I have saved old texts between me and my mom to remind me of how our arguments go. She gets really upset and “flames” me. She claims to just be sharing her feelings, but she doesn’t realize that “sharing your feelings” does not include things like calling me a “selfish brat.”

When I think about reconciling with my mom, it’s after a period of time with no contact with her flaming part. I feel more loving and less mad; it’s almost like I forget what happened. To make sure I am remembering correctly, I review our old text thread. Whoosh—it all comes back to me. Suddenly, I don’t want to reconcile anymore.

I think if I want to give her a second chance, I need to delete the texts. But then, I won’t have any record and we might just go to that dark place again. What do you recommend?

— Loving, Hurt, Missing, and VERY Cautious

Dear Loving, Hurt, and Cautious,

Before texting, people saved letters from loved ones—for good and for ill. While sending a text provides what feels like immediate relief for powerful feelings, that relief is often fleeting. Sending a heated message doesn’t actually offload the weight of the emotion in a meaningful way. Once the screen goes dark, the feelings linger, the conflict remains, and the wound is now inflamed on both sides.

When you re-read those old texts, you aren’t just remembering them; you are re-inflaming yourself. You are reviving the heat of the anger at a time when you need clarity most.

We Used to Write Letters

When I think about letters that were saved, those letters were at least written by hand—a slower process. They were possibly edited and required a stamp, an envelope, and a walk to the mailbox. All of these steps take time and give space for the writer to think about the impact of their words. Today, we have “Draft” folders where we can place our “hot” emails, but when you are fired up and have access to texting, you have a flamethrower at the ready, and the urge to use it is powerful.

The Science of Recalling

In last week’s column, I described what happens when memory is retrieved. Memory is a reconstruction; we don’t “play back” a tape. Instead, we rebuild the event from fragments of memory every time we recall it.

The amygdala (the brain’s fire alarm) acts like a highlighter. If an event causes stress or fear, the brain “burns” it in more deeply. When you look at those texts, your amygdala doesn’t know the argument happened six months ago; it reacts as if the “selfish brat” comment is happening right now. This sends a surge of cortisol through your system, causing emotional dysregulation. It is nearly impossible to be “vulnerable enough” for reconciliation when your brain is screaming at you to put your armor on or run the other direction.

The Fear of Forgetting

What is it you are afraid you will forget? Are you afraid that the return of your loving feelings will erase the reality of the hurt?

In many families, children learn to suppress their anger to maintain closeness. Tactics like the “silent treatment” are often used by a parent to coerce a child into changing their behavior or offering an apology. When you are a child receiving that silence, you usually feel angry at first—but soon, the weight of the loneliness takes over. You just want to be close to your parent again.

To bridge that gap, many children learn to turn their anger inward as shame, eventually convincing themselves to let go of their outrage just to be back in their parent’s graces. If you grew up this way, or something similar occurred, those saved texts represent a tether to your own truth. They offer a guard against the old habit of succumbing to loneliness, feeling shame, and giving up the legitimacy of your anger.

Please hear me: I am not recommending amnesia. I am recommending that you find a way to honor your history without forcing your nervous system to live in the emotional wreckage of it.

Letting the Charge Disperse

In the drawing, there is an image of a dandelion seed head (sometimes called a “dandelion clock”). The individual seeds blow away in the wind; they are not scattered nearby to grow more weeds. This is the goal: letting the emotional charge scatter.

We want to find a way to store the memory that is respectful of the hurt, but is no longer a hot fire. This allows you to recall the pain when necessary for your safety, but also see a path toward building new understanding.

My Recommendations for Moving Forward

• Move the Record: You don’t have to hit “delete” today. Summarize the texts in a journal or move the thread to a password-protected file on your computer. Get the flamethrower out of your pocket.

• Befriend Your Anger: Value your anger’s importance; it has been your protector for a long time. Ask it to sit in the passenger seat during your next conversation. Let it serve as a memory bank you can consult rather than the driver of the dialogue. You want to be able to access the "data" of your anger without being hijacked by the "heat" of the emotion.

• Snapshot vs. Pattern: Consider if those texts were a snapshot of a particularly uncontained moment, rather than the whole truth of the relationship.

• Vulnerability with Boundaries: Give your hurt feelings space to be heard, but ensure you remain emotionally protected enough to stay grounded.

• Alert your support network: Tell them that you want and need their support—both to avoid reviewing the texts unnecessarily and to help you plan a healthy meeting.

Respect for yourself, your feelings, and your loved one are the keys to a possible reconciliation. By clearing the “digital inflammation,” you are giving yourself the space needed to see if a healthier reconnection is possible.

