• A woman sits across from Oprah and says she hasn’t spoken to her entire family for a year and a half. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Oprah repeats it back to her as though translating a confession.
• Another guest says it’s been four years since he’s spoken to his parents or siblings.
• A third says she cut off her thirty-year-old son two years ago, by choice.

No shock in the room. No moral outrage. Just an unsteady acknowledgment that this is becoming normal.

People online are calling it a trend. Some are calling it a pandemic. But anyone who has spent time in trauma work has seen this rising for decades, long before cameras caught it. The only thing “new” is that someone finally said it into a studio microphone.

I was on Oprah’s show twice in the 1990s. I saw the machinery behind the curtain and instantly had ethical concerns–but that isn’t the point. What matters is that people today are acting as though estrangement is an emerging fad–instead of the long, painful arc that trauma survivors have been walking in, silently, for years.

When a family system refuses to stop harming you, distance is not drama: it is self-preservation.

The internet keeps searching for villains, as though every estrangement has a clear offender. Real life rarely fits such simplicity. DNA does not obligate anyone to stay in proximity to danger. Shared blood lines does not guarantee respect, sincerity, accountability, or safety on either side. People cling to the idea that “family is family” because it protects the fantasy that closeness is wholesome or healthy. Trauma science does not support that fantasy. Survival often requires distance.

Five years ago, my adult daughter and I stepped into no contact. It was my decision, but not born from hate, pettiness, or cruelty. She lives a lifestyle that I cannot be around without risking my career and everything I’ve spent decades building. Thus, I created a boundary to protect myself, not to use as a weapon to wound her. She agreed to the distance. We left the door open for possible reconnection if one of us becomes ready. That part is important. This boundary leaves no room for theatrics, gossip, or triangulation. It is a clinical boundary–not a punishment.

But there is something very important that almost no one online understands: there is “clean” no contact, and there is “dirty” no contact. The difference between them determines whether healing even has a chance.

• “Clean” no contact says, “I step out of this cycle, and I will not harm you from a distance.” It halts further damage. It calms nervous systems. It refuses to continue the war.
• “Dirty” no contact operates in shadow. It says, “I cut you off, then stalk, gossip, weaponize silence, and send flying monkeys while claiming innocence.” That version is not boundary-setting. It is aggression wearing a wounded mask.

Survivors who choose distance need to hear this without distortion:

• You are not evil for stepping away from what keeps injuring you.
• You do not owe your nervous system to anyone.
• You can love someone from a distance and still accept that contact with them is not safe for you right now. Those two realities can exist together without contradiction.

Trauma survivors have spent enough of their lives confusing loyalty and abuse. Estrangement is not failure. Sometimes it is the first honest thing a family system will ever experience.

In my own work as a trauma therapist, I watched adults wrestle with estrangement years before hashtags and reaction videos made it “content.” These were not impulsive choices. They were decisions carved out after years of trying to repair a system that refused accountability. People chose distance because nothing else stopped the injury. Survivors live with enough grief as it is. They do not need added shame from other people’s judgment and opinions.

I am a firm believer that unresolved dynamics reappear in the next lifetime. That doesn’t mean that we force premature reconciliation, or pretend that proximity magically fixes structural harm. It means that we keep the boundary clean. No stalking. No sabotage. No behind-the-scenes warfare. The distance itself is the intervention. Dirty the distance and we repeat the cycle, instead of breaking it.

I have said this hundreds of times in clinical settings: “Just because someone shares DNA with you does not mean they are good for you–or you, for them.” Relationships do not collapse from the weight of a single person. There is always shared responsibility, even if no one wants to admit it.

What Oprah’s segment exposed isn’t new. It’s simply the first time the public is being forced to see what tens of millions already know. Estrangement is not a trend–it is a last resort. It is what people choose when the cost of staying connected is too high, and the injuries become too painful to ignore.

