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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

My friend and colleague, Marilia Zandrandi As I sit in the Milan-Malpensa Airport, soaking in the last few moments before I board my flight home, I’m reflecting on this journey to Italy—not just the miles I’ve traveled, but the emotional ground I’ve covered. I came to sing, to work, to grow—but I found something even deeper. I found me  again. Going to Italy gave to me in a way I could never have anticipated. I was accepted. I was supported. I was even loved. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t seen through the lens of what I’ve lost or what’s broken. No one there expected me to be a mother or explain the ache I carry. They only expected me to be me . And that was enough. Estrangement has a cruel way of whispering lies into your soul. It tries to convince you that you’re unworthy of love, that you failed, that you’re broken beyond repair. For a while, I believed it. I wore shame like a second skin and tiptoed through the world, worried that my pain made me unpalatable. But this trip reminded me of the truth:I am likable.I am intelligent.I am talented. I am not defined by someone else’s silence. I laughed with new friends until my sides hurt. I shared stories over handmade pasta and sun-soaked terraces. I walked into rehearsal rooms where my voice mattered and my presence was welcome. I was a part of a community that didn’t require me to prove my worth or hide my wounds. Even more surprising, I found that I had something to offer—not just artistically, but emotionally. I could be present . I could be supportive when my friends were tired or frustrated with their work. I could listen, encourage, and remind them of their own strength. I didn’t feel like a burden—I felt like a blessing. Big was a help as well. Always by my side, he brought joy not only to me but to everyone around. His gentle, noble presence opened the doors to hearts I might never have reached otherwise. People love dogs—and Big has a way of drawing people in with zero effort. His presence sparked conversations I wouldn’t have had on my own, and when I needed him—truly needed his assistance—he was right there, doing the job he was trained to do, faithfully and quietly. Many of my friends and colleagues from around the world do not have children—by choice. A performance career doesn’t easily lend itself to raising kids. The schedule, the travel, the emotional intensity—it all demands so much. I get it now. I once carried shame for “doing motherhood wrong,” but some of the most vibrant, nurturing souls I know pour their love into pets, nieces, nephews, and students with the same fierce dedication a parent might give. Love is still love. Giving is still giving. And yes… I ate gelato and drank cappuccino. Often. With joy. I miss the cappuccino already—especially those quiet, shared cups with my friends. Those moments of warm foam and easy laughter were healing, too. I leave Italy with a renewed sense of purpose and intention. There is still  so much to do. This blog, Strangely Estranged , has more stories to tell. My voice still has songs to sing, and I’m eager to find collaborators at home. My newest venture— ADA Paws Pass by Crystal —needs to reach more people who, like me, deserve easier access to our community, our state, and our country. And of course, I have my students; training them and championing their career goals fills me with joy. All these things remind me that my worth is far greater than the title “mother.” I am thankful for my children—they’ve taught me to examine myself and to love with strength, even when we disagree. Estrangement is a strange teacher. It has opened doors of deeper connection and healing with the two children who remain close, and it has shown me that pain and progress can coexist. I don’t need to know how everything will turn out to enjoy my life. I also don’t need my estranged daughter’s presence to live it fully. My loss doesn’t have to stay loss; it can become gain—if I let it. Estrangement didn’t erase the core of who I am—it just buried it for a while. But Italy brushed off the dust and said, “Hey, you’re still in there. You’ve always been enough.” I’m heading home with a lighter heart. Not because everything is fixed. Not because the pain is gone. But because I now see myself more clearly. I am more than the titles I’ve lost. I am more than the heartbreak I’ve endured. I am still likable. I still belong. And I still have so much to give. ✨ If this post resonated with you, please leave a comment below and share your thoughts. Let’s build a supportive community—one story at a time. You are not alone. 💬 Follow along for more reflections, healing, and hope at www.strangelyestranged.com . #StrangelyEstranged #EstrangementHealing #LifeAfterEstrangement #SelfWorthJourney #StillLikable #MilanReflections #ServiceDogSupport #HealingWithBig #RediscoveringMe #MusicianLife #TravelHealing #EstrangedNotErased #HopeAfterEstrangement #FindingPurposeAgain #ADAPawsPass #FaithAndHealing #OperaAndHealing #PTSDRecovery #FromPainToPurpose #ComplexPTSD #MotherhoodAndLoss

Person with a scar on their back Dragged Through Hell by Estrangement: Finding Strength in Every Scar I never imagined that one day I would be sitting here, writing about the pain of being estranged from my own child. But here I am — not broken, but rebuilt. Not untouched, but scarred. And those scars? They are sacred. Estrangement is a kind of hell no one prepares you for. It drags you through fire, strips away your identity, your confidence, your sleep, and your peace. It leaves you questioning every decision you ever made and grieving someone who is still very much alive. It is a death without a funeral. A wound that doesn’t clot. And yet… I am still here. Dropping the Sword & Listening Hard There were days I begged God for clarity. Nights I screamed into my pillow, heart throbbing with the weight of silence. And still, I walked through it. Some days limping. Some days crawling. But never quitting. A turning point came during family therapy . In order to heal, I had to do something that terrified me: drop my own sword and run into the pain of another. No defenses. No shield. Just vulnerability. My children — the ones who are not estranged — needed us to hear them. So my husband and I listened, truly listened, as they spoke hard truths about their own hurts and hopes. We learned that our pain doesn’t cancel out theirs. Love requires room for every voice. And I would rather face the pain of the sword than run from it. Even though my scars are still tender and some days I teeter on the very edge of panic — the kind that makes me feel like I need to be hospitalized — I choose to stand in the pain. I choose truth. I choose connection. I choose healing, even when it hurts like hell. We Were Good Parents — Imperfect, but Good I remind myself often: we were good parents . We didn’t cave to every whim or hand out trophies for