_________________________________

Dear Loving, Hurt, and Cautious,

You are navigating challenging terrain in your relationship with your mother, and it takes real courage to do so. I hope she receives your offer to talk with a spirit of openness and a willingness to truly hear you.

The truth is, as humans, we aren’t always as skilled as we need to be to get along well with each other—especially when the going is rough. By choosing to approach this conversation with a regulated heart rather than a re-inflamed one, you are taking a significant and hopefully very useful risk.

Best wishes, and please let me know how it goes!

Kathy

Please contact me at ksinsheimermft@gmail.com or in the Comments section.

This is column #34

I am having a hard time swallowing the advice given by estrangement professionals that I am supposed to respond to my estranged child’s accusations with an open mind, taking in their viewpoint and not defending myself. To understand them better, and to create an opening to reconnect—I get it. But then I find myself resisting. Strongly!!

Why should I have to give up what I know to be true in order to have contact with my child? And why does it feel like I am disappearing when I try? Why is it so hard to bear feeling misunderstood? Am I afraid the “me” who I know is going to be erased? That the me I hope people will know and remember will be eradicated by my acceptance of my child’s view of this deeply-flawed human me?

— Confused, Angry, and Frightened

A note to the reader: In this column, I will be writing about estrangement dynamics between parent and adult child, but these dynamics also apply to siblings, family members, and friends who are estranged.

Dear Confused,

It is deeply painful to hear how you are being perceived by your adult child. You tried to be the parent you hoped to be, and these accusations feel like an indictment of failure. This view of yourself is uncomfortable—even galling. You don’t want to “swallow” your child’s view, but you also don’t want to be cut off.

Tolerating the weight of your child’s view of you is frequently distasteful and can feel unbearable. I am glad you wrote, because understanding the “why” behind these dueling realities can sometimes make the “how” of responding a little easier.

Individual Perceptions: Why We Remember Differently

To understand why your child’s accusations seem unrecognizable, we have to look at the relative positions you held when these memories were made. Your point of view was as an adult—with fully developed capacities, albeit often exhausted. Your child was recording that same history through the lens of total dependency and a developing brain.

When you are small, your parents are giants. A shadow cast by a giant feels much larger than a shadow cast by a peer. Your child’s earliest memories are often shaped by that original power imbalance.

Furthermore, a four-year-old records experiences with a four-year-old’s mental development. At that age, the prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain that provides logic, nuance, and context—is still under construction. Their memories capture the raw intensity of an emotion or experience without the adult ability to understand why a parent might be frustrated, grieving, or simply tired.

How the Brain “Writes” History

Neuroscience tells us that memory isn’t a vault; it’s a construction site. As neuroscientist Dr. Lisa Genova explains:

“Your memory is not a video camera, recording an objective account of your life. Your brain is a storyteller, and it will edit, omit, and even fabricate details to make the story of your life make sense to you today.”

There are four primary reasons your “maps” of the past don’t match:

• Memory is a Reconstruction: We don’t “play back” a tape; we rebuild the event from fragments every time we recall it. If your child is currently in pain, their brain will naturally reach for the fragments that match that hurt.

• The Emotional Highlighter: The amygdala (the brain’s fire alarm) acts like a highlighter. If an event causes stress or fear, the brain “burns” it in more deeply. For you, a moment of frustration was a “Rough Water” blip. For a dependent child, it may have been a Tidal Wave of fear.

• The Trauma Lock: If your child’s experience included trauma, the brain’s recording process can change. Traumatic memories often remain flash-frozen, isolated from the logic of our adult perspectives. To your child, that moment isn’t the distant past; it is a persistent present.

• The Narrative Filter: We all have a Self-Schema—a mental blueprint of who we are. If you see yourself as a Good Provider, you will remember the overtime hours. If your child sees you as Unavailable, they will remember the missed dinners. We prioritize what fits our blueprint and edit what doesn’t.

The Mirror of Failure

In my drawing for this week, the heart on the left looks into a mirror and sees a battered, crumbling version of itself. This is the Identity Distortion of estrangement: the very uncomfortable feeling that comes from having one’s reality contradicted or denied. When this happens, we feel pummeled, torn, defeated, and partially destroyed. Who are we if we are not our memories and the sum of our intentions? It is profoundly disappointing to feel as though you have failed so colossally.

Take, for example, a mother who struggled with her own parent’s restrictive eating habits. She spent her life trying desperately to protect her children from that same fate. Yet, her children now remember her as being restrictive and controlling, especially with food. To her, their memories feel like an erasure of one of her key parenting missions. She is devastated because she is being asked to trade her good intentions, and what she believes she did, for the painful impact her children experienced.

