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Christian parent praying during family estrangement while seeking healing and reconciliation” Christian parent praying during family estrangement while seeking healing and reconciliation” “Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.” – Colossians 4:2 Family estrangement is one of the deepest wounds a parent can experience. It changes how you breathe.It changes how you sleep.It changes how you pray. But even in the pain of adult child estrangement, God calls us not into bitterness — but into devotion, watchfulness, and gratitude. This is not just a survival strategy.It is a spiritual one. The Pain of Adult Child Estrangement If you go back through my earlier estrangement blogs , you’ll see a raw trail of heartbreak. When my adult child entered what many call No Contact (NC) , it felt like the world stopped. My chest tightened. My breathing felt shallow. My heart felt fractured. I cried. I screamed. I grieved. And yet, underneath it all, I knew something: One day, this would become lighter to carry. Why did I believe that? Because I had already buried a child — my first child died. And though I never imagined saying it, estrangement from my living adult child has been even harder. Yet through both griefs, God taught me to search for something powerful: Thankfulness. Even when it hurts. The Role of Prayer and Repentance in Estrangement Healing Prayer does not only comfort — it transforms. True Christian repentance is not just sorrow.It is defined in Scripture as: A turning away from sin and a turning toward God in faith and obedience. A changing of one’s mind and direction. A sincere commitment to transformation. In estrangement, repentance becomes a sacred tool. Not because the parent is always “to blame.” But because repentance softens the heart even when we’ve been deeply hurt. It loosens bitterness. It dismantles pride. It creates room for humility and growth. Which is often where true reconciliation begins. A Clarification About “Feeling Wronged” I want to say this clearly for other estranged parents reading: When I speak of feeling deeply hurt, I am not accusing adult children of being wrong  for choosing estrangement. In my own situation, I believe my adult daughter did what she felt she needed to do to protect her well-being. And I respect that. But I also speak honestly when I say: It changed me. I did not choose that change — it was forced upon me. And no one enjoys being forced into transformation. But my husband and I leaned into it. We examined every flaw we could see. Every blind spot. Every way we needed to grow. I wrote her a deep apology letter. I confessed what I could recognize. I asked for forgiveness. She responded with forgiveness…but also with a request for No Contact  — no calls, no texts, no letters, no gifts. And we honored that boundary. Because love doesn’t just apologize. It respects. Gratitude for Children Even in Estrangement This may be hard to receive, but I say it with love: Be thankful for your adult child — even if you are estranged. Even if they have been unkind. Even if years have passed without a word. Even if the grief still aches. They are still your child. And through them…you learned how to love. They expanded your heart. They changed you. They grew compassion in you. And even estrangement itself becomes a place where God deepens our faith and trust. Because estrangement is not only loss —it is also surrender. Sometimes we are asked to surrender our children. Our grandchildren. Our expectations. Our timelines. And somehow…God still meets us there. How Prayer Makes a Way for Reconciliation Estrangement leaves emotional bridges burned. Prayer rebuilds them — quietly, patiently, spiritually. Prayer clears what bitterness covers. Prayer softens what grief hardened. Prayer prepares hearts long before conversations happen. And if reconciliation comes — and yes, I believe it can —it will come on ground that prayer prepared. A Prayer for Estranged Parents Lord,Teach me to be devoted in prayer. Make me watchful over my heart. Teach me gratitude even in this pain. Help me repent where I need to change. Help me surrender what I cannot control. And prepare my heart — whether reconciliation comes quickly or slowly. In Jesus’ name,Amen. Final Encouragement for Estranged Parents If you are walking through family estrangement,you are not alone. God sees you. God is shaping you. God is still working. And even in the silence… He has not left you.

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday.No gifts to wrap.No rush.Just family, food, and the kind of laughter that lingers long after the dishes are done. Growing up, we usually had 19 or 20 people for Thanksgiving — family, friends, and always a few people Mama had invited who had no family to go home and see. It was always fun to meet strangers at our table and hear their life stories. And every year, there was the traditional trip to take Thanksgiving meals to the local jail. My daddy went every Thursday to do a Bible study for the people in the county jail. On Thanksgiving, we provided a full meal for them. Inevitably, with it being a small town — and having all its small-town quirks — my daddy would come home from the jail and tell me that someone I had gone to high school with was in there and had sent word to say, “Tell Crystal I said hello!”Ha! Ha! It’s true. Those were the sounds and stories of my childhood — laughter, gratitude, service, and faith.That’s what Thanksgiving meant to me. When I grew up and had a family of my own, we still made the trip to celebrate Thanksgiving with my family. My children would sit at a smaller table nearby, and I would watch as they laughed and ate with their cousins. They were always excited because Mama always set a beautiful table for us — and it sparkled. They also couldn’t wait for her famous apple and chocolate pies. Those moments are stitched into my heart — the sparkle of her table, the laughter of children, the warmth of home. As things changed over the years, our Thanksgiving table began to shrink. When my mother’s dementia progressed, she moved in with us, and it became just her and my family. Even then, we still had fun — we laughed, we prayed, and we cherished every precious moment with her. Now, it’s down to just three of us — my husband, my adult son, and me.My adult daughter — the one who still has a relationship with me — lives in Virginia and has a wonderful job. She’s usually working during the holidays, so she can’t come home, but she spends Thanksgiving with friends. And I am truly grateful she has a place to go — and that she FaceTimes us so we can still share a moment together, even miles apart. The table looks different, but love still lives here. It is my other adult daughter — the one who is completely “no contact” — that