References:

Karl Pillemer, PhD
Judith Herman, MD
Bessel van der Kolk, MD
Stephen Porges, PhD
Murray Bowen, MD
Gabor Maté, MD

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Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Dr. Mozelle Martin

Dr. Mozelle Martin is a retired trauma therapist and former Clinical Director of a trauma center, with extensive experience in forensic psychology, criminology, and applied ethics. A survivor of childhood and young adulthood trauma, Dr. Martin has dedicated decades to understanding the psychological and ethical complexities of trauma, crime, and accountability. Her career began as a volunteer in a women’s domestic violence shelter, then as a SA hospital advocate, later becoming a Crisis Therapist working alongside law enforcement on the streets of Phoenix. She went on to earn an AS in Psychology, a BS in Forensic Psychology, an MA in Criminology, and a PhD in Applied Ethics, ultimately working extensively in forensic mental health—providing psychological assessments, intervention, and rehabilitative support with inmates and in the community. A published author and lifelong student of life, she continues to explore the relationship and crossovers of forensic science, mental health, and ethical accountability in both historical and modern contexts.

www.InkProfiler.com

My father finally died a few months ago. Survivors will understand the word finally. I thought he would never die. Billy Joel’s song “Only the Good Die Young” was certainly true in this situation. I had gone no contact about seven years before, but the shadow of power this man wielded over my life continued, whether I was in contact with him or not. I even moved all the way across the country to put space between me and him. Space between the present and the past. The constructed reality he demanded everyone agree with, the dominating presence where no voice save his was heard, the judgmental pronouncements of doom and gloom over your life, the complete lack of understanding or empathy. These were just a few of the ways his brainwashing impacted me. 

These were just a few of the ways his brainwashing impacted me. 

And when he died, instead of the relief I felt at my mother’s passing, a terrible door that had been shut for over sixty years was opened. The parts of me from childhood that had split off and carried the load felt free to come forward, and it was hard. Hard to face them, hard to talk to them, and hard to become an ally to them instead of an enemy. 

There are no words to describe the damage and loss that occur when your parents choose the path of narcissism. To their very grave, my parents never had the slightest inkling of self-awareness or took any personal responsibility. In fact, my sibling and I were “disinherited.” The old threat to keep me within my father’s orbit finally came true. For me, I could understand it; I walked away years ago. But for my sibling who provided for my father financially and took care of his ex-wife, our mother, who otherwise would have been homeless, it was a low blow. Yet again, the narcissist showed his true colors. It did not matter what you did for the man; he did not know how to do anything other than hurt us. His final message? “You are worthless.” 

But I survived, and guess what? My father was wrong. It took everything I had to slog through the twisted spider web of lies he had spun. I spent decades trying to understand, reaching toward the truth that seemed to dissipate into mist at the slightest stress. To quiet the dissonance in my mind, heart, and soul. I used every technique and read every book I could get my hands on, but you know what? I made it. I have written a new chapter, established new relationships, and I walk in truth. What does the Bible say? The truth will set you free? Yep, that’s what it says. I can wonder at the joy in life, pursue dreams and goals I never thought reachable, and more than anything else, I can finish well, leaving a legacy of peace, encouragement, and kindness to my children. 

I pity my mother and father. They never knew how wonderful life could be. It is still hard sometimes, I suppose I will always bear the scars to a certain degree, but I made it. I made it out, and I am so thankful I did not give up. Defy trauma, embrace joy. It is worth it.

If you are interested in my newsletter or reading more content like this, please go to:

https://rebekahlaynebrown.com

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Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Rebekah Brown

Rebekah Brown, a native of the south, now resides in the Great American West. Surviving a complicated and abusive family system makes her unique writing style insightful as well as uplifting. Rebekah is the proud mother of two and grandmother of four.

I have faced many traumas in my life and experienced repeated betrayal, often from those we are told we can trust—family.

An Existential Identity Crisis

I consider myself a quirk of fate; by some macabre twist, I was launched into a profoundly dysfunctional family. I grew up fatherless in a middle-class Roman Catholic household in a small South Indian town. My older sister Melanie and I were raised by our young, widowed mother in our maternal grandparents’ home, where we lived with an extended joint family.

