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Today, I watched a TikTok video that left me shaken. It featured two adult daughters recording a conversation with their father—a conversation that should have been private, sacred, and handled with care. Instead, it was edited, packaged, and shared publicly for the world to consume. What disturbed me most wasn’t only that the conversation was posted. It was the tone. The amusement. The ease with which deeply personal pain was turned into content. I watched a father who was clearly wounded, clearly upset, and clearly trying—however imperfectly—to express himself. And I watched two daughters responding with certainty and emotional distance. The imbalance of power was palpable. I found the video appalling. And if I’m honest, deeply unsettling. When Private Pain Becomes Public Performance Estrangement is already devastating. It is layered, complex, and filled with unanswered questions. When fragile family dynamics are broadcast publicly—especially through edited clips—it raises the same haunting questions so many estranged parents live with every day: What was cut out? What context was removed? What words were softened—or sharpened—through editing? What moments of vulnerability never made it into the final version? Edited pain is not truth. It is a narrative. And narratives—especially on social media—often reward certainty over compassion, control over humility, and performance over understanding. “We Don’t Have an Equal Part in the Relationship” One statement stopped me cold: “We don’t have an equal part in the relationship.” On the surface, it sounds reasonable—even justified. But relationships—especially parent-child relationships—are not contractual partnerships. They are not power negotiations. They are human bonds shaped by history, sacrifice, mistakes, endurance, and love. Equality in worth does not mean equality in authority, responsibility, or emotional leverage. When one side holds the power to grant or withhold contact, conversation, and reconciliation, the relationship is already uneven. Pretending otherwise only deepens the wound. What I Didn’t See: Communication What struck me most was not what was said—but what was missing. I did not see listening.I did not see curiosity.I did not see compassion.I did not see humility. What I saw were adult children and a father each insisting on their own positions, their own interpretations, and their own righteousness. No one was truly hearing the other.No one was seeking understanding.Everyone was trying to prevail. That is not communication.That is conflict managed through control. What About Experience? The question that lingered with me long after the video ended was this: What about experience? What about the wisdom that comes from living longer, failing more, loving longer, and surviving seasons others have not yet faced? In our culture, experience is often treated with suspicion instead of respect. Age is framed as irrelevance rather than education. Experience is not about superiority—it is about perspective. Those who have lived longer have: Loved through decades, not moments Made mistakes and carried their consequences Buried parents, friends, sometimes children Endured illness, loss, financial collapse, and restoration Learned—often painfully—that certainty rarely survives real life Experience does not make someone infallible.But it does  make them informed. Maturity Is a Human Struggle—At Every Age Maturity is not guaranteed by age alone. We all struggle with it. There are immature parents. There are immature adult children. There are immature leaders, spouses, and communities. Maturity is not about being right. It is about being teachable . When experience is automatically dismissed, dialogue collapses. Relationships become power struggles instead of places where growth can occur. Can Parents Change? Yes. Without question—the answer is yes . Parents are human beings. And human beings are capable of reflection, repentance, learning, and real change. There are many of us who want  to change. Who are doing the uncomfortable work of self-examination. Who are determined not to repeat the same mistakes. I know this because I am one of them. When I walk through a hard season, I do not simply endure it—I examine it. I ask: What have I learned? Where did I fall short? What patterns must I break? How can I respond better next time? Growth does not come from denial.It comes from humility. Growth Requires the Chance to Grow Here is the tension many estranged parents live with: We are willing to do the work—but we are rarely allowed the opportunity to demonstrate that growth. When parents are permanently frozen in their worst moments, redemption is denied room to breathe. Change takes time. Change takes practice. Change takes relationship. Silencing experience does not create equality.It creates erasure. An Uncomfortable Metaphor: The Battlefield I am going to offer a metaphor here—one that I know will not be comfortable for everyone. Real truth