makes it different. Our estrangement  changed everything.It was very painful at first. The holidays felt hollow and heavy, and I wasn’t sure how to fill the space she left behind. But this year… I feel different.I’m not weighed down like before. I’m actually happy — almost excited. I’m doing new things and making new traditions. I’m decorating my table differently, still using the colors, the Thanksgiving china, and the warm touches that make it feel like home — but I’m adding subtle changes that make it mine. I’m putting more of myself into this one — making it reflect where my husband and I are in our lives right now. And that’s a good thing. The day after Thanksgiving, we’re going with my best friend from high school and her granddaughters to watch a boat light parade on the river. I’ve never done that before. It feels fresh, fun, and full of life — something new to look forward to. I’m content. Estrangement may have changed the shape of my Thanksgiving,but it didn’t take away its heart.It just reminded me that gratitude can grow again — even in different soil. I’m saying all of this to let you know:it’s a good thing  to change your traditions and make them about what you truly love — for you. We spend so much of our lives creating holidays around everyone else.Maybe this is your year to do it differently —to make new traditions that bring peace to your soul,joy to your home,and a genuine smile to your face. Because this season, you deserve to feel thankful too. 🌻 5 Suggestions to Help You Do Something New This Thanksgiving 1. Redecorate Your Table with Purpose Use your favorite colors, heirlooms, or something new that feels like you.  It doesn’t have to match old memories — it just needs to make you smile. 2. Try a New Dish or Dessert Bake something you’ve never tried before — maybe a new pie or a comfort food from childhood. Make it your signature dish, and give it meaning that’s all your own. 3. Do Something You’ve Never Done Before Take a walk at sunrise, visit a Christmas market, or go see a boat light parade like I am this year. You might find unexpected joy in something brand new. 4. Create a Moment of Gratitude Write down one blessing for each year of your life on small slips of paper and place them in a bowl on your table. Read them aloud with whoever is present — even if it’s just you. 5. Do Something Kind for Someone Else Bake a pie for a neighbor. Donate a meal. Send a text to someone who feels forgotten. Gratitude grows when we give it away. These are just some simple thoughts to get you started.I hope this helps you over the next couple of weeks as you plan a warm, wonderful Thanksgiving.I encourage you to make it soothing and uplifting — for you. Know that I am thinking of you and praying for you every single day. 💛 🌻 Reflection Question for You What new tradition could you begin this Thanksgiving — one that honors both your love and  your healing? If this message touched your heart, share it with someone who needs to know they’re not alone this Thanksgiving.💛 Follow @StrangelyEstranged  for encouragement, prayer, and real stories of hope and healing after estrangement.Let’s remind the world together that love and gratitude can still bloom — even in different soil. 🌻

“Neither do people pour new wine into old wineskins.If they do, the skins will burst, the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined.No , they pour new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved.” — Matthew 9:17 (NIV) Is God Calling Us to Change? If you’re walking through estrangement, you already know what it means to be broken open. You’ve felt the tearing, the stretching, and the ache of something that once felt full—now emptied. But what if that emptiness is actually God making room for something new ? Sometimes, we ask God for change—for healing, for restoration, for peace—and He answers.Just not in the way we imagined. Because to receive new wine, the old wineskin must go.And sometimes that “wineskin” is our perspective, our pride, or even our idea of how relationships should look. Are Estranged Mothers Part of a “New Thing”? I believe so. Estrangement has called me into a greater change—a transformation I never expected. It has reshaped my heart, softened my edges, and realigned my spirit with God’s. God is doing a great work  in my life, in Nelson’s life, and in the way we see everything. Through pain, confusion, and tears, He has been building something that could never have existed in the old version of me. He is birthing a new thing—a community of mothers who know what it means to cling to Him when everything else feels lost.We are learning that His “no contact” seasons are sometimes His holy rewiring  of our hearts. Am I Still Growing? Yes. Is the estrangement and no contact still painful? Yes.Estrangement is humbling at best—especially when you are listening to God. The regret, remorse, and pain drive you to your knees.Now that my eyes have been opened much more, I can see God’s hand at work within all of this—changing the way I live, the way I think, and the way I want to walk in this world. When I started this blog, I was hurt and angry, discouraged and defeated. I kept taking it to God. The grief was great, and I was so very heartbroken.What I have found is that there is great power in prayer—and in repentance, forgiveness, and remorse. Especially when you cry out to God. I have apologized to my adult children—the ones who are speaking to me.I listen to them tell me what hurt them, and it hurts so much to hear it.However, I process it and take a look at the truth God is revealing to me. I was a good mother. There was no physical abuse, drugs, alcohol, or sexual abuse.Yet I was unaware that I made decisions from old wounds that spilled their goop into my life.I thought I was parenting and protecting my children.In truth, I was using my fear to drive my decisions. If only I could go back in time and talk to the past Crystal.I can’t.But what I can  do is learn and grow. What I did then, I would not do now—and I’m thankful to God for that change. Now, when my adult children tell me how they feel, I take time to process what they’ve said.Then I let them know I heard them. I tell them I’m sorry—for their pain, and for the feeling that I wouldn’t listen. We all need to be heard. We all need to know that we count. The estrangement road is hard—and it is not  for the weak.I have found that God calls many, but the ones who listen and answer are few.I pray daily for them all. When Healing Hurts Let’s be honest—healing isn’t soft or pretty.If you ask God to heal you, bless you, or change you, He will—but in His way.And His way often involves breaking the old before He rebuilds the new. To change your heart, He may have to break your heart.To open your eyes, He may have to close a door.To draw you closer, He may have to strip away the things that once defined you. That’s what happened to me.What I thought was “up” turned out to be “down,” and what I thought was “down” turned out to be “up.”Apparently, yes—it did  take something drastic for me to truly surrender. Whatever It Takes Here’s what I’ve learned:When God sets out to heal you, He’ll use whatever it takes  to bring you closer to Him. He will not waste your pain.He will not ignore your tears.And He will not let your story end in bitterness. Every moment of breaking is leading to a greater becoming.Every tear is watering the soil for something new to grow.And every estranged mother who chooses to trust Him in the dark is part of a new wineskin—a new vessel—for His glory. A Closing Prayer Father, give us the courage to become new wineskins.To release what was, and receive what is yet to come.Use whatever it takes to make us more like You.Even when it hurts, remind us that You are the God who restores, renews, and redeems. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. #StrangelyEstranged #FaithJourney #ChristianBlog #NewWineskin #HealingThroughFaith #PurposeInPain #GodIsWorking #SpiritualRenewal #FaithOverFear #GodsPlan #EstrangedMothers #HealingAfterEstrangement #FaithThroughEstrangement #BecomingNew #GodMakesAllThingsNew #TransformationThroughFaith #RestorationInChrist #WomenOfFaith #PrayerfulLiving #HopeInTheWaiting #ChristianEncouragement #TrustTheProcess #GodRestores #SpiritualTransformation #YouAreNotAlone

Stretching the Edges of Capacity By Crystal McDaniel – Strangely Estranged Blog Stretching the Edges of Capacity There are seasons in life when growth feels like expansion—like our hearts and minds are being stretched in ways we never imagined possible. We read the books, pray the prayers, do the therapy, and lean into the lessons. We keep saying yes to growth, because somewhere deep down, we know staying the same costs more than the pain of stretching. But what happens when we’ve stretched as far as we can? When our capacity—to learn, to cope, to adapt—feels like it’s reached its limit? That’s when grace steps in. The Gift of Knowing Your Limits It’s easy to think growth always means more : more healing, more doing, more forgiving. But real wisdom lies in recognizing when your capacity has reached its edge for the moment you’re in . Sometimes, it’s not about pushing harder; it’s about pausing long enough to let what you’ve learned take root. We aren’t meant to live in a constant state of self-improvement fatigue. Even muscles need rest between sets. So does your soul. Knowing your limits isn’t weakness—it’s discernment. It’s honoring the truth that even God rested after creation. When My Capacity Felt Like Nothing When my estrangement with my adult daughter began, my capacity for adding a lot was very small. Everything around me was a “trigger” to a tidal wave of sorrow, guilt, pain, tears, and extreme panic. I could not stand much at all. I simply had no space for anything else. As I traveled through the different stages of grief that accompany estrangement with an adult child—or children—I have become more capable of creating space for more. My capacity has grown. I still have to be highly aware of my emotional state. Rest, for me, is at the top of my list of needs in order to maintain capacity for coping with life and its stresses. I am learning to handle and balance my everyday physical and mental challenges better. I am learning to walk away, and not stay in conversations or situations that drain my energy. When my energy drains, I get extremely tired. That is my signal that I am too close to the bottom of my capacity. I am learning to pay attention—to stop before I start feeling that type of fatigue. It is important for us to know that our Heavenly Father is the only One who has limitless capacity.  We do not. We have to know when to stop, and rest. God will continue to work, even while we are resting. When we surrender the need to do it all and trust His timing, we make room for His strength to meet our weakness. Hitting the Wall Isn’t Failing Hitting the wall of our current capacity doesn’t mean that we’ve failed—it means we need to pause, take a little time to recharge, and plug into God. One of my biggest life lessons learned has been the realization that I would often run far past what I was truly capable of doing. I would keep pushing until I broke down. When that happened, I noticed a shorter temper, more anxiety, less patience, and less willingness to listen to others or hear their needs, wants, and desires. Recognizing when you are reaching your fill mark  is not weakness—it’s wisdom. It’s strength. It’s learning to walk in awareness, not exhaustion. It’s choosing to honor the limits of your humanity so that you can live in alignment with divine peace. Knowing when to stop, breathe, and refill your cup is one of the healthiest ways to live. When we live this way, we can love more deeply, listen more fully, and serve with hearts that are replenished rather than depleted. The Most Important Place to Grow Capacity During estrangement, I have learned that the most important place to grow capacity is in my heart for my estranged adult daughter. That has taken a lot of prayer, journaling, reading, learning, screaming, crying, grieving, memorizing Bible verses, walking, singing, talking with friends—and the list goes on and on. At first, I had absolutely no capacity in my heart for her at all. I wanted anything and everything that even reminded me of her to be thrown out. I wanted to erase all thoughts and memories of her. I was in a lot of pain, and I felt overwhelming grief and anger. The closer I drew to God for His help, the more capacity I have grown. I still have a long way to go. But I can love her now. I have capacity in my heart to love her—no matter what. I can even support her decision now, if this is what helps her and what she needs, whether she comes back or not. That is hard-won ground. I still hurt. I still twinge with anger from time to time. But I no longer feel powerless. I no longer feel ashamed or out of control. I no longer feel betrayed or abandoned. I know I have great friends and family who love me. I know who I can lean on. I am grateful. Please know that I understand if you are still angry and just feel, “Done.” I have been there too. Keep praying and clinging to the hand of Jesus. Don’t let go. He will walk you through that part as well. Your feelings are completely valid. Just remember this: we can be so thankful that Jesus is never “done”  with us. Where Capacity Meets Compassion The moment we hit the wall of our current capacity, compassion becomes the bridge. It whispers, You’ve done enough for now. Sit in this space and breathe. When we learn to hold ourselves gently at that edge—without shame, without comparison—we begin to