I discovered that my father passed away from a heart attack just months after my mother conceived me, so I never knew him. Growing up without a father left me feeling empty, which may have influenced my tendency to form fleeting connections with abusive relationships and toxic friendships. The absence of pictures of my dad was heartbreaking, as it felt like all memories of him had been erased. I understand my mother likely acted out of her own grief, but it was painful that she didn’t encourage us to talk about him, leaving many questions unanswered.

Becoming a Social Outcast

At first, my mother worked hard as a teacher at our school until my soon-to-be stepfather, a medical student seven years younger, came into the picture. In the conservative town we lived in, rumors about the teacher and the young man quickly spread, and all hell broke loose at my grandparents’ home. The entire family was upset with her new relationship, but my mother was so in love that she didn’t care.

The school was even worse; we became social outcasts overnight, facing snide comments from classmates and family friends who labeled us as “the daughters” of the “flighty widow.” The reputation stuck.

As a grown woman, I understand that my widowed mother had the right to move on and lead her life. However, at age five, I only felt the loss of friends. Back then, single mothers dating wasn’t common in rural India, and my mother was blissfully unaware, caught up in her new romance as she traipsed around town in love-infested bliss.

The Birth of the Fear of Abandonment

When I was in third grade, she finally married and a few years later moved to the Middle East with her new doctor husband, leaving behind two lonely kids and a controversial reputation.

At every family event, we were seen as the “orphan Annies” and “oddballs,” garnering pity or scorn from others. In that conservative town, we stood out, burdened by a reputation we longed to escape. This likely fueled my craving for love and contributed to  ADHD and borderline personality disorder, which I discovered many years later.

Meanwhile, my childhood became a series of moves between relatives, amplifying feelings of abandonment. We were treated as unnecessary baggage, and the meager food we received was often rationed. Name-calling and forced chores made us feel like maidservants, whether cleaning the house, doing laundry, cooking, or babysitting. I was not yet 13, and I often went to bed hungry.

With each move, my sister and I faced a new set of accusations. In hindsight, I believe this wasn’t because we lacked virtue, but rather because our relatives were tired of bearing the burden of my mother. This was their way of “passing the buck” to someone else. Meanwhile, our mother hardly contributed to our expenses or sent money to those who took care of us.

Though Mom would visit us occasionally, her relationship with us, her daughters, changed dramatically. She refused to believe what we had endured and the ongoing criticism from our “overburdened” relatives. Instead, she relied only on hearsay, choosing to accept the narrative that portrayed us as the problem.

Walking Away From Abuse

At a relative’s home, life became so chaotic that we went from being poor, abandoned orphans to harassed teens overnight. The saddest part was that no one, especially our mother, wanted to believe us. They preferred to sweep everything under the rug rather than face the discomfort of the truth. I realized they chose not to support us because it allowed them to avoid their responsibilities.

As a result, in an effort to protect ourselves, two vulnerable girls walked away from a highly volatile situation and sought help from strangers. We felt unsafe among our own family.

Believe it or not, since then, we have mostly been estranged from our mother and socially isolated from our relatives. Aside from the odd occasion, I haven’t spent time with my relatives or mom in decades. Mom systematically and deliberately cut us off from any contact with the family.

 There is bullying, and then there is bullying of the worst kind; it’s called “social isolation,” the kind that was perpetuated by my dysfunctional family and also by friends at school.

This is the kind of bullying where “the strong” band together and trample “the defenseless” because there is strength in numbers—often aided by money, peer pressure, or the seniority that comes with age.

Rising from the Ashes

As a teenager, I found myself alone and began working hard to support myself. Life took a difficult turn; I met many people from whom I learned valuable lessons. I made numerous mistakes due to poor judgment and misplaced trust, but I’ve always managed to rise from them. While I regret those lapses, I would live my life the same way again because my past has shaped who I am today.

My career choice allowed me to meet many people. Early on, I took various odd jobs, each helping me develop new skills and fueling my ambition for success. I was open to any challenge, adapting and learning as I went. Eventually, I spent several years in the hospitality industry.