breathing. We used discipline when it was needed, and we raised wonderfully kind, smart, capable young adults. Were we perfect? Absolutely not. We are flawed humans, carrying our own unhealed childhood wounds, traumas never named, daily struggles we couldn’t always hide. But we showed up, we loved, we tried. That still matters. Scars Meet Scars in Italy Right now I’m in Italy, rehearsing and performing amidst vineyards and centuries-old stone walls. Beside me is a singer friend from Iran who is watching her homeland being bombed, powerless to stop it. And still, she lifts her voice. These two weeks of music are anything but easy: long rehearsals, emotional fatigue, homesickness, and for her, the terror of war flashing across her phone screen. Yet every night we stand shoulder-to-shoulder on that stage, proof that broken hearts can keep singing. And still, there are days I feel deeply lonely . Surrounded by all these wonderful colleagues, I ate lunch alone today. It stings a bit. I could have taken responsibility and asked to sit with them as they happily chatted away. Do you ever wish someone would just choose you? Rejection by my estranged child amplifies that ache inside me. So I repeat to myself, “It isn’t personal, it isn’t personal, it isn’t personal.”  I lay the sword down, feel the feelings that wash over me, and remind my trembling heart that I am never truly alone. This moment will pass. They are still my friends, my colleagues, my tribe. Her courage and my loneliness sit side-by-side in this old Italian villa — proof that scars come in many shapes, but resilience sounds like harmony. Stronger, Softer, Still Standing Estrangement tried to convince me I was unworthy of love, but I found love in unexpected places: in my other children’s laughter, in my dogs’ devotion, in my husband’s steady hand, in the hush of worship when I could barely pray. One day I looked at myself and realized: I survived. I’m not flawless, but I am fierce — stronger, wiser, kinder to my own soul. I love from a deeper place, even if that love must now include letting go. If you’re walking through your own fire, keep going. Your scars are becoming someone else’s roadmap. As Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 4:8-9: “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” Hell couldn’t keep me. Estrangement didn’t destroy me. And I’m still standing — stronger, softer, and covered in holy scars. Please comment below and let us hear from you. Join the community, and let’s support each other. #StrangelyEstranged #EstrangementWithAdultChild #FamilyTherapyHealing #ScarsTellStories #EmotionalHealing #FaithThroughEstrangement #ItalyJourney #ArtistsInSolidarity #LetThemDragYouThroughHell #RebuildingAfterEstrangement #VoicesForPeace #MotherhoodAndEstrangement #TenderScars #LonelinessInACrowd #StillStanding

This is an image of stale bread, and it represent estrangement and staying in the past. The Power of Distance I boarded the plane to Italy with two carefully packed, stylish hat box suitcases—small enough to manage with my service dog, Big, by my side, but smartly filled with everything I needed. I chose a mix-and-match travel capsule in my favorite classic styles, along with the four performance gowns I’d need for the stage. Just three pairs of shoes made the cut: a neutral pair of heels for singing, crisp white slip-on sneakers, and dependable black flats for all the walking. Packing light was intentional—but not just for convenience. It was symbolic. I’m learning what to carry, and what to leave behind. Traveling solo while carrying the invisible weight of estrangement feels a bit like singing an a cappella recital in the dark—you’re never sure who’s listening, yet every note rings louder because there’s nothing to hide behind. Estrangement isolates by definition, but it also invites an unexpected companion: space . When the usual family echoes fall silent, distance offers a clean acoustic for new truths to resonate. In that hush, I’m learning there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely —and the journey from one to the other begins the moment I fasten my seatbelt and let the world shift beneath me. Italy: A Solo Journey, Not a Lonely One Sunrise paints the Lombardy sky blush-gold as church bells toss their morning greetings across tiled rooftops. Cobblestones tap back a rhythmic counterpoint to my footsteps; espresso machines hiss like tiny dragons in every café doorway. Here, outside Milan, life moves in 6/8 time—lilting, melodic, seemingly unhurried. Well… mostly  unhurried. Except when the Italians are driving. On these narrow village streets, they zoom like Formula One racers, gesture with their entire souls, and have zero  patience for my careful, American-style road habits. It rattles me—raises my anxiety—and reminds me that just because something looks  peaceful doesn’t mean it feels  peaceful. The same is true of grief and estrangement. Calm surfaces often hide frantic undercurrents. When I first arrived, I put my trust in Siri—my digital co-pilot. Let me tell you: Siri is flawed . She sent me in endless circles through the streets of Verano, repeatedly guiding me past my Airbnb without ever quite landing me there. At one point, she even sent me the wrong way down a one-way street. And just when I think I’ve figured out the traffic patterns, the Italians randomly change the direction of the roads. No warning, no mercy. They leap into the street shouting “NO!” while I white-knuckle the steering wheel and try not to cry. I’ve had to turn around so  many times I’ve practically made it into a sport. But in between the missed turns and misunderstood road signs, I’ve found a strange kind of strength. I don’t melt down—I reroute. I don’t give up—I circle back. Every time I make it to a new destination, even if I arrive with frazzled nerves and an apologetic smile, I feel a little more grounded. Estrangement taught me that life rarely follows a straight line. Italy is just reinforcing the lesson—with roundabouts, detours, and all. The Stage as a Mirror Performing has always been my compass. When the house lights dim, the stage reflects back exactly who I am in that moment—tremors, triumphs, and all. This season, my voice is different: richer in the lower register, silkier up high, flecked with the patina of life lived loudly. Technically, I’m reconnecting breath deep into my body—thank you, devoted voice teacher! Emotionally, I’m singing from scar tissue as well as muscle. Estrangement stripped away familiar harmonies, leaving solo lines that once felt exposed. Now, I stand in a small teatrino , singing to an audience while a large Renaissance tapestry hangs behind me like a silent witness to every note. It’s not just a backdrop—it feels symbolic. Centuries of beauty, history, and survival woven together, reminding me that even what’s worn and weathered can still be stunning. My sound isn’t smaller for standing alone; it’s fuller because I finally occupy every inch of it. What