see that capacity isn’t fixed. It ebbs and flows, expanding again when we’ve recovered from the last stretch. Growth and stillness coexist like inhale and exhale. The Beauty of Becoming The truth is, there will be times when the lesson feels too heavy, the healing too slow, or the progress invisible. In those moments, remember this:You are still becoming. Your capacity today may not be what it was yesterday—or what it will be tomorrow—and that’s okay. Every stretch, every pause, every breath in between is sacred ground. So give yourself permission to rest. To pause. To exist exactly where you are, trusting that the stretching and the stillness are both holy parts of your becoming. Scripture Reflection: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1 “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28 Closing Thought: Capacity isn’t just about how much we can hold—it’s about knowing when to let go, when to breathe, and when to wait for God to fill the space again. ✍️ Author’s Note Written by Crystal McDaniel , founder of Strangely Estranged  — a space for healing, hope, and faith for parents walking through estrangement. Crystal writes with honesty, compassion, and courage about the sacred journey of letting go, holding on, and finding peace through Christ. Follow along at Strangely Estranged  and on social media @StrangelyEstranged for stories, encouragement, and faith-filled community. #StrangelyEstranged #FaithHealing #ChristianMoms #EmotionalGrowth #HealingThroughJesus

It has been a while since I’ve written here on Strangely Estranged . Honestly, so much has happened since my last post that it would be impossible to capture it all in one blog. Life has been full of change, challenges, and new opportunities—and I feel like I am only beginning to see how God is weaving it all together. Since I last wrote, I’ve stepped into some exciting new roles. I am honored to hold the titles of Mrs. Chattanooga America 2026  and Mrs. Tennessee Galaxy 2026 . With these platforms, I am working hard to shine a light on something very close to my heart: ADA Paws Pass by Crystal . This outreach is dedicated to helping individuals with Invisible Disabilities —especially those who rely on Service Dogs—experience less anxiety when they are out in public. The truth is, many people still don’t understand ADA Laws  and how they protect those of us with disabilities. From businesses to schools to public spaces, the knowledge gap is real—and it impacts lives every single day. Children with conditions such as ADHD, for example, are entitled to specific supports in the educational system, yet so many parents don’t know what rights their children have. This is why awareness is critical, and why I feel such urgency to keep moving forward with this mission. At the same time, life has not been without struggles. I have faced some serious health concerns, with many doctor’s appointments and tests on my calendar. This season has left me feeling tired most days, yet I know the Lord is holding me steady. I humbly ask for your prayers as I walk through this journey. On a brighter note, my students are doing incredibly well . In fact, Big and I will be traveling to New York City  soon with a couple of them as they compete in a National Musical Theatre Competition . I am so very proud of them and grateful to see their hard work pay off. I’m also looking forward to being in the city again—there’s always something special about New York, and this trip will be an exciting adventure for both my students and me. And then there is the tender place in my heart—estrangement. It has now been over two years  since I last spoke with my adult daughter. That truth still hurts. It is still something I pray about every single day. Yet, God is bringing me comfort in ways only He can. One Sunday at church, my Pastor shared a story that spoke directly to my situation. In that moment, I realized I had to release her completely into God’s hands. Letting go wasn’t easy, but since then I’ve found a measure of peace I didn’t have before. Do I know if I will ever see or hear from her again? No. But I am learning to rest in the fact that God does know, and He loves her more than I ever could. My focus now must be on my purpose, my calling, and the path God has placed in front of me. Though I grow weary, my spirit remains hopeful. I believe the Lord is not finished with me yet, and He is using every part of this journey—titles, advocacy, health challenges, students, and even my broken places—to prepare me for what is ahead. So here I am. Walking forward, one step at a time. Trusting Him. And I hope you’ll walk with me.

A Mother and Daughter that are enmeshed together Estrangement from my adult child has left me feeling confused, heartbroken, and, at times, helpless. I’ve searched for answers, wondering what went wrong and how I got here. But as I've been reflecting on the healing process, one critical piece has stood out: accountability . At the same time, I’ve realized that understanding enmeshment —the blurred boundaries between myself and my child—has been just as crucial in unraveling the pain of estrangement. What Does Accountability Really Mean? Accountability is the willingness to take responsibility for my actions and decisions, even when it’s difficult. It’s about recognizing that while I cannot control the actions of others, I can control my own behavior and how I respond to the challenges life throws my way. In the context of estrangement, accountability means reflecting on my role in the relationship’s breakdown. It’s not about placing blame, but owning my part in the dynamic. It’s about acknowledging past actions, words, or behaviors that caused hurt, and using this awareness to grow and heal. But here's where it gets complicated— enmeshment . Enmeshment is the lack of healthy boundaries, where my identity, emotions, and sense of self became overly tied to my child’s life. In an enmeshed relationship, there’s little room for independence, and both parties might feel that their worth and emotional well-being are too closely tied to each other. When enmeshment takes hold, accountability becomes much harder. I might find it more difficult to reflect on my actions objectively because I’m so entwined emotionally with the situation. I might blame myself too much or, conversely, justify actions that caused harm. But accountability, when combined with understanding enmeshment, becomes a powerful tool for breaking free from these unhealthy patterns. Why Accountability and Enmeshment are Crucial in Estrangement When I'm estranged from my child, the instinct is often to point fingers. It’s easier to blame the other person for the pain and heartache I feel. However, this mindset keeps me stuck in a place of victimhood and prevents me from healing. Enmeshment contributes to