Final Thoughts: Know Thyself and Thou Shall Know Thy God

Along the way, I made friends and learned that everyone is unique; no one is perfect; certainly not people with the “pointy fingers.” Nevertheless, I noticed that most people focus on four basic needs: food, money, power, and sex—but not necessarily in that order. Whereas for me it has always been like Freddy Mercury sang that “crazy little thing called LOVE.“ But when we go through abuse, neglect, and trauma and don’t find love, we settle for mediocrity or less. Trauma comes in many forms, but it’s our choice whether to continue the cycle of family karma or to break it. The buck stops with you.

Whichever way it goes, childhood trauma makes you do the thing you’ve been “conditioned” to do all your life. I understand how challenging it can be to navigate through trauma, and I want to share what has helped me along the way: love, friendships, books, music, and spirituality. Healing is not a straight path, and I certainly don’t consider myself an expert. I’ve experienced the many faces of depression, including a recent episode of panic and anxiety, which I know can feel overwhelming. If you’re struggling, please remember that you don’t have to go through it alone. Reach out to your loved ones and consider seeking therapy. It’s so important to take that step and not delay getting the support you need. If you are like me, you deserve to find peace and healing.

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Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Jenney Clark

Jenney Clark is an Indian author and poet, best known for her book “Don’t Be Afraid to Love.” She has published eight books, including “Magic of the Ancients,” and hosts a podcast titled “Awakened Souls.” After leaving a successful job in the service industry, she pursued her passion for writing and became a life coach. Raised in a small town in India she discovered her psychic abilities at a young age and developed a strong interest in Tarot, astrology and numerology. She enjoys connecting with a diverse range of friends, including artists and writers and lives in a cozy “cubby hole” in Hyderabad with her dog, along with her beloved books and music

jenneyclark.com/

Grandma Clare, my stepmother, is a narcissist. Over the past decade, I have set boundaries and distanced my family from her emotionally abusive behavior.

“It would be weird for the average person to invite their twenty-two-year-old granddaughter, who still lives at home with her father, mother, and younger sister, over for a birthday celebration while not inviting the rest of the family,” I acknowledged. “But unfortunately, it’s classic Grandma Clare behavior. She doesn’t typically consider other peoples’ feelings.”

“So, should I go,” Harper asked. “I’d like to see Grandma and Grandpa; it just feels strange going by myself.”

I encouraged my daughter to go to dinner and spend time with her Grandparents since she wanted to see them. Even though my stepmother was self-centered and manipulative, Harper’s had a decent relationship with them over the years, and I always fostered that for her sake. Harper was the first-born grandchild, so Clare was fond of her. Sadly, the novelty wore off when my second daughter, Abby, was born, and Clare has mostly ignored her.

When Harper came home from dinner, she had half a birthday cake.

“Grandma insisted I take the rest of the cake home,” Harper told us. “I told her no thank you a few times, but she pretty much forced me to take it.”

Harper filled me in on some updates about her cousins and said it was mostly an enjoyable time, with a handful of awkward silences. I smiled and told her that I was glad she enjoyed the dinner.

After Harper left the kitchen I looked at the half-cake sitting on the counter with a lump in my throat. Clare makes that cake for everyone, for every birthday. It was the cake I had for each of my birthdays throughout middle school and high school. And even though I am the one who opted to go low contact with that side of my family, looking at that cake brought me to tears.

It triggered a mix of emotions in me. I felt hurt and anger from being reminded of my tumultuous teenage years growing up without my own mother, who had passed away, and being raised by a stepmother who didn’t care much for me, to put it mildly. I also experienced resentment because I’d done a lot of work to heal and grow, putting boundaries in place to protect myself and my family, and it could all be shaken by something as absurd as a cake. I was surprised by grief, a sense of mourning the loss of my relationship with the family I grew up in.

My husband walked into the kitchen as I was about to leave, “Are you okay?”

I told him what was going on and said, “I don’t want Harper to see me upset, I’m glad she has a relationship with them. It just hurts to see that cake, the cake that was a part of the family that I used to be a part of, but I’m not anymore.”