Estrangement Taught Me About Standing Alone Estrangement is a brutal gift wrapped in barbed wire; you unwrap it carefully or bleed. The gift, once revealed, is fortitude. I didn’t choose the silence, but I do choose what I build in its place. I no longer reach out. I honor the boundaries that were set, even though they hurt. I don't send emails or messages anymore—I send love silently and live forward. Instead of chasing reconciliation, I lean into relationship with those who choose to stay. I’m surrounded by an extraordinary circle of friends—both here in Italy and back home—who offer me space to speak or stay silent, cry or laugh, reflect or escape. There is no pressure. No judgment. Only grace, compassion, and the gift of being seen. In Italy, nobody knows the missing pieces of my biography, so I’m free to introduce myself as whole. That freedom shows me I am  complete, even if the story contains torn pages. Independence isn’t the consolation prize; it’s the main stage—and I’m discovering I love the spotlight. Reclaiming Joy and Strength on My Own Terms During these two weeks that I have been here, I have laughed so hard over lunch and dinner—real, soul-deep laughter that caught me off guard in the best way. I’ve shared meals that nourished more than my body; they fed my spirit. I walk medieval lanes alone, yet never feel abandoned; the accordion busker provides a soundtrack, the breeze turns pages of my score. I’ve been nailing phrases, lines, and lyrics in the pieces I’m working on—songs that speak directly to where I am now , not who I used to be. I’m not chasing high notes or show-stopping cadenzas anymore. I’m delivering emotion, truth, and connection. Sheer acting, storytelling, and sincere entertainment—that’s where I shine now. There was a time I lived for the opera stage. I’ve done the shows. I’ve worn the gowns, sung the arias, and felt the rush of the overture swell behind me. That part of my life was beautiful—and it’s finished. Not because I can’t do it anymore, but because my body, my heart, and my spirit are leading me forward. I still love those grand moments. But I don’t need them to define me now. This new season is about choosing. Choosing what fits. Choosing what matters. Choosing joy, authenticity, and forward motion. I’m not clinging to the past—I’m curating my future. And I love it. Conclusion – Finding Harmony in Solitude I used to fear singing solo, on stage and in life. Now I recognize the hush before my first note as sacred, not scary. Traveling thousands of miles from home hasn’t muted the ache of estrangement, but it has tuned it—giving the pain a purpose, shaping it into art. Discovering me, loving me, being  me—that is the purpose I’m achieving. Before I left for Italy, a Bible verse reminded me that I already have the victory over all of this in Jesus. It is already  finished. I don’t have to strive for healing—I just have to walk into the space He already prepared for me. And with that truth, I realize something even harder: I can live fully without her in my life. Life continues, even in the shadow of a death—whether literal or emotional. Living in the past is like stale bread left too long on the counter. It’s dry, tasteless, and no longer nourishing. Eventually, you have to throw it out. Not because you didn’t treasure it once, but because it can no longer feed the life you’re meant to live now. As Paul says in Philippians 3:12, "Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me."  (NKJV) If distance is my new accompanist, then independence is my key signature. And the melody? It’s hope—steady, resilient, wholly mine. Because healing doesn’t erase pain; it conducts it into harmony. Please comment below and let us hear from you. Join the community, and let's support each other.  💬 #estrangement #strangelyestranged #solotravelheals#reclaimingjoy #philippians312 #christianblogger#healingjourney #adapawspass #mrschattanoogaamerica#mentalhealthadvocate #healingthroughfaith #artistabroad #estrangementwithadultchild

My group of singer friends after our first show There’s something about standing on a stage in a foreign land, singing your heart out, while your own heart still quietly aches. Right now, I’m in Italy—rehearsing and preparing to sing in a series of performances just outside of Milan. The scenery is breathtaking, the music is soul-stirring, and the company of dear singer friends brings joy. But even here, in the most beautiful place, there’s a piece of my heart that’s missing. Estrangement doesn’t take a vacation. It sneaks into quiet moments and unspoken thoughts. While the world around me feels rich with beauty and purpose, I still carry the silent ache of someone missing from my life. I don’t know what she’s doing—only what I hear through silence and secondhand stories. That’s what estrangement does—it leaves you parenting through prayer and hope instead of phone calls and hugs. But I’ve also been gifted with something incredibly healing during this time—conversation.The kind that goes deep. The kind that brings light into hard places. I’m surrounded by wonderful people here, but one dear, dear friend in particular—a fellow singer, author, and speaker—has spoken words into my life with such wisdom and compassion, they went straight into my heart. This past week, she looked at me and gently said, “Let her go… she will come back.” Her caring and love was a salve to my heart and mind.It didn’t erase the ache, but it gave me a moment of peace. A reminder to loosen my grip and trust God with the timeline and the outcome. I’ve also found a sister in another dear friend here—a lovely, talented, and deeply caring soul who lives in Lisbon, Portugal with her husband. Every day, we walk to a little café together for cappuccino and conversation. It’s become one of the sweetest rhythms of my time here. This café, filled with goodies and warmth, has been a sanctuary for the soul. Our group is close, open, and genuinely supportive of each other. It’s a breath of fresh air in every sense—even as the work we’re doing is incredibly hard. In the midst of this demanding schedule, my voice teacher  is helping me reconnect with my breath—guiding me to center it low in my body. It’s such a simple thing, and yet it feels like discovering a deeper part of myself again. At the same time, my wise friend reminded me that our bodies change over time—and so does our singing. That truth settled deep in my spirit. Listening to all my friends here being coached and working so hard is a powerful reflection of where I once was… and where I am now. What I did in my 20s is not what I do now. And that’s okay. There’s a whole group of young singers here, eager to grow and learn—each of them so very talented. I see myself, years ago, in their voices and their eyes. And I gently remind myself that while my technique has matured, my spirit and soul can still stay young. Through the wisdom and care of my friend, I’ve found a path to love the woman I am right now. And that, too, is healing. I