this. It causes me to feel as though I’m responsible for everything happening in my child’s life—every mistake, every decision, every emotion. And in that mindset, accountability gets warped. I either over-accept responsibility or refuse to look at my own behavior, all while denying the need for healthier boundaries. Accountability, paired with a deeper understanding of enmeshment , helps me break free from this cycle. It’s not about placing blame or owning my child’s mistakes; it's about owning the space where I went wrong, particularly in how I handled boundaries, emotions, and communication. Recognizing enmeshment in my relationship allows me to separate myself from my child’s actions and focus on healing myself, rather than carrying the emotional weight of their life decisions. What Does Accountability and Healthy Boundaries Look Like in Estrangement? Self-Reflection:  I take time to examine my past actions honestly. I ask myself, What did I contribute to the relationship breakdown? Did I allow my emotions to become too tied to my child's decisions? Was there a lack of healthy boundaries on my part? Owning My Actions:  I acknowledge my role in the estrangement. This doesn’t mean I’m solely responsible for what happened, but it means that I recognize areas where I may have overstepped my boundaries or neglected my child’s need for independence. Breaking the Cycle of Enmeshment:  Enmeshment thrives in a space where boundaries aren’t clear. I commit to setting and respecting healthy emotional boundaries. I recognize that my child’s emotions are theirs, and my emotions are mine. This doesn’t mean I don’t care, but I begin to release the need to be overly involved in every decision or emotional response. Seeking Forgiveness and Healing:  Sometimes, I need to apologize for not respecting those boundaries in the past. Apologizing isn’t about excusing my actions, but recognizing that what I did contributed to a lack of space and emotional independence. Commitment to Change:  Accountability isn’t just about apologizing for past mistakes. It’s about actively working to respect my child’s independence and emotional space moving forward. It’s about embracing healthier communication and emotional self-regulation so that I can build a stronger, more balanced relationship in the future. Letting Go of Perfectionism:  Accountability and healing also mean letting go of the idea of perfection. I’ll never have a perfect relationship, and I’ll never be able to undo all the harm caused by enmeshment. But I can commit to becoming a better version of myself. Why Accountability and Boundaries are Key to Moving Forward Without accountability, healing becomes stagnant. I risk staying in the cycle of blame, shame, and guilt, unable to break free from my emotional entanglements with my child. But when I embrace accountability and recognize the need for boundaries, I can begin to separate myself from my child’s decisions and emotions. This frees me from the weight of enmeshment, and I can focus on healing, growth, and becoming the person God intended me to be. Accountability, Boundaries, and God’s Grace As I walk through the painful process of estrangement, it’s important to remember that accountability and healthy boundaries don’t mean I am condemned to carry the weight of my mistakes forever. God’s grace covers me, and He is ready to help me move past my shortcomings. As I strive to grow and change, I can lean on His strength to guide me. In Ephesians 4:2, Paul encourages us to “Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.” This is a reminder that I don’t have to walk this journey alone. As I hold myself accountable and set healthy boundaries, I can lean into God’s grace and allow His love to heal my broken heart. Estrangement is painful, and the path to healing can feel lonely and uncertain. But embracing accountability—taking responsibility for my actions, recognizing the importance of healthy boundaries, and committing to change—can bring me closer to the healing I long for. By breaking free from the cycle of enmeshment, I create space for both myself and my child to grow. Remember, accountability doesn’t guarantee immediate reconciliation, but it does guarantee growth . And in that growth, I find hope, peace, and the possibility of restoration. If you're on this journey, know that you're not alone. I’m praying for you as you work through your own healing, and together, we can support each other through the difficult and beautiful process of accountability, boundaries, and growth. #EstrangementHealing #AccountabilityInHealing #BreakingFreeFromEnmeshment #HealthyBoundaries #HealingThroughFaith #GrowthInEstrangement #GraceAndHealing #EnmeshmentRecovery #FamilyHealing #FaithInHealing #ForgivenessJourney #HealingFromEstrangement #HealingAndGrowth

t has almost been two years since I’ve spoken to my estranged adult daughter. Just typing that sentence brings a lump to my throat. It’s a silent pain that most people don’t understand unless they’ve lived it. And if you’ve found your way here, maybe you do  understand. Maybe you’re living it too. There are days when the weight of it presses down so hard, I can barely breathe—let alone sing. And yet, somewhere deep inside me, past all the grief and disappointment, I find myself whispering a broken hallelujah . I don’t sing it with joy. I don’t raise it with strength. I whisper it. I offer it.  I give what I can, even when what I have is shattered. Estrangement has become a wilderness I never saw coming. There’s no roadmap for this place, no timeline for healing, and no clear answers. Whether you’re a parent or an adult child walking this path, you know how disorienting it is. For me, it’s felt like exile—disconnected, lonely, and confusing. But one thing I’ve learned in the desert is that God doesn’t need my worship to be polished or perfect. He just wants it to be honest. Broken Doesn’t Mean Worthless Sometimes my hallelujah comes out sounding like a sob.Sometimes it’s laced with anger, guilt, regret, or confusion.And most of the time, it’s messy. But I’ve realized something: it still matters. God has never asked me to get it all together before I come to Him. He’s not scared of my questions, and He’s not disappointed by my pain. In fact, Scripture tells me He is close to the brokenhearted  (Psalm 34:18). That means me. That means you. Estrangement stripped me down to my bare bones. It took away the comfortable illusion that I could fix everything if I just loved harder, worked more, prayed better. But in its place, it’s created a holy hunger—a hunger for healing, a hunger for peace, and a hunger to worship God not for what He’s done,  but simply for who He is. Praise as Resistance When I lift my hands or bow my head in worship during this season, it isn’t because everything is okay. It’s because I refuse