Harper was coming back towards the kitchen and overheard us talking, and a few days later, she approached me. We talked about the cake and Grandma Clare.

“At first, I thought Grandma was just trying to be nice by having me take the cake home,” Harper said. “But after hearing you and Dad talk, I had a conversation with my friend Emma about it. You know Emma’s a psych major, right? She said it sounded like triangulation.” Harper went on to tell me she looked it up and read about how triangulation is used to play favorites and pit one person against another so that the manipulator feels a sense of control and supremacy.

“I think Grandma may have had me take the cake home on purpose to get to you,” she disclosed. “I know that sounds like a bit much, but I tried to tell her I didn’t want the cake, and she literally made me take it home.” Harper continued, “And then hearing how it did upset you made me think that may have been her intention. I know you don’t really talk to her anymore, so the only way she can bother you now is through other people. I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Harper, you have nothing to apologize for,” I reassured. “Her psychologically abusive behavior is the reason I opted for low contact all of those years ago. She tends to pull in her favored kids and grandkids close while snubbing the ones she doesn’t like as much. Sending you home with cake certainly could have been her way of showing me what I’m missing. Her using you to bring something home that would get a reaction out of me does sound like a triangulation tactic,” I admitted. “But it’s also a good reminder that we can engage with her if and when we want to, yet we do not have to succumb to her ploys of manipulation. Doing what we’re doing right now, communicating openly with each other, will hopefully shut down future attempts to influence us. Instead, we can dismiss them as her pitiful attempts to feel superior to others.”

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Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Sadie Montgomery

Sadie Montgomery was born and raised in the Midwestern United States, where she currently resides on the shore of Lake Superior with her husband and children. She is the award winning author of Atlas of Scars, her debut memoir on Complex Trauma. “I write to connect with survivors, advocate for the community, and raise awareness.”

www.sadiemontgomery.com/

I always knew I wasn’t wanted. From as far back as I can remember, my mother told me that she had gotten pregnant with me a month after my brother was born and how she felt about that.

“Morrene, when I found out I was pregnant with you, I cried and cried. I was so depressed! I didn’t want another baby!” were the words I heard often throughout my childhood. And those same cruel words followed me into my adulthood with my mom’s frequent reminders. It never occurred to me to be hurt by those words, probably because I had heard them so often throughout my life.

It wasn’t the fact that I knew I wasn’t wanted that hurt me but the abusive way that my mom treated me during my childhood. From sexual abuse to verbal abuse to physical abuse, I suffered it all at the hands of my dysfunctional mother and the various sick men she brought into our lives.

It has taken me years to realize that I had a target on my back from the moment my mother found out she was going to have another baby.  And to make matters worse, the fact that I am a female really stacked the odds against me in my mother’s eyes.

My mother was a very beautiful woman. With high cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and beautiful brown eyes, she was absolutely stunning. But that beauty was only on the outside. Inside of her was a cesspool of black, murky sludge, churning and bubbling with toxic hatred and venom. My mom was a very jealous and highly competitive woman, especially to others of her own sex. I don’t think my mom ever saw the beautiful woman reflected in the mirror when she looked at herself. 

In addition to the verbal, physical, and sexual abuse I suffered, my mother did everything in her power to make me feel and look ugly when I was a child. My mother was a kitchen shop barber who had no training other than cutting her own hair over the years, and whoever was brave enough to sit on the kitchen chair let her start snipping away. She also used to cut my hair and my brother’s. I got the same haircut as my brother: hair clipped close to the scalp, short bangs, and hair high above the ears. Due to the fact that my brother and I were so close in age, we were often mistaken for twins. And to make matters worse, I often had to wear my brother’s hand-me-down clothes when I outgrew mine so that made me look even more like a boy.

“Oh, look at the twin boys!” people would often say when they saw us side by side. Every time I heard those words, I hung my head in embarrassment. I didn’t want to look like a boy. But sometimes, after a closer inspection, I would hear, “Oh, wait, is that a girl?” But it didn’t matter. At that point, the damage had already been done. Every time I heard those hurtful words, shame, and humiliation flooded my body. I felt as if somehow I were to blame for my appearance. Often, I was bullied by the mean kids in school who laughed in my face.

