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I’m Still Likable—Even After Estrangement Tried to Convince Me Otherwise

  • Writer: Crystal McDaniel
    Crystal McDaniel
  • Jul 8
  • 4 min read
My friend and colleague, Marilia Zandrandi
My friend and colleague, Marilia Zandrandi

As I sit in the Milan-Malpensa Airport, soaking in the last few moments before I board my flight home, I’m reflecting on this journey to Italy—not just the miles I’ve traveled, but the emotional ground I’ve covered. I came to sing, to work, to grow—but I found something even deeper.


I found me again.


Going to Italy gave to me in a way I could never have anticipated. I was accepted. I was supported. I was even loved. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t seen through the lens of what I’ve lost or what’s broken. No one there expected me to be a mother or explain the ache I carry. They only expected me to be me. And that was enough.


Estrangement has a cruel way of whispering lies into your soul. It tries to convince you that you’re unworthy of love, that you failed, that you’re broken beyond repair. For a while, I believed it. I wore shame like a second skin and tiptoed through the world, worried that my pain made me unpalatable.


But this trip reminded me of the truth:I am likable.I am intelligent.I am talented. I am not defined by someone else’s silence.


I laughed with new friends until my sides hurt. I shared stories over handmade pasta and sun-soaked terraces. I walked into rehearsal rooms where my voice mattered and my presence was welcome. I was a part of a community that didn’t require me to prove my worth or hide my wounds.


Even more surprising, I found that I had something to offer—not just artistically, but emotionally. I could be present. I could be supportive when my friends were tired or frustrated with their work. I could listen, encourage, and remind them of their own strength. I didn’t feel like a burden—I felt like a blessing.


Big was a help as well. Always by my side, he brought joy not only to me but to everyone around. His gentle, noble presence opened the doors to hearts I might never have reached otherwise. People love dogs—and Big has a way of drawing people in with zero effort. His presence sparked conversations I wouldn’t have had on my own, and when I needed him—truly needed his assistance—he was right there, doing the job he was trained to do, faithfully and quietly.


Many of my friends and colleagues from around the world do not have children—by choice. A performance career doesn’t easily lend itself to raising kids. The schedule, the travel, the emotional intensity—it all demands so much. I get it now. I once carried shame for “doing motherhood wrong,” but some of the most vibrant, nurturing souls I know pour their love into pets, nieces, nephews, and students with the same fierce dedication a parent might give. Love is still love. Giving is still giving.


And yes… I ate gelato and drank cappuccino. Often. With joy. I miss the cappuccino already—especially those quiet, shared cups with my friends. Those moments of warm foam and easy laughter were healing, too.


I leave Italy with a renewed sense of purpose and intention. There is still so much to do. This blog, Strangely Estranged, has more stories to tell. My voice still has songs to sing, and I’m eager to find collaborators at home. My newest venture—ADA Paws Pass by Crystal—needs to reach more people who, like me, deserve easier access to our community, our state, and our country. And of course, I have my students; training them and championing their career goals fills me with joy.


All these things remind me that my worth is far greater than the title “mother.” I am thankful for my children—they’ve taught me to examine myself and to love with strength, even when we disagree. Estrangement is a strange teacher. It has opened doors of deeper connection and healing with the two children who remain close, and it has shown me that pain and progress can coexist. I don’t need to know how everything will turn out to enjoy my life. I also don’t need my estranged daughter’s presence to live it fully. My loss doesn’t have to stay loss; it can become gain—if I let it.


Estrangement didn’t erase the core of who I am—it just buried it for a while. But Italy brushed off the dust and said, “Hey, you’re still in there. You’ve always been enough.”

I’m heading home with a lighter heart. Not because everything is fixed. Not because the pain is gone. But because I now see myself more clearly. I am more than the titles I’ve lost. I am more than the heartbreak I’ve endured.


I am still likable. I still belong. And I still have so much to give.


✨ If this post resonated with you, please leave a comment below and share your thoughts. Let’s build a supportive community—one story at a time. You are not alone.💬 Follow along for more reflections, healing, and hope at www.strangelyestranged.com.


 
 
 
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