carry the silent ache of estrangement in my heart, but I’m finding the weight getting lighter.I’ve laughed—really laughed. I’ve listened deeply. I’ve encouraged others and been encouraged in return. The love and kindness flowing through this community has begun to lift something inside me. I’m not sure if I’m becoming my best self… or simply finding my path more and more. Maybe both. Here’s what I’m learning: healing sometimes happens in unexpected places.And right now, for me, it's happening one song at a time. Every song I sing, every phrase I shape with breath and intention, is a prayer. A release. A reminder that I still have purpose, even in the pain. God is using this time in Italy not only to refine my voice—but to restore my soul. Music has always been my language. Long before I had the words for grief, I had melodies for it. And as I pour my heart into the music here, I’m reminded that God sees the parts of me I try to hide. He knows the cracks. And somehow, He’s turning them into something beautiful. Estrangement often makes us feel powerless. But standing on a stage, I’m reminded:I’m not powerless—I have a voice.And healing isn’t always loud—it can be found in the quiet work of doing what you love, trusting God in the process. I don’t know how this chapter will end. I don't know if or when restoration will come. But I do know this: I’m showing up. I’m singing. And I’m letting God do the rest. To those of you walking through estrangement—especially those trying to carry that pain while still showing up in your gifts and callings—you’re not alone. There’s healing in the doing. There’s peace in the trusting. And there’s purpose in the pain. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a song waiting to be sung by you, too. 💛 Let’s Connect: If this resonated with your heart, I’d love to hear from you.➡️ Comment below, share your story, or let us pray for you. And don’t forget to follow me on Instagram , TikTok, and Facebook  for more faith, healing, and hope through estrangement. #estrangement #strangelyestranged #estrangementwithadultchild #healingjourney #faithoverfear #musicishealing #findingmypath #christianblogger #healingthroughfaith #trusttheprocess #italianadventure #singersjourney #purposeinpain #hopeandhealing #maturevoice #christianencouragement #soulwork #lettinggo #griefandgrace #motherhoodthroughestrangement #godisfaithful #myhealingseason

Estrangement is a word that carries so much weight, yet often floats around in whispers. For many of us, it’s a quiet grief we carry in silence—one that doesn’t get casseroles or sympathy cards. It’s complicated, it’s painful, and it’s real. When I became estranged from one of my adult daughters, my world shifted. Everything that once felt solid became a question mark. I found myself sifting through memories, wondering what I missed, what I misunderstood, and where it all went wrong. Let me be clear—this is not the full story. It’s a glimpse. Just a sliver of a much deeper journey I’ll continue to share on this blog and across my social platforms. My husband and I love all of our children deeply. We did our best as parents, though we made our fair share of mistakes. We were not abusive. But we didn’t always listen as well as we should have. I live with Complex PTSD, along with several medical challenges that affect my daily life. These have shaped how I show up in the world, and inevitably, how I showed up as a parent. I wish I had known then what I know now. But healing isn’t about rewriting the past—it’s about owning it, growing from it, and doing better moving forward. Still, there was love. So much love. And sometimes, even love isn't enough to hold it all together. That’s where healing begins. Through family therapy, self-reflection, and a lot of prayer, I’ve learned that healing doesn’t look like perfection—it looks like growth. It looks like honoring someone’s boundaries even when they hurt. It looks like showing up for the children who are  in your life while holding space for the one who isn’t. It looks like admitting, I didn’t understand before, but I’m trying to now. And sometimes—just sometimes—healing looks like going to Italy. I love to learn. And this trip? It’s so much more than a performance schedule. I’m headed to Italy to sing alongside a group of my singer friends, and I know I’ll make some new friends, too. I’ll be surrounded by like-minded people, immersed in other languages, cultures, and thought processes. For two whole weeks, I’ll have my own place, a car, and my service dog Mr. Big will be right by my side. We fly out in about 48 hours—ATL to JFK to Milan (MXP). From there, we’re off on an adventure! I’ll be performing in four different concerts and working on more opera this time around. Honestly, I’m much more excited  than nervous this time. I’ll even be visiting beautiful Lake Como. (Yes, I packed my walking shoes and my heart wide open.) What makes this even more tender is that my estranged daughter and I once shared a deep love of travel and new experiences. We used to talk about all the places we wanted to see together—Italy was high on that list. She would have loved this trip. I wish she could be with me, not just for the sights, but for the laughter, the little discoveries, the joy of it all. Right now, I have no idea what she’s doing—other than the occasional parking ticket that still shows up in our mailbox. We send them along to her dad, who she still speaks to. We don’t. And we don’t take care of her things anymore. That boundary was painful to set, but necessary. So when the going gets tough? Sometimes the tough go to therapy. Sometimes the tough cry into their pillow. And yes—sometimes, the tough go to Italy. 💥 And speaking of brave new steps... I’ve just been invited to be a guest on a powerful TikTok channel called "Straight Talk,"  which focuses on real, raw conversations about estrangement. It’s a huge  honor! But here’s the catch: I need 1,000 followers  on TikTok to go LIVE with them (TikTok rules... eye roll 🙄). So if you’re reading this, and you want to support me—👉 Please hop over to @strangelyestranged on TikTok and hit that follow button. I’m pouring my heart into content that helps others feel seen, understood, and encouraged. Let’s grow this healing space together—and get me on that show! I’ll be taking you along with me through photos, stories, and reflections. Because no matter where you are in your estrangement journey—newly walking through it, deep in the thick of it, or clawing your way toward healing—I want you to know you’re not alone. Please follow me on Instagram , TikTok, and Facebook , and visit the blog regularly for more. We heal better together.– Crystal 💛 #estrangement #estrangedparents #estrangementwithadultchild #healingfromestrangement #familyestrangement #strangelyestranged #momblog #mentalhealthawareness #whenthegoinggetstough #Italyheals #healingjourney #complexptsd #operaabroad #travelingwithaservicedog #MrBigGoesToItaly #straighttalkguest #tiktokfollowme