“Is it that a boy or a girl?  It’s a Shim!  Shim!  Yeah, that’s you, ugly girl!”

“Oh, my God, look at that haircut!”

“Damn, she’s ugly!”

Those words hurt me to my very core. And the few times I told my mother about the bullying, she had no compassion.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Morrene, you will fill it out someday, so stop your Goddam complaining!” was my mom’s response.

I envied the girls in my class who had long hair. I was desperate to look like a girl, but I had no idea how to make that happen. The few times I asked my mom if I could grow my hair out, she refused.

I felt ugly in every way possible, a piece of garbage not worthy of love or kindness. But that is the lie of child abuse, that it’s all our fault, and I bought into it hook, line, and sinker. Every bad thing that was done to me I absorbed like a sponge and turned it onto myself with humiliation and anger. By the time I was nine years old, I had learned to hate myself.

When I started to develop and turn into a young woman, that’s when Mom’s hatred of me really showed its true colors. Now she had competition, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. Slowly, I was turning from an ugly ducking into a young woman, and that started a whole new level of abuse, both from my mother and the mean girls at school.  

“You’re not as pretty as you think you are!” were words I heard often from Mom during that time as she looked me up and down in pure hatred. I never understood why my mom would say such mean things to me. I never felt pretty during my teenage years. Every time I looked in the mirror, not once did I see the attractive young woman that I was becoming staring back at me. All I saw was pure ugliness, inside and out.

I never talked about my childhood with my mom when I became an adult. It was just too painful for me to face. But one question I asked her was, why did you cut my hair so short when I was a kid? Her response? “It was easier for me to manage.” I thought that was curious because my mom didn’t bathe me or wash my hair; I did. But I didn’t say anything to her. Deep down inside of me was still that little girl terrified of her mother’s cruelty.

I kept my mother in my life for many years, long into my adulthood. Unfortunately, my mother never got over her hatred of me, her jealousy, and her competition. But I tried. I so desperately wanted a loving mother in my life, but that was not to be.

In my early 50s, I finally was strong enough to confront the abuse I suffered from my childhood. At that time, my relationship with my mom ended. My mother took absolutely no ownership of the trauma she inflicted on me during my childhood. Although I still yearn for a loving and supportive mother, I have finally come to terms with the fact that it was never meant to be for me in this lifetime.

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Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Morrene Hauser

Morrene Hauser currently lives in Central Ohio. For a little over 30 years she ran and operated her own business as a court reporter. Upon retirement Morrene started writing about the many wonderful animals she had while growing up and the powerful impact they have had on her life.  Morrene also writes about mental health.

My clients range in age from approximately 20 to 90, and they consist of parents, grandparents, sons, and daughters who are all trying to navigate estrangement.  Several clients have peaceful relationships with their adult sons and daughters, but they work with me to improve those bonds.  Although my observations are aimed at supporting estranged parents, they can apply to any difficult relationship

Clinical Observation #3: Estranged parents seek to create their adult child’s why, but the only why parents can answer on their own is: Why Did I Parent This Way?           

Estrangement leaves family members trapped in darkness with the feeling that walls are falling down all around them.  When experiencing the physical and emotional devastation, estranged family members often ask themselves the question: How Did This Happen To Me?  But perhaps the most crushing question of all is:  Why did my adult son/daughter do this to me?  So, for weeks, months, and oftentimes years, estranged parents are in desperate search for “the why?” since adult children often do not share their reasons for the cutoff from parents.  In the absence of information, parents are left to speculate in the form of relentless rumination.  However, in the words of estrangement expert and author of Navigating Family Estrangement, Karl Melvin: “It’s not your why to answer” (Karl).   That one statement halted my endeavor to formulate my son’s why and transformed my thinking.  It became clear to me that my attempt to answer this question without his input was futile.  However, the futility piqued my curiosity, which led to the evolution of the other why.