to let despair have the final word. My hallelujah is an act of rebellion  against hopelessness. It’s my declaration that God is still at work,  even when I can’t see it. This isn’t about denial. It’s about defiance.I’m saying: “This grief won’t define me. This silence won’t swallow me whole. I still believe.” Sometimes the bravest thing I do in a day is just show up—to therapy, to church, to prayer, to community, to the mirror. And in those moments, when all I have is a few broken pieces, I lay them down and whisper: “Here I am, Lord. I still trust You.” My Broken Hallelujah Is Still Worship No one sees all the battles I fight inside.No one hears all the prayers I whisper through tears.No one knows how many times I’ve thought, “I can’t do this anymore.” But God sees. He hears. And He knows.Psalm 56:8 tells me He keeps track of all my sorrows and collects every tear I cry. Nothing is wasted—not even this. So today, if all I have is fragments, I still choose to offer them.If all I can do is breathe and pray, I still call it worship.If all I can give is a broken hallelujah,  I trust that it still reaches heaven. Because He is still worthy. And I am still His. Let’s Talk Have you ever worshiped from a broken place? How do you hold onto faith in the middle of your own estrangement story? I’d love to hear from you. You’re not alone here. 💬 By the way, I now have a TikTok channel where more conversation can take place. It ’s a safe space for anyone walking through estrangement, whether you're a parent, an adult child, or somewhere in between. Come on over and follow: @Strangely.estrang #StrangelyEstranged #BrokenHallelujah #FaithInTheDark #EstrangementSupport #HealingFromEstrangement #GodStillSeesYou #MentalHealthAndFaith #ChristianParenting #GriefAndGrace #InvisibleScars#Estrangement #EstrangementWithAdultChild #EstrangementWithParents

The Pit of Despair, from the Movie, "The Princess Bride." The beginning of the description of what is going to happen to Wesley, in the Pit of Despair There are days when estrangement feels like freefalling into a deep, dark hole—a place I didn’t choose, but one I suddenly find myself in. No warning. No rope. Just a deafening silence and a pain so loud it echoes off the walls of my soul. This is the Pit of Despair. And I would love  to say, “I didn’t choose the pit I am in.” But when I dig for the truth, I realize something hard and humbling: relationships are a two-way street. I didn’t fall into this alone. I brought my own baggage, mistakes, and blind spots to the relationship—just as the other person did. A few years ago, I did a Bible study written by beloved Bible teacher Beth Moore. In it, she explored three kinds of biblical pits that people can find themselves in. It was eye-opening, and it gave me language to better understand the pain I was experiencing. 1. We Jump Into the Pit Sometimes we’re the cause of our own circumstances.Take finances, for example—if we refuse to set a budget, spend carelessly, and choose short-term pleasure over long-term security, we end up in a financial pit of our own making. That pit wasn’t a surprise; it was a direct result of our choices. We jumped in. 2. We Slide Into the Pit Other times, we slowly drift. We stay oblivious to the warning signs. We avoid hard conversations. We ignore the subtle shifts. The ground beneath us begins to crumble and soften, and before we even realize it, we’re sliding straight into a pit. In many cases, I believe estrangement is like this. It ’s not sudden. It builds. It sneaks up in silence, miscommunication, unmet needs, or emotional avoidance until the distance becomes too wide to bridge. We didn’t mean to end up here—but here we are. 3. We’re Pushed Into the Pit And then there are the pits that are cruel and completely undeserved. Abuse. Assault. Addiction. Neglect. Sudden loss. Trauma. The kinds of pain that someone else inflicts on us, without our permission.In the context of estrangement, I see this reflected in situations of severe abuse—when a child has to walk away to protect themselves from ongoing harm.To that person: I honor your bravery. You didn’t choose this pit. You were pushed. And your healing matters too. I want to pause here and say: I hold space for disagreement.   You may view your estrangement differently than I view mine. And that’s okay. No two journeys look the same. But regardless of how we got here—whether we jumped, slid, or were pushed—we still have to choose what happens next . For me, the climb began with acknowledgment .I had to name it: I am estranged from someone I love.  That alone felt like a punch to the chest. It shattered the illusion I was holding onto. But in speaking it out loud, I stopped pretending—and eventually, healing began . Then came grieving without shame .Estrangement is a form of loss. It deserves mourning. So I grieved the relationship, the shared memories, the unspoken dreams. I grieved birthdays missed, texts never returned, conversations that never happened. I cried. I journaled. I prayed. And eventually, healing began . Then I reached the hardest part: reclaiming my identity .I had poured so much of myself into the roles I played: mother, fixer, protector. But I forgot I had value outside of those labels. Slowly, I began rediscovering who I was. I reconnected with my faith, my passions, and my purpose.I reminded myself that God never gave up on me, and I didn’t have to give up on myself either. And eventually, healing began . This pit didn’t become a garden overnight. But the soil down here is surprisingly rich.And though I never wanted to be here, I’m learning to plant new things—resilience, empathy, grace, boundaries, truth. One day at a time. Some days I climb with strength. Other days I barely move. But I’m still climbing. If you’re here with me—deep in the pit of estrangement—I want you to know:You are not alone.This place is not your forever. There is a way out. Let’s keep climbing. One step at a time. #strangelyestranged #estrangement #estrangementwithadultchild #healingjourney #biblicalwisdom #pitofdespair #emotionalhealing #faithandfamily #griefandhope #motherhoodandgrief #selfcompassion #healingtakeswork #eventuallyhealingbegan