Estrangement from an adult child is a quiet kind of heartbreak.   It doesn’t make headlines. It doesn’t show up in the family photo albums. But it echoes in your heart every day. I never imagined I would face this with one of my children. But I have. And through that grief, I’ve experienced both brokenness and beauty. I’ve grown in ways I never wanted to—but needed to. I’ve cried more tears than I can count, but I’ve also reclaimed my voice, identity, and hope. Here are five life-changing lessons  I’ve learned through estrangement with my adult daughter—lessons that continue to shape my journey with God, myself, and the people I love most. 1. Healing Takes Community—And Family Therapy Was the Turning Point Our family began therapy because of the prayers of my other two adult children , who asked for something brave: that my husband and I listen—really listen—to their experiences and perspectives. Therapy wasn't easy. It was painful and filled with anxiety. I didn't want to be confronted with the ways I had failed, or the harm I had unknowingly caused. I believed I had been a good mother—and I was. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t make mistakes. Facing those truths was excruciating—but necessary. Family therapy became the only path forward for real healing. I had to lay down my defenses and accept responsibility for the pain I caused, even if it wasn’t intentional. It was a way to show unconditional love , the kind Jesus modeled: love that sacrifices pride, that takes ownership, that listens without interrupting. It’s the greatest gift I can offer my children— a gift I never received from my own father.  A true apology. A heart open to change. A living example of transformation. 2. Letting Go Doesn’t Mean Giving Up Letting go, for me, means releasing any and all expectations  of my estranged daughter’s return. It’s not about closing the door—it’s about opening my hands , laying down the belief that my children owe me anything simply because I am their mother. They don’t. They are adults. They are allowed to walk away for their own mental health, and I love them enough to honor that freedom. The door is open. The kettle is on. If she returns, I will be here. And if she doesn’t? That’s okay too. My husband and I still have a life to live. We would love to include her. But her absence doesn’t define our worth. We’ve learned that we are still loved , that we are enough , and that we are great parents —not because we’re perfect, but because we are loved . We walk with God.He is near to the brokenhearted.And I trust her with Him. 3. Boundaries Are Not Walls—They’re Anchors for Self-Respect and Peace Before estrangement, I did not understand boundaries —because I was never taught them. I didn’t know what they were or how to use them in healthy ways. It’s taken a long time to begin grasping their purpose. Boundaries are not weapons. They are not tools to control others.They are not punishments or ultimatums. Boundaries are for me. They are my way of deciding how I want to be treated . They preserve my emotional and mental health. They protect my peace. They allow me to show up in love without sacrificing my own wellness. I think this is the greatest misunderstanding we have about boundaries: we think they’re barriers between us and others. But they are actually bridges to healthier, more respectful relationships— if we’re willing to learn and honor them . I’m still learning every day. But I finally understand: boundaries are a form of love—for myself and for those I love most. 4. I Found My Purpose, Confidence, and Voice Estrangement pushed me into deep reflection: Who am I outside of motherhood? I began to rediscover my purpose, my identity, my God-given value. I started taking better care of my physical and mental health. I learned to love and forgive myself , and to nurture the parts of me I had long ignored. I am not only a mother. I am a whole person . I am a wife, a friend, a servant, a voice, a dreamer, an advocate. I am allowed to take up space. I am enough. I have a voice. This season has deepened my closeness with my husband , strengthened the trust with my closest friends , and renewed my gratitude for the love of my other two adult children , who are each extraordinary in their own right. This pain has become purpose.This silence has built strength. 5. Faith, Grace, and Perseverance Are My Compass I wouldn’t have made it this far in this journey without God’s grace.  On the hardest days, grace held me. On the loneliest nights, mercy whispered that I am still seen and loved. Through this journey, I’ve embraced: Forgiveness , even when it’s not returned Patience , when reconciliation feels impossible Perseverance , when healing is slow Endurance , when the emotional weight is heavy Mercy , when I stumble Grace , when I need to try again Estrangement doesn’t have to mean the end of the story. It can be the beginning of a new chapter —one written in truth, humility, compassion, and hope. Final Thoughts If you're walking this road too, I want you to know: You are not alone.You are not a failure.You are not forgotten. I wouldn’t have made it this far in this journey without God’s grace , therapy , and the love of those who chose to walk beside me. I am still healing, still learning, still growing. But I am stronger, wiser, and more whole than I’ve ever been. You are, too. You are loved by God , capable of transformation, and worthy of peace. Let your journey of healing be a light to others. Choose to live in truth. Choose to keep growing. Choose to keep loving—with wisdom, strength, and open hands. If this spoke to your heart, please share it with someone who needs hope today. 💛 Follow more of my healing journey on Instagram: @strangely_estranged_ 🌻 Visit my blog: www.strangelyestranged.com #EstrangementWithAdultChild #FaithAfterEstrangement #HealingFromEstrangement #FamilyTherapyJourney #HealthyBoundaries #UnconditionalLove #YouAreEnough #PurposeBeyondMotherhood #StrangelyEstranged