In my practice, I have learned that there is another critical why: Why did I parent my children in the ways in which I did?  This is a why that estranged parents are able to answer with the appropriate tool.  The Estrangement Algorithm℠ (EA) is a personalized approach I developed to help estranged family members understand the complex relational and nonrelational factors from pre-birth through the present that might have led to their estrangements. The EA℠ can assist with finding the answers to the other why (A modified version of the EA℠ template is attached).

An Estrangement Algorithm℠ might include an array of circumstances or factors and can incorporate the work of other researchers.  For example, the first Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACE) Study was conducted by the Centers for Disease Control and Kaiser Permanente in the mid-1990s.  The original study focused on how traumatic childhood events may negatively impact adult health and inform adult behaviors ultimately impacting how one will parent.  The ACE questionnaire asked participants historical questions about their experiences with childhood maltreatment and family dysfunction in addition to questions about their current health status. The ACE study found a connection between childhood trauma and adult onset of chronic disease, social issues, and employment challenges.  This is why I often refer to the EA℠ as a trauma journey that connects the past to the present estrangement.

The EA℠ also relates to the work of Alex Howard, psychotherapist and author of the book It’s Not Your Fault. The premise of the book is that, as children, we encounter a number of events that can be characterized as trauma (Howard).  According to Howard, “overt traumas being those more obvious things like adverse childhood experiences where we may have had a parent that was physically or sexually abusive, or we may have grown up with a parent that was incarcerated.”  On the other hand, covert traumas are much more subtle, according to Howard. For example, it may be that as parents, we value intellect, achievements, and accomplishments over emotion, sensitivity, and openness. I will add that it appears that an intergenerational lag and dissonance exist between conjoined generations.  In other words, baby boomers were raised based on the former list of societal values, but the millennials they gave birth to were born into a society that fostered the latter set of values.  Perhaps intergeneration lag and dissonance will be the focus of a future article in my series.

Regardless of the specific trauma lens one selects, the Estrangement Algorithm℠ can provide answers to the “other why:” Why did I parent in the way I did?  The EA℠ can include a host of factors, including intergenerational trauma, family history of estrangement, family dysfunction, childhood fantasies, adoption, maladaptive behaviors, mental health issues, or any other events and experiences that keep estranged parents in self-destructive bondage.  Once my clients have identified these factors, and there might be many, perhaps the process of healing can begin.

The use of the EA℠ in my practice has been quite therapeutic.  The EA℠ gives parents answers and insight about themselves when the estranged adult sons and daughters choose to keep their absence from the parents uncommunicated.  The EA℠ is a path for estranged parents to reconnect with themselves and repair an internal bond that was damaged, perhaps as far back as childhood.  In the words of Alex Howard, “Our pain is the gateway to our healing” (Howard), and the Estrangement Algorithm is the gateway through our pain.

ESTRANGEMENT ALGORITHM℠

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Works Cited

“Adverse Childhood Experiences | National Human Trafficking Training and Technical Assistance       Center.” Nhttac.acf.hhs.gov,   nhttac.acf.hhs.gov/soar/eguide/stop/adverse_childhood_experiences#:~:text=The%20fo     undational%20ACE%20Study%20was.

Howard, Alex. It’s Not Your Fault. Hay House, Inc, 12 Sept. 2023.

Karl Melvin, Speaker.  Estrangement and Letter Writing.  Parents Estranged from Their Adult   Sons/Daughters Support Group.  Greater New Haven, CT.  May 22, 2021

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Lynn 18

Lynn is an estrangement clinician, an experienced college professor, and a state-certified school
administrator with a wealth of complementary experience in all three sectors. As CEO of Time
2 Thrive, LLC, Lynn founded the minority-owned small business to address the emotional and
psychological needs of adults, especially in the area of family estrangement. Lynn describes
herself as a coach who offers warmth, encouragement, and honesty with trust as the relational
foundation. She begins with a strength-based approach that highlights the assets one already
possesses and demonstrates.