Search Me, O God: Owning My Role in Estrangement

Crystal McDaniel
Jul 13
6 min read

Inspirational Scripture with a Heart, This photo is the very description of what this blog is about.

Search Me, O God: Owning My Role in Estrangement

Estrangement doesn’t just fall from the sky. It’s never only about the other person, even when it feels that way. This journey has taught me that healing begins—not when the relationship is fixed—but when I choose to look inward and let God examine the broken pieces in me.

I didn't come to that realization easily.

At first, I focused on the pain. The silence. The rejection. I mourned the absence and replayed the conversations, not to point fingers at them—but to examine myself. I wasn’t looking at where it went wrong on their end. I kept turning it over in my mind, asking: What did I say? What did I do?

I obsessed over one conversation. The last one before everything changed. I replayed it like a broken record. Every word, every pause, every tone. Was I too harsh? Did I miss a moment that needed tenderness? I thought if I could just pinpoint the moment it all unraveled, I could somehow undo it. But relationships rarely shatter in a single moment.

Most often, they crack slowly over time. Still, that one moment haunted me.

I am a researcher. A collector of knowledge. I love to learn. So, I immediately started researching what estrangement is and how to deal with it. I devoured articles, watched interviews, and read personal stories—looking for answers. Looking for hope. I did all of this in the middle of immense pain that I was feeling as a mother. I have to say, I was completely breaking down emotionally. I cried constantly. I barely slept. And at the time, I was very selfish in my thinking. I wanted to “fix it” not just to heal the relationship—but to stop my pain.

I wasn’t yet ready to understand theirs.

I read books. One that stood out to me was “The Rules of Estrangement” by Joshua Coleman. It is an excellent book—and extremely hard to read under the circumstances. It’s honest. Raw. Unforgiving at times. But necessary. Coleman talks about how, as parents, we are fully responsible for the ignition of the relationship. That’s a weighty truth. And one I had to wrestle with. I am not blameless. The book explains that until we’re willing to take a full look at ourselves—at the pain we caused and the pain we’ve buried or ignored—those wounds will spill over into our family dynamics. Onto our children. Whether we mean for it to or not.

I also found a great podcast called The Reconnection Club, available on YouTube. There’s an entire website filled with resources. These podcasts placed a mirror in front of me and made me take a hard look at myself—and my culpability. What I love about this resource is that it gives voice to both sides of the relationship—the parent and the estranged child. It doesn’t excuse, it explores. It helped me open my eyes to things I didn’t want to see. And it reminded me that I am not alone.

I’m also fortunate. Two of my adult children chose to stick with me. They went to family therapy with me and worked hard on rebuilding our relationships. They didn’t have to—but they did. And I am so thankful. I am willing to do whatever it takes to heal. God, in His infinite love, has tenderly shown me the pain I’ve buried, the flaws I’ve hidden, and the ways I’ve failed. And He is still revealing those things. I am a work in progress.

My own childhood pain—and the continued pain throughout my adult life—set the stage for much of what I didn’t deal with. Complex PTSD. Anger issues. Grief. The consistency of being betrayed by family members. Immense fear. Losing a child. Raising children while carrying all that pain. The financial stress, the fear of losing more children because of their own health issues. My mother living with us while battling dementia—watching her fade day by day. The list goes on and on. I could barely breathe. And one day, it became too much. I didn’t know if I wanted to live through that day.

That was a dark and horrible day for all of us.

I didn’t attempt to end my life. But I didn’t answer the phone. I sent goodbye messages—to my children, to my husband, to a few close friends. Just in case. Just in case I decided I couldn’t keep going. Naturally, it flipped everyone out. It caused great pain and fear. During a family therapy session, my daughter and son each told me what that day did to them. The emotional impact. The fear. The trauma. And I felt—still feel—deep, gut-wrenching shame. I had become the source of that kind of pain for them.

That day will always haunt me.

Having already lost a child, my whole purpose had been to protect and love the ones I still had. I wanted to be a great mom. And yet, I had caused such harm. I realize now how much I failed—not out of hatred or cruelty—but because I had so much going on inside me, I was just trying to stay above water. I kept pushing down my own pain and ignoring the truth: that pain was spilling out of me in ways I didn’t see… becoming my own brand of toxic behavior.

I want to be clear about something: I hold no blame toward my estranged daughter. I won’t lie and pretend I never blamed her or that this situation never made me angry. There were moments I screamed at her. Moments I was consumed by the pain I felt—pain I believed she caused. But I am grateful to say, I am past all of that now.

I completely understand why she did what she did.I support her decision—even though that is incredibly hard for me to do.I love her with all my heart and want her to have the best life possible, even if that means I’m not a part of it.

After all the pain and all the mistakes, I still know—I was a good mother. Despite it all. All three of my children know how deeply I love them. Whatever decision she makes, she will always have my 100% support.

God is good. And believe me, I could not say any of this if it were not for God’s great love, grace, and mercy toward me.

The Hard Work of Honest Reflection

Psalm 139:23–24 says,

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. Point out anything in me that offends you, and lead me along the path of everlasting life.”

That scripture became my prayer. A brave and terrifying one. Because asking God to search me meant I had to stop running from the truth—and start sitting in it. Not justifying, not blaming, but listening.

I began asking myself hard questions:

Did I listen with love, or with an agenda?
Did I try to fix things when I should’ve just sat in the moment?
Did I allow fear or pride to silence their pain?
Did I respect boundaries—or bulldoze through them in the name of love?

It’s also okay to say, “I did the best I could with the information I had at the time.”That doesn’t excuse the harm—but it places it in context. I wasn’t acting from cruelty or malice. I was surviving. I was trying. I was functioning through trauma, grief, and broken patterns I didn’t yet understand. And now that I do, I can choose differently.

Taking ownership of my part is the very best thing I can do for my family.

God is the God of the second chance. He has given me a new outlook. A new way of living and being.

This entire blog was prompted by a comment on the Strangely Estranged TikTok Channel that I started just a few weeks ago. Someone came on yesterday with a scathing statement, accusing me of not taking responsibility, telling me that the burden is always on the parent, and I needed to “get a clue.” I’m paraphrasing—but you get the gist.

Instant judgment—without background or understanding.

Please, I beg you: be kind. Slow down. Listen to others. Be curious. Ask questions. Don’t decide who someone is based on your own projections, pain, or assumptions. I am sharing these deeply personal, vulnerable pieces of my life to be used by God—to help someone else who is in need of His aid. It is not easy. It is scary. But I felt the prompting of the Holy Spirit to make things clear: I do see my role in this estrangement. I do take responsibility. And I trust that God will continue His healing work in me.

A Note to the One Still Hurting

If you're walking through estrangement and wondering if you had a role in it—don't let fear or shame stop you from asking the hard questions. Invite God into it. He already knows. He’s not waiting to condemn you—He’s waiting to heal you.

The truth is, I may never be reconciled with my estranged child. But I can be reconciled with myself. With my Creator. And with the future He’s still unfolding for me.

That’s a future I want to walk into with open hands, a softened heart, and eyes that are willing to see—especially when the reflection is painful.