Empty bird's nest with a "Vacant" note, symbolizing an open house in nature. I think people try to relate by comparing estrangement to the empty nest phase. And it’s kind—they’re genuinely trying to connect, to understand. But the comparison doesn’t quite hit the mark. Estrangement doesn’t feel like an empty nest—it feels like a shattered one . When your adult child walks away—not just physically, but emotionally, relationally, and sometimes spiritually—it’s not a phase. It’s not a normal transition. It’s a loss. A living loss. It’s grieving someone who is still alive, but no longer reachable. In our case, our adult daughter specifically asked us not to contact her at all. That kind of boundary is incredibly hard to live with—especially knowing that sometimes she visits her dad, just 30 minutes across town, and we still receive nothing. No hello, no update, no visit—especially around the holidays when she stays for days, and we still get nothing. It’s the silence that screams at you during dinner, birthdays, holidays, and all the in-between moments. It’s wondering if they think of you. It’s hoping they’re okay. It’s questioning everything you did and everything you didn’t do. There’s a unique pain in estrangement that isolates you. I’ve mentioned before that I am also estranged from a part of my extended family. There’s a real, solid reason for this situation. I’m not going to go into it in this blog—it’s a story for another time. What I will say is that there was a lot of betrayal, and illegal behavior involved, things I had no control over, and there has been very little remorse or outreach. In stark contrast to my extended family estrangement—which is rooted in betrayal, disrespect, and harmful behavior—the estrangement with our adult daughter feels much more mysterious and sudden. I know she believes she needs to self-protect, and her choice comes from a place of self-preservation. But one day, the communication simply stopped. Abruptly, without a chance to respond or process, we were cut off. There was no confrontation, no conversation—just silence. With my extended family, I know exactly why I stepped away. I wasn’t shown respect. I wasn’t heard. I felt devalued, degraded, and ultimately, unwanted. The last time I spoke with one of them on the phone, I asked if they could just listen. Instead, I was screamed at and told, 'Goodbye,' before being hung up on. That was the moment I released myself from the sense of obligation to keep trying. I will not put myself in that position again. I forgive them—not because they apologized or changed—but because I believe in forgiveness. God tells me to forgive. But that doesn’t mean I need to keep placing myself in front of that same pain. The world keeps turning, people share stories about family vacations and wedding plans, and you nod and smile, all while your chest feels hollow. You feel like you’ve failed at the most sacred role: parent. It has made me question my value as a mother. I used to feel so confident in that role. Now, I don’t. I don’t know my place in the parenthood world anymore. And no matter how many people try to comfort you, unless they’ve lived it, they can’t fully understand it. For me, estrangement from our adult daughter has been an emotional earthquake. Some days I can’t breathe from the weight of it. It’s always there—just below the surface. I want people to know that this is not just about a child moving out. This is about a relationship that was once rich with memories and moments, now marred with silence, misunderstanding, and pain. And here’s the truth: sometimes I feel like I deserved it. Like I must have been so awful that she had no other choice. Then other times, I know in my heart that we loved her deeply. That we tried our best. It’s a roller coaster of guilt, anger, grief, empathy, and—still—love. If you're in this space too, I want to validate your experience. You are not weak. You are not alone. This kind of grief doesn’t come with casseroles or sympathy cards, but it is real. And it is heavy. I speak out to remind myself and others that estrangement is complex. It’s personal. It’s painful. But healing is still possible—even if reconciliation never comes. We find peace in small places. In honesty. In support groups. In therapy. In faith. In the pets that greet us at the door. In the friends who sit with us in silence. What you’re feeling is valid.This is not just an empty nest.This is estrangement.And it deserves to be acknowledged. I also love to work with my students, and they help me to keep my mind in a good, positive, and encouraging place. As a human being, I am flawed. I did not choose to make decisions to cause harm to my children. I am not perfect, and I have made mistakes. But I believe in the power of forgiveness—not only forgiving others but forgiving myself. Estrangement isn’t about blame; it’s about understanding, growth, and sometimes, survival. What you’re feeling is valid.This is not just an empty nest.This is estrangement.And it deserves to be acknowledged. With love and solidarity, Crystal Please comment below and let us hear from you, join the community, and let's support each other. #StrangelyEstranged #EstrangementFeelsLike #NotJustEmptyNest #FamilyEstrangement #AdultChildrenEstrangement #LivingLoss #GrievingInSilence #HealingFromEstrangement #UnseenGrief #FaithAndFamily #MentalHealthAwareness #YouAreNotAlone #EstrangementSupport #ADAPawsPass #MrsChattanoogaAmerica #MrsTennesseeGalaxy #MrsTennesseeAmerica #MrsAmerica #Estrangement #EstrangementWithAdultChild

Estrangement...Blue Closed Doors, Surrounded by a marble arch. It looks like doors to an inner fortress. Estrangement is one of those words that makes people uncomfortable. It sits heavy in the air. It’s not a dinner table conversation topic or a post that gets a lot of “likes.” But for so many of us—more than you probably realize—estrangement isn’t just a word. It’s a wound. A choice. A last resort. A lifeline. For me, it’s all of the above. When people find out I'm estranged from a loved one, I often hear the same phrases: "But they’re family…" "You only get one mother/daughter/father/son…" "Can’t you just forgive and move on?" These comments, while usually well-intentioned, reveal a painful truth: most people don’t understand estrangement. So let me share what I wish others knew. Estrangement Is Rarely About Hate It's not about holding grudges or being dramatic. It's about survival.Estrangement doesn’t come from a single argument or a tough season. It comes after repeated harm, betrayal, manipulation, or deep emotional neglect. It's a boundary—one that often took years of heartache to finally draw. We Don’t “Move On.” We Move Differently. Healing from estrangement is not the same as healing from a breakup or a falling out with a friend. When it's a family member—especially a parent or a child—the grief is layered. You’re mourning the person, the relationship, the future you dreamed of, and the version of yourself that tried so hard to fix it. You learn to carry your hope and heartbreak side by side. Some days, they’re balanced. Other days, one outweighs the other. The Silence Is Not Empty—It’s Full From the outside, it may seem like estrangement is simply not talking  to someone. But the silence is anything but empty. It’s filled with questions, memories, guilt, second-guessing, freedom, sadness, and sometimes even relief. We replay conversations we wish we’d had. We grieve birthdays and holidays that now carry a shadow. We wonder if they think about us too. With Nelson and Me, This Is Personal Nelson and I are estranged from one of our adult daughters. As parents, it is incredibly painful to live in silence and distance from a child we love deeply. There are feelings of great grief, heartache, and loss  that we carry every single day. What is not  helpful is hearing, "At least they aren’t dead." I have already lost a child—and honestly, I don’t know what is worse. The loss of a child is the loss of a child. We