Accepting Your Child’s View Without Losing Yourself

Reconciliation often asks you to allow the “Good Parent” and the “Flawed Parent” to exist in the same context, without one erasing the other. What is the psychological weight training to prepare you for this herculean task? Here is how you might begin to tolerate your child’s view while keeping your self-respect:

1. Validate Your Own Reality First: Before speaking with your child, repeat your version of reality to yourself. Acknowledge the “North Star” that guided your journey. That effort is real and worth valuing.

2. Respect the Developmental Gap: Accepting their viewpoint doesn’t mean your memory is “wrong”; it means their experience was different. Accepting their viewpoint is respectful and supportive of what they need to communicate.

3. Grieve the Ideals of Your Parenting Goals: It is deeply painful to accept your own failure to achieve the parenting you dreamed of. Grieving the loss of that hoped-for outcome is key to moving forward.

4. Find Your Safe “Mirror”: Lean on your support network. Talking with others who share your challenges helps you see yourself and grow without feeling like you are disappearing.

5. Practice Compassion for Both of You: Compassion—for your child’s pain and for your own losses and limitations—is the bridge that allows you to feel seen, even when your child cannot see you yet.

So, Dear Confused,

You are feeling spun around by the version of you being reflected back. Know that you are not alone, and your efforts are worth valuing. By writing to me, I can see you are reaching for further growth.

Best wishes as you hold the truth of your own story alongside this new opportunity for connection with your child.

Best,

Kathy

Please connect with me via ksinsheimermft@gmail.com or through the Comments section.

This is column # 33

Dear Kathy,

I have started to wonder if my parenting, based on parenting models of the time, has contributed to my adult child’s need to estrange me. I followed the parenting advice of Penelope Leach, who thought that my child experiencing stress was not a learning opportunity—it was toxic, and T. Berry Brazelton, who recommended: parents should be experts who interpret and soothe the “disorganization” of their child.

I spent a significant percentage of my energy every day trying to keep my children from experiencing too much disappointment or stress or failure. Now I am exhausted and they want distance from me. How did my efforts go so sideways??

— Bewildered, wiped out and defeated

Dear Bewildered,

Following the parenting models of the time and trying to protect your children from stress is understandably exhausting! As I work with families experiencing estrangement, I often see a confusing pattern: the child who resisted protection is still in contact, while the child who was more accepting—the one who seemed “closer”—is the one who is now estranged.

Unfortunately, protecting your child as the experts recommended may have led to a dependency on that very protection. Once your children are out in the world and relying on themselves, they come face-to-face with their deficits in emotional intelligence, “street smarts,” and self-care. In today’s culture, that child now feels the need to step away from you—to be on their own, or with the support of chosen others.

This becomes their skills lab for growth. Being connected to you might feel too regressive, since it doesn’t foster the resilience they desperately need to develop.

The Parenting Books of Your Time

Parenting advice is almost always a reaction to the generation that came before. For example, parents in the ‘50s read Dr. Spock, relieved that his advice was more flexible and more concerned with the child’s emotional well-being than the behavior-focused parenting they had experienced. By the time the 90s arrived, the number of parenting books on the market had exploded, increasing five-fold compared to just twenty years earlier. Nuclear families had become more isolated from relatives and community, and were turning toward “The Expert.”

The ‘90s Mandate of Constant Attunement

By the ‘90s, the pendulum swung into a high-stakes emotional engagement. We turned to experts who advised a model of “Constant Attunement”—a level of emotional engagement that was both revolutionary and exhausting:

• Dr. Penelope Leach recommended reducing our child’s stress at all costs, famously suggesting that stress was “toxic” to their developing brain.

• Dr. William Sears introduced “Attachment Parenting,” promoting “maximal responsiveness” as the only reliable path to a child’s lifelong security.

• Dr. T. Berry Brazelton taught that parents should be the experts on their own children, tasked with interpreting and soothing the “disorganization” that comes with every developmental phase.

We can respect the intent of these experts while acknowledging the impossible emotional workload their models placed on us. Without family and community to share the load, their call for constant attunement turned into an unintended parenting over-correction —seeking a “soft landing” that inadvertently left both parent and child unprepared.

As we strived to be the “everything” parent, we unwittingly made it difficult for our children to develop their own strengths.

The Resiliency Deficit

Protecting our children from the stress of addressing their own emotional challenges slowed the growth of their own resilience. We fell into what social psychologist Dr. Jonathan Haidt calls “Safetyism”—the currently held belief that to keep children safe, they should be protected from risk.