Before, After, and Today...Mount St. Helen, the terrain change after the explosion, and the beauty that has come afterwards When Mount St. Helens erupted in 1980, the world changed in a single, violent moment. What had been a pristine peak was reduced to a crater surrounded by ash. But the true eruption had begun long before anyone saw the smoke—quietly, invisibly, deep beneath the surface where tectonic plates had been shifting. Estrangement, for me, came the same way. It wasn’t a slow drift or a clear series of signs. It was one ordinary conversation. One silent day. A moment when I couldn’t speak anymore—not out of anger, but because I had nothing left. My heart was exhausted. I was buried in financial stress, emotionally overwhelmed, and barely holding the pieces of my life together. And underneath it all… the ground was shifting. In both of us. I didn’t see it then, but she was at the end of her rope, too. That last conversation wasn’t nothing. It was everything. A quiet ending to a story I didn’t know had reached its final chapter. And just like Mount St. Helens, nothing was left the same. I felt a shift in my heart. I Wish I Had Seen Her More Clearly I wish I had known more about what was going on inside of her. I wish I had asked better questions. Made more room. I wish I had been further along in my trauma therapy—healed enough to be able to see beyond my own wounds, to recognize hers. But I wasn’t. And I didn’t. And now, I carry that truth with me. Not as shame—but as part of my story. If wishes were… well, you fill in the blank. A Parent’s Heart Doesn’t Expire As a parent, I worked tirelessly to love my children—to provide for them, support them emotionally, mentally, and physically. My children were my world. In many ways, they still are. I’m grateful that two of my adult children are still in my life. I cherish them. I laugh with them. I continue to walk with them through their grown-up lives. But there’s a piece of my heart that aches for the one who is no longer close. Estrangement doesn’t erase the love I have for her. It doesn’t undo the years of bedtime stories, scraped knees, school projects, whispered prayers, and whispered dreams. It just changes the shape of everything. They’re adults now. None of them need me to remind them to pick up their clothes, do their homework, or eat their vegetables. They no longer need my full devotion—just my steady love and quiet support, the kind you give from a distance when the doors are closed. And I’m learning to accept that.Not without grief.Not without tears.But with open hands. Because even if they’re not in my daily life, they’ll always be in my heart. The Aftermath Is Quiet What followed was silence. Darkness. A landscape that no longer made sense. The terrain of our relationship, once so full of color and connection, was buried under emotional ash. At first, the devastation is completely surreal. You look around at all the fallout, stunned, praying it’s just a nightmare.Begging for someone—or something—to wake you up. But no one does. Because it’s real. Then comes the part where every morning feels like a test of hope.You go to sleep praying that maybe tomorrow the view will be different. Maybe today will be the day she calls. Maybe today the text will come. Maybe an email. Anything. I remember waking up every morning with a lump in my throat and a silent wish in my chest: Let time rewind. Let me try again. Let me say the right thing. Let me notice more. Let me love better. But time doesn’t rewind. It moves forward. And we have no choice but to move forward with it—wounded, waiting, and somehow still hoping. And yet… like Mount St. Helens, something still stands. It’s not what it once was, but it’s not gone. Life continues, even in the aftermath. Wildflowers bloom in ash. Trees find roots in ground once scorched. Hope finds a way. I Am Still Learning to Walk This Terrain I still grieve. I still long for what was. But I’ve stopped blaming myself for not being perfect. And I’ve stopped waiting for the mountain to look the way it used to. Instead, I’m learning to walk in this new terrain—with grace, with humility, and with a deeper compassion for what I didn’t understand then. Learning to Speak Again—With Clarity Through therapy, I’ve learned new tools to help me manage high anxiety and stress. I’ve learned how to slow down. How to pause and really listen—not just to the words, but to the heart behind them. I’ve learned that we all have different perspectives, and that doesn’t make one of us wrong. It just means we’re human. And different. And worthy of being heard. One of the biggest lessons for me has been clarity—learning to say what I mean, and mean what I say. For years, I tended to be vague. I expected others to read between the lines or understand my silence. I’ve realized now that communication doesn’t work that way—not in families, not in friendships, and certainly not in the middle of pain. I’m learning to speak more clearly every day. It’s ironic, in a way. I’ve spent my life teaching my voice students the value of clarity in speech and tone—how to articulate, how to breathe, how to connect meaningfully with an audience. And now, I see that it’s time for me to practice what I teach. Clarity of speech isn’t just a vocal technique. It’s a way of honoring the people I love. Of reducing confusion. Of making sure nothing important gets left unsaid. No more guessing games. No more assuming others know what I mean. I’m learning to speak with purpose. And maybe… that’s part of the healing, too. The New Terrain I Walk All of these new tools—pausing, listening, clarifying, grounding myself—they’re part of the new terrain I now walk . They weren’t part of my toolkit before the eruption. They’re not always easy to use. Old habits die hard. I still stumble. But I remind myself:The paths I used to take before the eruption no longer exist.The face of the earth I once knew has changed. And that’s not always a bad thing. There’s a reason people choose to live near volcanoes. The view is beautiful. The soil is rich—perfect for planting, for growing, for starting something new. But you never take it for granted. Because the volcano isn’t dormant. It’s active. And people shift. One day they’re here. The next, they’re gone. That’s why it matters to plant wisely. To speak clearly. To love deeply.To use the right tools in our relationships—especially with family. Let’s remember to plant something in the fertile soil that’s strong enough to withstand the blast…Even if it changes the terrain. 💬 Reflection Question: What tools are you learning to use in the aftermath of your own eruption?And how are you choosing to grow in the new terrain? #StrangelyEstranged #ReshapedByFire #Estrangement #EstrangementWithAdultChild#ParentalEstrangement #MountStHelens #HealingAfterEstrangement #TraumaRecovery#ComplexPTSD #FaithInHardPlaces #SilentEstrangement #EmotionalGrowth#ClarityInCommunication #TherapyJourney #VolcanicMetaphor #HopeInAshes #GraceInTheGrief

this is my estrangement Motto 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. #StrangelyEstranged #EstrangementHealing #AdultChildEstrangement #FaithThroughEstrangement #ChristianMom #ALittleBitOfProgressEveryday