rarely is. Estrangement often feels like a battlefield. In war, battles rage for ground—over what is right, what is just, and what will prevail. On the front lines, ammunition flies constantly. Fear is high. Stress is relentless. You watch people you love fall. You lose those beside you. And still—you fight on. That is what a soldier does. Soldiers feel fear deeply, yet they move forward anyway. The heroes are not those without fear—but those who pray for peace while standing in the middle of war. Those who pray for unity. Those who even pray for their enemies. The Uncomfortable Truth In the military, when a soldier silently walks away from the battlefield—leaving their post and never returning—there is a word for that. They are called deserters . This is not said with cruelty. It is said with clarity. Walking away does not make the battle disappear. It leaves others exposed. It shifts the weight onto those who remain. Choosing the Hard Path Estrangement is not a battlefield because parents want it to be. It becomes one because strained relationships demand courage, endurance, and humility. Staying—when it would be easier to leave—takes strength. Continuing to love—when love is not returned—takes resolve. Seeking peace—when conflict dominates—takes faith. Parents who remain open to growth are not weak. They are weary soldiers who refuse to abandon hope. These Are Hard Days These are days marked by division, absolutism, and a profound lack of mercy. And these are the days we need Jesus the most. Not as a slogan. Not as a weapon. But as the Prince of Peace. The One who listens. The One who sees both sides. The One who enters suffering without exploiting it. May we choose humility over righteousness. May we choose listening over winning.May we choose compassion over control. And may God meet us—not in the spotlight of public performance—but in the quiet places where real healing begins. A Prayer for These Hard Days Lord, You see the families that feel fractured beyond repair. You see parents who lie awake at night replaying conversations they wish they could redo. You see adult children carrying wounds they don’t know how to name. Teach us to listen before we defend. Teach us to soften before we harden. Teach us to seek understanding before we seek victory. Where pride has taken root, bring humility. Where bitterness has grown, bring mercy.Where silence feels safer than love, bring courage. Heal what we cannot fix. Restore what feels impossible. Guard our hearts from despair. And help us choose peace—even when peace costs us something. We ask this in the name of Jesus,The Prince of Peace. Amen. A Final Clarifying Word Do I have a TikTok channel? Yes. Do I have this blog? Yes. Is it public? Yes. So—what is the difference? The difference is the reason  behind it. My TikTok and this blog do not exist to ridicule, mock, or air dirty laundry. They exist to remind others that they are not alone.They exist to give language to pain that is often carried in silence. They exist to point—not to myself—but to the truth that God alone can help and heal . Call to Action If you are a parent walking the road of estrangement, you do not have to carry this alone. I invite you to: Sit with this reflection and pray over it Share it quietly with someone who needs to know they are seen Follow Strangely Estranged  for honest reflections rooted in faith, growth, and hope Healing does not begin with exposure. It begins with humility, courage, and God’s presence. You are not forgotten. And this story is not over.

⚠️ Trigger Warning This story contains references to childhood abuse, trauma, seizures, identity loss, child death, and estrangement. Please read gently and protect your heart if needed. Estrangement and My Unexpected Journey of Change When estrangement first entered my life, it didn’t knock — it stormed in. It rearranged the furniture of my heart and left everything in a painful, confusing mess. I didn’t choose estrangement with my adult child — it chose me. And in the beginning, it felt like the kind of loss no parent should ever have to face. There were days I struggled to take a full breath. Nights I cried until exhaustion finally quieted my mind. Moments where I questioned every choice I had ever made as a mother. Estrangement shattered my identity and forced me to rebuild… piece by piece. Healing From Estrangement: The Pain Nobody Sees Healing from estrangement has not been linear.Some days I feel strong — full of purpose and hope.Other days, grief sits heavily beside me, reminding me that love doesn’t stop just because communication does. And here is a truth that is very difficult for me to admit out loud: The pain and loss of estrangement has been greater than the pain I felt when my first child died. Death has ritual.Ritual brings acknowledgment.Acknowledgment brings support. Estrangement brings none of that. Estrangement is a silent loss  — a relationship still alive but painfully out of reach. Estrangement is an emotional, physical, and mental