Haidt argues that human beings actually need risk to develop resilience. Just as our immune systems require exposure to germs to become strong, our psyches require exposure to “stressors” like disappointment, social friction, and minor failure to build resilience.

Resiliency expert Dr. Kathryn Hecht points out, “bravery only rewires the brain when fear is present.” To raise a child who can “handle hard things,” they actually have to handle them. Because we may have over-protected them in their youth, our children didn’t practice developing what Dr. Hecht calls “coping efficacy.” As adults, they are facing a world they feel ill-equipped to handle. Their current need for distance is an attempt to finally find, on their own, the struggle we were advised to protect them from.

The Heavy Work of Separation

When an adult child chooses distance, it can be a powerful, belated attempt at growth. The adult children I talk to often feel a desperation that sounds like this:

“Adulting is hard enough right now, and I don’t feel ready for it. Every time my parent tries to tell me what to do, it just confirms that I can’t do this myself. My parent worrying doesn’t feel like love; it feels like an extra weight I have to carry while I’m trying to navigate my life.”

Modern voices like Vienna Pharaon, MFT, remind us that boundaries are often the only way we find out who we are when we’re no longer being who everyone else needs us to be.

This isn’t a new phenomenon; it is a foundation of human development. Decades ago, psychologist Erik Erikson identified the core task of becoming an adult as the developmental stage of Identity vs. Role Confusion. Erikson observed that without a clear sense of identity—a sense of “I” that is separate from “We”—we have no true sense of self. Because your child’s youth was so supported and “safe,” they may not have adequately developed these capacities while in contact with you.

Grieving the Disappointment in Our Experts

There is a specific kind of moral injury—the feeling of being betrayed by those we trusted—in realizing that you followed the “experts” and it didn’t result in the relationship you were promised.

You are currently in the “Rough Waters” of Oceanic Loss. You aren’t just grieving your child; you are grieving the years spent protecting them, only to find that the protection prevented the necessary trial and error required to grow. You would be justified in feeling misled by the experts, but I hope you can be forgiving of yourself. You couldn’t have known that this “devotion” would leave your child needing to learn resilience only after they left home—and perhaps having to leave you behind on that path to accomplish that growth.

Grieving this failure is an important step in your work as an estranged parent. It is part of the ongoing cycle of our own adult development. Failure and resilience, for us, remain the primary ways both we and our children learn from experience.

So, Dear Bewildered,

Unfortunately, I haven’t brought you “good” news about your very hard work parenting. But I hope I have brought you more understanding of the challenges you and your children are facing. You were close and protective. You were told this is what you should do, and it felt right—even good—at the time. You were more loving and protective than your parents had been, likely a promise you made to yourself long ago.

You didn’t know you were limiting your child’s capacity for self-care; you hoped you were bringing them up to feel safe, secure, and successful. Parents and children of all generations face the strengths and weaknesses of the models their parents employed. You hoped to be an exception, but because of the complexity of the parent-child relationship and the never-ending changes in society, your children face challenges you hoped they could avoid. Grief and anger are appropriate as you address the challenge of finding strength and clarity for our current times.

Best,

Kathy

Please contact me at Ksinsheimermft@gmail.com or through the Comments section. This is column # 32.

Our daughter has gradually withdrawn from us. We only hear from her when she needs help with her children. Last year, she let us know she needed to limit contact. We wrote Amends letters, which led to her revealing she has a psychiatric diagnosis of PTSD with “triggers” that require her to take space from us. She has let me know that I am one of those triggers. Since then, I let her control the situation whenever we are in contact.

I’ve started to wonder if I’ll even want to reconnect if she ever lowers her boundaries. I am so hurt and sad, especially since I never did anything to intentionally harm her. In truth, we were very supportive parents! What is your advice?

— Confused, Hurt, and Looking for a Compass

Note on Safety: I want to acknowledge that in some families, children are mistreated and require protection. In those cases, distance is a vital tool for safety. The following advice assumes that abuse has not occurred and focuses on the complex emotional dynamics that can still lead to deep family pain.

———————————————

Dear Hurt and Seeking Direction,

It is upsetting and confusing when a relationship you remember as loving and connected is suddenly redefined through sharp words like trauma, triggers, and taking space. When you’ve spent a lifetime trying to be a devoted parent, being told you are now a source of distress feels less like a dialogue and more like a barricade.

The Gap Between Intent and Impact

You are very clear that you never intended to hurt your child. But in family dynamics, intent and impact can differ dramatically.

Consider a parent who insists a child stay on the baseball team to teach “stick-to-itiveness.” The parent’s intent is to build character and resilience—acts of support and love. But the impact on the child is a feeling of being trapped and unheard. Imagine that, in addition to the discomfort of the game, that child was also being bullied at practice but felt they couldn’t tell you. In this scenario, your “support” unintentionally became an enforcement of their suffering.

