Healing Through Estrangement: A Little Bit of Progress Everyday
- Crystal McDaniel
- Jul 15
- 6 min read
When people ask me about my journey through estrangement from my adult daughter, I often find myself reaching for a phrase that has become my quiet mantra: "A little bit of progress everyday." It's not glamorous. It doesn't promise overnight transformation or miraculous reconciliation. But it's real, and it's sustainable, and most importantly—it's mine.
This journey hasn't been one I chose, but it's become one where I've learned to lean into God's grace in ways I never imagined. Estrangement isn't a destination I arrived at with fanfare. It's more like finding myself in an unfamiliar wilderness, one where the familiar landmarks of connection with my daughter have shifted or disappeared entirely. The terrain can feel foreign, even hostile at times. But here's what I've discovered: I don't have to conquer this landscape all at once. I just have to take one faithful step forward, then another, trusting that the Lord is walking beside me.
The Weight of Small Steps
Progress in my estrangement journey rarely looks like the dramatic breakthroughs we see in movies. It's not a tearful reunion or a single conversation that changes everything. Instead, it's the accumulation of small victories that many people might not even recognize as victories at all.
Progress in my estrangement includes revelation of my own flaws, and the work that I put in to improve myself through God's guidance. Progress is little by little, listening to the thoughts and ideas of others, whose perspectives are coming from much different angles, and that helps me to see my estrangement in a different light. Estrangement is not about blaming, it is about healing—and I've learned that true healing comes from surrendering my pain to the One who knows my heart better than I do.
It's the morning I wake up and realize I didn't immediately think about her, but instead felt a quiet peace that can only come from above. It's choosing to attend a social gathering even though I might have to navigate questions about my daughter, trusting that God will give me the words I need. It's the gradual shift from spending my energy on anger to spending it on building something new. It's choosing healing over heartache, peace and purpose over anger and resentment, knowing that this choice honors both my daughter and my Creator.
These moments matter precisely because they're small. They're manageable. They're proof that my healing doesn't require me to be superhuman—just faithful and persistent, one day at a time.
The Strange Gift of Estrangement
There's something strangely liberating about being estranged, though it has taken me close to 2 years to see it this way. When the expected structures of connection with my daughter are absent, I'm called to become my own architect under God's direction. I learn to build support systems from scratch, to create chosen family, to define my own values grounded in faith rather than the weight of inherited expectations.
This reconstruction happens gradually in my life, and I see God's hand in it. A little bit of progress everyday means slowly learning to trust my own judgment while staying rooted in prayer. It means that I can focus on myself and my needs, dreams, and desires in a way that honors the person God created me to be. I can improve my relationships with my two other adult children and my husband. I can focus on my purpose in this world, instead of being so focused on her. I am more in this life than a mother—I am a daughter of the King, fearfully and wonderfully made.
The Rhythm of Healing
My healing isn't linear, and I know this intimately. Some days feel like giant leaps forward, filled with God's presence and peace. Others feel like I'm sliding backward down a hill I've already climbed, wondering where His voice has gone. But here's what I've come to understand through prayer and reflection: even the backward-sliding days are part of my process, part of His plan for my growth.
A little bit of progress everyday doesn't mean I have to feel better every single day. It means that even on the difficult days, I'm still moving through the experience rather than being stuck in it, trusting that God is working even when I can't see it. It means that grief and growth can coexist in my life, held together by His love. It means that my healing has its own timeline—His timeline—and I don't have to apologize for taking up space in it.
Building New Traditions
One of the most profound aspects of navigating estrangement is learning to create new traditions and rituals grounded in faith. Holidays become opportunities for innovation rather than obligation, chances to celebrate God's goodness in new ways. Birthdays become celebrations I design rather than events I endure, filled with gratitude for another year of His grace. I discover that meaning isn't inherited—it's created through prayer, purpose, and the community He provides.
I've learned to mark progress in unconventional ways. Days that I laugh with friends, seeing God's joy reflected in their faces. New goals that my husband and I can make together, dreams that honor our calling as a couple. These aren't dates anyone else would think to commemorate, but they're sacred to me—small altars of remembrance for God's faithfulness.
The Community of the Estranged
Perhaps one of the most surprising discoveries in this journey has been finding others who understand, people God has placed in my path at just the right moments. There's a quiet community of believers who've walked similar paths, and recognizing each other happens in subtle ways—a knowing look across a prayer circle, a gentle nod during a testimony. We understand the complexity of grieving people who are still alive. We know the exhaustion of explaining why we can't just "work things out," especially when well-meaning church friends offer simple solutions. We celebrate each other's small victories because we know how hard-won they are, and we pray for each other's children with the fierce love of mothers who understand.
This community reinforces the truth that a little bit of progress everyday is enough in God's eyes. We don't need to justify our pace or our choices to anyone else. We just need to keep moving forward, one faithful step at a time, trusting that He who began a good work in us will carry it on to completion.
The Long View
Estrangement taught me that some of life's most important work happens in the spaces between dramatic moments, in the quiet places where God meets us. It's the daily choice to prioritize my wellbeing over expectations, trusting that this honors both my daughter and my Creator. It's the consistent practice of self-compassion when the world tells me that family should come first, no matter what, while Scripture reminds me that my identity is found in Christ alone.
Close to 2 years into this journey, I can see how those small daily choices have accumulated into something substantial. Not reconciliation—that may never come, and that's okay. But something perhaps more valuable: a life that feels authentically mine, lived in surrender to His will. A life where I understand that my worth isn't determined by my daughter's presence or absence, but by the unchanging love of my heavenly Father.
A little bit of progress everyday has led me to a place where I can write about estrangement without my hands shaking, where I can hear her name without feeling derailed, where I can acknowledge both the loss and the liberation without contradiction. It's led me to a deeper understanding of God's grace—not just for my daughter, but for myself.
If you're reading this and navigating your own estrangement, know that your progress doesn't have to look like anyone else's. It doesn't have to be fast or dramatic or neat. It just has to be yours, surrendered to God's timing, one faithful step at a time.
Because sometimes, a little bit of progress everyday is exactly what our loving Father has in mind.
What does progress look like in your own journey? How has faith sustained you through difficult seasons? Share your thoughts in the comments below, or reach out through our contact page. Remember, you're not alone in this strange and sacred work of rebuilding—God is with you every step of the way.