didn’t choose the separation. We didn’t choose the silence. We didn’t choose to hear the painful words: “Don’t contact me.” Knowing our daughter is alive, out in the world, living moments and milestones we know nothing about—it’s a pain that cuts deeper than words can express. Be Sensitive About Celebrations and Traditions Please, be sensitive when discussing your own holiday plans, birthdays, anniversaries, or family vacations. Those of us experiencing estrangement—like Nelson and me—often feel a quiet tug of pain on our hearts when we listen to those conversations.We are genuinely happy for you . We want you to have joy and to celebrate with your children and loved ones. Our pain isn't about jealousy. It’s about loss . While you’re celebrating, we’re learning to rebuild. We’re trying to create new ways of marking holidays—new traditions that replace the ones that took us years to build with our families. But even then, no matter what we do, it’s not the same. Someone is still missing. We have no idea if we’ll ever see them again. So, instead of letting us quietly step away from the conversation, check in. Ask how we’re doing. Invite us to share something meaningful, even if it’s not the same as your story. Your thoughtfulness reminds us we’re not alone or forgotten. We Still Love, But From Afar Love doesn’t always disappear with distance. Sometimes it just shifts.We can love someone deeply and still know we cannot be close to them. That doesn’t make us heartless. It makes us human. It means we’re choosing peace and safety, even when it hurts. Estrangement Is Not Always Permanent But it is  a decision that deserves respect, regardless of whether reconciliation is possible or not.Healing might someday make a bridge possible—or it might not. But until then, judging from the outside does more harm than good. How You Can Support Someone Who Is Estranged Don’t judge or offer clichés.  Listen without assumptions. Resist the urge to fix it.  This isn't a movie; there’s no guaranteed happy ending. Ask how they’re doing—without pushing.  We don’t always want to talk, but we want to be seen. Be mindful around milestones.  A little compassion goes a long way. Remember important dates.  Holidays and anniversaries can be the loneliest times. A simple message can make all the difference. If you’re walking through estrangement right now, I see you. You are not alone, and your decision to protect your peace is valid.If you love someone who is estranged, your compassion matters more than you know. Let’s keep having the hard conversations, even when they make others uncomfortable. That’s where healing begins. — 🔖 Want more conversations like this? Subscribe to Strangely Estranged and share your story, too. You never know who needs to hear it. 🟡 #StrangelyEstranged #FamilyEstrangement #EstrangedButHealing #MentalHealthMatters #BreakingTheSilence #YouAreNotAlone

This book is excellent, and gives a different perspective from someone who was parentally estranged. This is the front cover of the book One of the hardest truths I’ve had to accept about estrangement is this: Every story has more than one side. When people hear the word estranged , they often assume they know what happened. They want to assign blame, take sides, wrap it up with a bow, and move on. But real life is far more complicated than that. Estrangement isn’t always loud or explosive. Sometimes it begins quietly—with misunderstandings, unmet expectations, emotional distance that builds slowly until it becomes a wall. Sometimes it happens after years of love and laughter. Sometimes it happens even when your intentions were good. I know my side of the story. I live with it every single day.But I also know I’m not the only one in this story. Our adult daughter has her own perspective, her own hurt, her own reasons. I don’t know all of them. Maybe I never will. But I try to hold space for the fact that she, too, is human .Just like me. Just like Nelson. I don’t speak out about estrangement to make someone else the villain. I speak out because my silence was swallowing me whole . I needed a space to express my pain, to untangle the grief and guilt, to say, “This hurts, and I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t.”I also needed a place to say, “I still love her,” without judgment or shame. That’s the tension of estrangement.It lives in the and : I’m hurting, and  I still love them. I feel abandoned, and  I know they’re hurting too. I want to fix it, and  I’ve had to accept that I can’t. I believe in reconciliation, and  I also believe in boundaries. The work of healing doesn’t mean ignoring your pain. It means learning to carry it with grace, without letting it harden your heart. It means allowing yourself to hope— but not hinge your entire identity on someone else’s return. So today, I choose to believe that God sees both sides , even when I can’t.He is not just healing my  heart—He’s working on all of us. If you’re walking this path, I want to encourage you:You don’t have to have all the answers. You don’t have to explain your side to everyone. You don’t have to win anyone over. But you can be honest. You can be tender and brave. You can speak your truth without silencing someone else’s. Estrangement has two sides—and sometimes, the only healing we’ll see is the one that begins in us . I also want to share something personal that helps me understand this truth more deeply: I am estranged from my older brother and his family. It’s not because I don’t love them—I do. But being around them gives me tremendous anxiety. I am not comfortable with the conversations, and for my own mental health, I have chosen to stay away. That’s a decision I didn’t make lightly, and it has brought peace to my heart, even though it’s still painful. That’s why I cannot judge my estranged adult daughter. Maybe she feels similarly. I don’t know. As much as this hurts Nelson and me, I have to give thought and legitimacy to the fact that she hurts too. I know I have hurt her, just as she has hurt me. If there is going to be any healing in our family, I have to acknowledge her hurt as well. It isn’t just about me or Nelson. It’s about all of us—our entire family. If I had access to her to have a conversation right now, or even to write a letter, or if I knew she somehow reads this blog, I want to make sure that it represents the two sides of the coin, the yin and the yang. Estrangement is not simple, and it is not about an apology—it is about a real change. Change that is permanent. Sometimes the only way to change the landscape of an area is to blow it up. Every single time a volcano erupts, it changes the landscape of the surrounding area. It changes shape. The land changes. It never looks the same as it did before. There is bad and good in it—just like estrangement. The best thing is to not assign blame to anyone. Be ready to listen, and be open to listening to a good therapist—and maybe even your other children. I guarantee you that my listening to my other