It seems to me that schizophrenics withdraw from their families, and most everyone else, because no one can enter their internal, frightening world. The words "You don't understand" or "You'll never understand" were frequently heard in our house. My older sister was in constant conflict with mom and left home as soon as she was able. They never reconcilled.
My father, on the other hand, was the most patient and steadfast person I've ever known. The wife of one his university faculty colleagues experienced a breakdown about the time that mom did. He eventually had her committed to the state hospital, got a divorce, and went on with life, urging dad to do the same. But he refused to even consider it.
Both my parents beleved in corporal punishment, and I earned the occasional 'spanking' while growing up. I discovered that one of mom's whippings could be shortened by yelling and hollering, while dad expected me to silently "take it like a man." Mom would most often grab a switch in the heat of the moment and let fly at my legs. Dad would wait until tempers had cooled, sit me down to explain exactly why my behavior merited punishment, and after I agreed, apply his belt to my legs. Welts, "the marks of disobedience", were expected but were never severe.
My last whipping occurred when I was around 6 years old. I had so egregiously disobeyed that mom did not punish me immediately but waited for dad to get home from work. He took me into the bedroom for our "talk", then had me drop my trousers as he removed his belt. Then he said, "You know, this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you." Being a smartass, even then, I blurted out "Well, if that is really true, shouldn't I be whipping you?"
The raised belt stopped in mid air, and there was a long moment of silence. Then dad said "I never thought of it that way, but you're right! Pull up your pants and take this belt." By now I was crying, said I was only kidding, that I had done wrong and deserved punishment. How could I do this? It was unthinkable. It was my fault. But dad lowered his trousers, handed me his belt, and instructed me to whip his legs. We were both in tears, and I half-heartedly struck a blow or two, but he stopped me and insisted it must be hard enough to "count", to raise welts. So that I did. But resolved to never again earn a whipping from my dad.