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. If this resonated with you, please comment below and share your experience. Let’s support each other in this complicated, painful, and sacred journey. #strangelyestranged #estrangement #parentaladultchildestrangement #faithandhealing #selfreflection #complexfamilydynamics #healingthroughfaith #reconciliationjourney #owningmypart #godofsecondchances #psalm139 #graceandtruth #mentalhealthawareness #reconnectionclub #joshuacoleman #tiktoktestimony #complexptsd #straighttalkTikTok

Two People Pull a rope in the opposite direction. A Tug-O-War Being estranged from my adult child has created a pain unlike anything I’ve ever known. It feels like a tug-of-war between everything I feel in my heart and everything I can’t control. On one side, there’s my love, my longing, my instinct to reach out and fix what’s broken. On the other side, there’s their silence, their boundaries, their absence. And right in the middle? My heart—pulled, stretched, aching. There are days when I don’t know what to do with all the emotion inside me. One minute, I’m full of grief. The next, I’m angry—or completely numb. It’s exhausting. And yet, I’ve learned something that’s helping me survive: I can feel it all and still not fall apart. 🇮🇹 A Revelation While I Was in Italy While I was in Italy, I took a pause. A real one. I stepped away from the pain, the confusion, and the roles that so often consume me—and I chose to do something just for me. And what I found was this: the self-care I needed wasn’t spa days or bubble baths—it was remembering who I was before the ache. I went back to my roots. I sang. I was surrounded by other performers. I listened, I learned, I laughed. And in all of that, I rediscovered the woman God created me to be. Motherhood changed me. In some beautiful, sacred ways, it made me better. It taught me to love beyond myself. It taught me to give freely. It taught me to put another human before my own needs. But it also brought anxiety, fear, and a deep loss of self. I became so wrapped up in being who I thought my children needed that I forgot who I was. The more I gave, the less I had. Until one day, everything stopped. Abruptly. Painfully. And while I was in Italy, I realized something important: God never asked me to disappear into someone else’s story.  He gave me a calling. A voice. A heart that beats not only for my children but also for His purpose for me. 💔 I’m Learning to Pause Without Guilt All of this reflection—through travel, through books, and through honest self-examination—has brought me to a new place. A place where I can recognize my own need for healing without guilt. Where I can step back, not to escape the pain, but to hold space for myself. Giving myself permission to pause is no longer something I shame myself for. It’s something I honor. I’m learning to welcome the waves of grief, anger, hope, and confusion—and let them pass through me, rather than define me. Grief, anger, hope, confusion—these feelings come in waves. But I’m no longer drowning in them. I’m letting them pass through me. 📚 A Book That Changed My Perspective (and Why I’m Trying to See Through Their Eyes) Right now, I’m reading a book that was recommended to me by a dear, dear singer friend. It’s called Shadow Daughter , and it’s written from the perspective of someone who was estranged from her mother. As I turn the pages, I find myself both challenged and comforted by the author’s voice. Her story is not mine—but it has helped me see more clearly the view from the other side. She shares honestly about the toxicity in her relationship with her mother, and how stepping away was an act of self-preservation. And as hard as it is to admit, I understand that. I’ve had my own experiences with estrangement in my extended family—times when walking away felt like the only healthy choice. So I get it. I really do. This book has helped me face an uncomfortable truth: we all carry some form of toxicity . Some more than others. And each of us has a different threshold for what we can carry or allow. What I’m learning is that estrangement isn’t always about punishment. I don’t see it as survival—I see it as a necessary and healthy way to deal with my own issues and emotions. When conversations go nowhere… when boundaries are ignored… when pleas to be heard are met with silence or scorn—then yes, walking away can be the right decision. It doesn’t mean there’s no love. It means there’s no longer space for pain to be poured out over and over without repair. Reading Shadow Daughter  has given me a strange kind of peace. It reminds me to hold both truths:✨ That I can be heartbroken by the distance.✨ And also believe that my child might need it to feel safe. It’s helping me grow. It’s helping me ask myself hard questions. And it’s showing me that healing—on both sides—may start with deep, uncomfortable honesty. One of the hardest things I’ve done is try to consider my child’s perspective. I may not agree with it. I may not understand it fully. But I acknowledge that they have a story, too—one I may never fully know. That doesn’t make me a bad parent. It makes me a growing one. It makes me someone who’s choosing love and empathy, even when the silence hurts. Sometimes, I whisper to myself, “I can see how they might feel that way.” Just saying those words helps loosen the tightness in my chest. 🙊 I’m Not Failing—I'm Feeling If I cry one day and laugh the next, I no longer see it as instability. I see it as a natural and necessary part of working through my emotions. I’m learning to honor my emotions without letting them define me. I am not falling apart. I am processing . I am healing . And I’m not a failure. I’m just a mother walking through something unimaginably hard, choosing to do the next right thing—one breath at a time. 🌱 I’m Keeping the Door Open, But Guarding My Peace I haven’t locked the door. Hope still lives in my heart. But I’m no longer pacing by the window. I can love my child deeply, while still building a life that doesn’t depend on their return. That’s not giving up. That’s growth. That’s peace. 💡 Final Thoughts Estrangement is a brutal kind of heartbreak. But it’s not the end of me. While I was in Italy, I realized that I can still sing. I can still create. I can still live. Even with the ache, I can honor who I am and who I was created to be. Maybe this tug-of-war isn’t something I’ll ever fully escape. But maybe—just maybe—it’s teaching me how to hold my own heart with tenderness, even when it’s being pulled in two. 💬 Let’s talk about it below. Have you had a moment where you remembered who you were before the heartache? What has helped you reconnect to your purpose? I’d love to hear your story—because your voice matters here. #estrangement #estrangementwithadultchild #healingthroughestrangement #rediscoveringme #griefandgrace #familyestrangement #strangelyestranged #purposeoverpain #motherhoodandloss #navigatingestrangement #mentalhealthjourney #emotionalhealing #selfrediscovery #toxicrelationships #hopeandhealing #christianhealing #graceinparenting