amputation . Someone who was literally born of my body has detached and separated themselves from me. A part of me is suddenly missing — invisible to others, but unmistakably gone within me. And while I fully acknowledge and own my responsibility in this happening, responsibility does not remove the pain . It does not stop the longing. And it does not prevent the shift in who I am. Because estrangement doesn’t just change a relationship…it changes who you are as a human being . There is a name for this kind of heartbreak: Disenfranchised Grief Grief that society does not recognize, validate, or support — a loss others minimize because they can’t see it. No comfort meals. No cards. No understanding voices. Just silence… and unanswered questions. Estrangement, Trauma, and the Body: The Pain We Carry As a survivor of childhood abuse  living with Complex PTSD (CPTSD)  and Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures (PNES)  —estrangement adds to the layers of damage my body has already absorbed. And believe me… the body keeps the score. There is no cure  for CPTSD or PNES.They are lifelong mental and physical health conditions  that affect my daily life. What is CPTSD? CPTSD forms from long-term trauma — like chronic abuse or emotional neglect.It affects: My nervous system My ability to feel safe My trust in relationships My emotions and reactions My sense of identity and worth Estrangement triggers those CPTSD wounds — abandonment, shame, and fear — over and over again. What is PNES? PNES causes involuntary seizure-like episodes triggered by: Emotional overload Relational conflict Stress or overstimulation Feeling unsafe or unseen A trauma response becomes a body shutdown . Estrangement sent my nervous system back into survival mode.My body reacted as if the trauma was happening again…because it was . Daily Life With CPTSD and PNES To protect my health and preserve my ability to live with purpose: I must limit exposure  to overwhelming environments I must pace myself  and do life in small doses I cannot go anywhere without my service dog, Big , who keeps me grounded and safe I need routine, margin, and quiet transitions Emotional boundaries are not optional — they are lifesaving People, places, and conversations must be chosen carefully This is not weakness. This is survival . And I am not sharing this for sympathy —I am sharing this for understanding . Faith, Estrangement, and My Identity Estrangement stripped away what I thought defined me.“Mom” became a word filled with uncertainty and ache. But in the identity crisis, God whispered something deeper: “You are still Mine. You are still loved. You are still whole.” As He rebuilds me, I’m discovering: Identity rooted in Him Compassion for those hurting silently Purpose in telling the truth out loud Faith isn’t something I believe “about. ”Faith is the reason I am still alive. Still healing. Still hopeful. When Estrangement Forces New Family Boundaries Estrangement isolates. People don’t want to take sides. Some choose silence. Some choose distance. Some choose to pretend nothing is happening. So boundaries become necessary — not to push people away, but to protect the fragile places where healing is happening. If you feel like you’re walking on eggshells with the family who remain…I understand. There is space here for your complicated emotions. Living Forward: Hope Beyond Estrangement Here is what I know now: Estrangement is part of my story —but it will not be the whole story. God is still working in the silence. God is still restoring where my eyes cannot see. God resurrects relationships that feel dead. My healing does not erase my love for my child. My peace does not cancel my grief. Both can live together in the same heart. And through it all… I have been changed for good. Not destroyed. Not forgotten. Not unlovable. Changed. 📌 Resource Box: You Are Not Alone Estrangement & Grief Walking on Eggshells  — Hope for parents Rules of Estrangement  — Practical guidance Support communities for estranged families Trauma Healing The Body Keeps the Score  — Bessel van der Kolk CPTSD Foundation — survivor resources PNES Hope — education + peer support Faith & Recovery Reboot Recovery — trauma healing support Local Christian counseling & community care Church-based life groups for connection 💛 Your grief is valid.💛 Your healing matters.💛 You don’t have to do this alone. A Prayer for Parents Walking Through Estrangement “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3 Lord, hold every parent who sits in silence tonight.Remind them You are still writing the story.Restore what is broken in Your perfect timing.Amen. You Are Welcome Here If you are walking this road… welcome. Your voice is needed. Your experience is real. Your heart is safe here. 💬 Comment below — What has helped YOU heal? 🕊️ Let’s heal together — Join this community✨ You are seen. You are supported. You are strong. You are loved. You are growing. You are changing for good.

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