two adult children about what they experienced growing up was an emotional volcanic explosion all of its own. Nelson and I were not bad parents. We were supportive and loving. We are human, and humans hurt humans. No matter what, there is damage. None of us come out of childhood unscathed. I can scream and yell and cry, and I have—but I have to consider that she has done the same. I realize she didn’t make the decision on a whim. It was a thought she carried for a while, and eventually, she had to separate herself to preserve her own mental health. A friend of mine recently sent me the name of a book: "Shadow Daughter: A Memoir of Estrangement"  by Harriett Brown. I’m reading it right now. It shares the perspective of a woman who was estranged from her mother, and it’s giving me a lot to think about. I highly recommend it to anyone who is estranged from their adult children. It’s necessary for us to see both sides, to look at things from the point of view of our adult child. We cannot put all the weight on them. We must take responsibility for our own errors. Please don’t think that I am discounting your pain or mine. I know you’ve probably apologized—maybe many times. I have too. But apologies in words aren’t always what our estranged adult children need. That’s something I’m learning. Truthfully, I don’t know what my daughter needs. All I can do is give myself what I need and work on creating a healthy mindset. Our children, no matter how old, need their parents to put the child's emotional and mental needs above their own. I have to make sure that I am not needing my children to feed the spaces in my heart and soul, but rather are feeding and encouraging what they need. Our children, young or adult, do not need us to be our listening ear, or the people that we lean on. We have therapists, and friends for those things, and we need to keep those worlds separate. I have to become someone who can win friends, someone who is helpful, someone who chooses love and healing. The best way I can serve my estranged adult daughter is by getting better myself. With compassion and courage, Crystal Please remember that you are loved and enough. Let us hear from you. Nelson and i would love to hear your story. #StrangelyEstranged #EstrangementAwareness #FamilyEstrangement #AdultChildrenEstrangement #HealingFromEstrangement #TwoSidesToEveryStory #MentalHealthJourney #GriefAndGrowth #FaithAndFamily #EstrangedButHopeful #EstrangementRecovery #UnseenStories #HealingInProcess

I Speak out about estrangement, join me in the support community Yesterday, we went to dog training class with Big  and Jace .Big was a bit rowdy—he wanted to play—but Jace did a great job.When you have a service dog, you have to take them to regular training to keep their skills sharp. Jace especially needs desensitization . Years ago, I was attacked by a dog, and Jace protected me. He saved my life. But ever since, he’s been fearful and reactive around other dogs. This class helps him learn that not every dog is dangerous. It’s a chance to retrain his instinct to react—and replace it with confidence and calm. And honestly? That’s a lot like what Nelson and I are learning in this season of estrangement from our adult daughter. We can’t control what’s happened, but we can control how we react , and we can work toward becoming less fearful, less reactive, and more at peace .We can begin to feel good about ourselves again. We can be okay. There’s a quiet kind of grief that hides in plain sight—the grief of loving someone who is still alive, but no longer part of your life. For me, that grief has a name: estrangement . It’s a word I never expected to apply to my own family, and certainly not to my relationship with one of my children. But here I am—living it, learning from it, and finally, speaking about it. For a long time, I said nothing. I carried the weight in silence, not wanting to seem bitter, dramatic, or like I’d failed as a parent. The shame was suffocating. Every time I tried to talk about it, I felt like I needed to explain or defend myself. So I didn’t talk at all. But silence about our estrangement didn’t protect me. It isolated me. And in that isolation, I learned something powerful: shame thrives in silence—but healing begins with honesty. That’s why I’m speaking out now. I decided to speak out about estrangement to express the pain and frustration I’ve carried for far too long. The separation itself was heartbreaking, but the silence that followed was just as damaging. I needed to put words to the ache, to give shape to the feelings that so many parents carry in the dark. And I speak because I believe it’s time we stop hiding. You do not  have to stay in the shadows. You do not  have to live in shame.You can stand tall.You can move forward.You can grow.You can heal.You can improve— even when reconciliation isn’t promised. That is why I speak out. No one needs to be alone in their heartache and grief, and this estrangement with our adult daughter is not what we wanted.It has changed everything about Nelson and me.I believe that God makes good out of everything, and I can already see His handiwork in this situation. Even in the pain, I trust that something beautiful is being formed. Yesterday was a harder day.I found myself spiraling—dwelling, ruminating, questioning. So I leaned on something that’s been helping me recently: DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy) . I used the tools I’ve learned to help my mind step out of the loop it wanted to stay trapped in. I reminded myself that ruminating over a situation I cannot control serves no good purpose.I’m not sharing this because I’ve gained some sort of wisdom crown or figured it all out.I haven’t.I struggle with it every single day. If I think about it too much, I can cry in an instant.That’s okay.Crying is part of the process. So is breathing. So is moving forward anyway. I speak out not because I’ve reached the end of this journey, but because I’ve taken the first brave steps—and I want others to know they can, too. There are countless parents out there walking through estrangement—some quietly aching, others navigating years of confusion and sorrow, all wondering, “What did I do wrong?”  or “Does this pain ever stop?” This blog, Strangely Estranged , is my small way of saying: You are not alone. And you don’t have to grieve in the dark. If you're walking through estrangement, I want to invite you into this space. To read. To reflect. To cry if you need to. And maybe one day, to share your own story, too. I’ve said this before: my dogs help me a lot with this estrangement . They want my presence. They are always happy to see me. They don’t like me to leave. They are comforting and loyal. I find them incredibly soothing. You may not be a dog person—and that’s okay. But find something  that brings you support, love, and peace. Then go do that for yourself. Pray a lot. It’s not selfish to nurture your heart—it’s necessary. With compassion and courage, Crystal