, no legal responsibility for any of them. I’m on my honeymoon with my wife.”

There was a long pause. “Can you explain your relationship with your siblings and your role in the household?” Troy asked carefully.

So I told him everything. The parentification starting at age 9, the 18 years of unpaid child care, the boundaries I’d set before getting married, the honeymoon we’d planned for months.

My mother’s demand that I cancel everything to babysit teenagers who didn’t need intensive care, the escalating harassment and threats. Troy listened without interrupting and I could hear him typing notes.

When I finished, he said something that changed everything. “Mr. Brennan, I need to be very clear about something. The report we received was filed by your mother. In attempting to make you look neglectful, she’s actually made several concerning admissions about her own parenting.”

He explained that CPS would be conducting a home evaluation within 48 hours. They’d interview the kids, assess living conditions, evaluate whether appropriate care was being provided.

“For the record,” Troy added, “you’re not in any legal trouble. You’re an adult sibling with no custody arrangement. Your mother’s claim that you abandoned minor children is factually inaccurate. Two are adults and one is in her legal custody, but her admission that she can’t adequately care for her children without your constant presence is deeply concerning.”

We hung up. I immediately called Dr. Griffiths again.

“CPS is investigating my parents,” I said, still trying to process it, “because my mother tried to report me for not babysitting.”

Dr. Griffiths was quiet, then said something I’ll never forget. “Alex, if CPS finds problems, it’s because there are problems. Not because you failed to hide them, but because your parents have been neglecting their children and using you as cover. You’ve been so competent for so long that the system never saw what was really happening beneath the surface.”

She was right. I’d been the Band-Aid over a wound that never healed.

And now that I’d finally pulled away, the infection was visible. CPS conducted their home visit on September 5th.

I wasn’t there; I was in a small hotel in the Highlands near Loch Ness, trying to enjoy a distillery tour while my stomach churned with anxiety. Troy Vandermir called me afterward with his findings.

“Mr. Brennan, I wanted to update you personally. We conducted an unannounced home visit this morning at 10:15 a.m. We found several areas of concern.” He listed them in that careful, clinical way social workers use.

The house was disorganized and dirty: dishes stacked in the sink, overflowing laundry, minimal fresh food in the refrigerator. Riley answered the door because both parents were still asleep at 10:15 a.m. on a Thursday.

Aninsley had missed three days of school that week with no documented excuse or parent contact. “We interviewed each minor child individually,” Troy continued.

“They all stated that you had historically been responsible for most household management, child care, and emotional support. They described feeling confused and overwhelmed by your absence because they didn’t know how to handle basic tasks your parents never taught them.” The 19-year-olds reported being expected to fill your role but having no guidance or support.

Your 17-year-old sister reported feeling abandoned by both you and your parents. His voice softened slightly.

“To be clear, she clarified that she understands you’re on your honeymoon and thinks your mother is being ridiculous, but she feels abandoned by your parents who seem unable or unwilling to engage with parenting now that you’re not there to manage everything.” Troy explained that CPS was opening a case.

My parents would be required to complete a parenting capacity assessment, attend mandatory family counseling, and demonstrate they could meet their children’s basic needs without relying on their adult son. “If they don’t comply, or if Aninsley’s situation deteriorates once the twins move out—which they’ve indicated they’re planning to do—we’ll need to consider alternative placement for her.”

The weight of it settled over me. My absence had revealed such profound parental inadequacy that the state was intervening, and my mother had caused it herself by trying to weaponize CPS against me.