You weren’t a “bad” parent; you simply didn’t have a full understanding of their internal world at the time. You were standing on the sidelines cheering, while they were struggling with an internal experience you couldn’t see.

The “Two Things are True” Tool

Dr. Becky Kennedy often speaks about the concept of Multiplicity. It is the powerful idea that two seemingly opposite things can be true at the same time. In your case:

• It is true that you were a deeply supportive parent.

• It is true that your daughter experienced parts of her upbringing as painful or “triggering.”

One truth does not wash away the other. Accepting her reality doesn’t mean you are admitting you did something “wrong”; it means you are acknowledging that you were sometimes experiencing her growing-up years in very different ways.

The Diagnosis as a Survival Map

When your child made an appointment with a psychiatrist, she was in distress. Just as we visit a physician for physical symptoms we can’t treat ourselves, she sought a professional to help her find a path toward feeling better. Based on that consultation, she has reached a conclusion: to manage her triggers, she currently needs to avoid contact with you. While this feels like a deeply unfair verdict on your parenting, it is her current strategy for survival.

When a child shares a psychiatric diagnosis, it can feel like a final judgment on your life’s work. However, if we look for the Most Generous Interpretation (MGI), we see something different. The MGI is that your daughter isn’t trying to punish you; she is trying to survive her own symptoms. Her diagnosis provides a framework for her internal emotional experience—a way to name a struggle she has likely carried in silence for years. Interestingly, your Amends letters may have actually provided just enough safety for her to finally name that pain out loud to you. She isn’t attacking you; she is trying to stay afloat, understand herself, and heal.

Understanding the “Trigger”: Your Child’s Internal Experience

While we don’t have the specific details of your daughter’s history, we do know the nature of a PTSD diagnosis. For someone in her position, the world often feels like a series of loud, unpredictable alarms. When she speaks of being “triggered,” she is describing a moment where her nervous system has been hijacked by a memory of past pain.

These feelings are powerful, overwhelming, and often last long after the interaction has ended. In those moments, she likely feels out of control. Her decision to limit contact isn’t necessarily a commentary on your current behavior; it is a desperate move toward self-regulation. She is trying to turn down the volume on a world that feels too loud to handle.

As she works through her treatment, her strategies for staying safe may change. Right now, her boundaries feel extreme and painful to you. However, it may help to assume she is doing the very best she can to manage a profound amount of internal suffering. Seeing her withdrawal as a health strategy rather than a personal rejection may be the first step in finding a way forward for both of you.

Finding Your Way Forward

After you have taken the space you need to breathe, here are some things to consider:

• Compassion for Yourself and Your Child: You have been identified as a cause of the hurt you spent your parenting life trying to prevent. That is a profound grief. Ask friends and family to remind you of the loving parenting you did. It is okay to hold onto your memories of being a good parent even while she navigates her healing. Know that your child is hurting, and understand that she is doing her best to take care of herself and her family.

• The Bridge of Grandchildren: Your daughter’s willingness to trust you with her children is a “silent” vote of confidence. It suggests that she still views you as a safe harbor for the next generation. If you can bear it, continue to show up for them. Their love, and you showing them love, can help you feel valued during this period of distance.

• Validating Your Fatigue: You asked if you will even want to reconnect. This is an understandable question. Being seen as “the trigger” is exhausting. It is okay to protect your own heart and take some space to gather yourself. If you can find some psychic rest, your feelings may rebound, and you may find you can join your daughter in her journey later on.

• Narrative Humility: Seeing yourself through your child’s eyes is painful, but it offers a rare chance for repair. If she eventually explains her triggers, try to listen without needing to correct her. The growth opportunity here is to see her perceptions not as “the truth,” but as her truth. As part of this process, you may also come to understand yourself in new ways as you grow alongside your child.

So, Dear Hurt,

This is a painful juncture, and you do have choices. If you are able to learn more about your daughter’s situation, it may present a growth opportunity—if that is what you choose. You may also choose to step away. You are definitely in Rough Waters with this decision. The choice isn’t an easy one, but it is yours. While you weigh these options, be sure to employ effective self-care strategies and consult trusted others for their perspective.

Kathy

Please reach out to me: Ksinsheimermft@gmail.com or in the Comments section.

This is column # 31

My husband and I agreed to try to reconnect with our adult daughter. We both wrote Amends letters and sent them to her. She responded by saying she is willing to meet with just my husband, not me. She said her relationship with me is too “toxic,” so she just wants to sort things out with her dad.

I am so confused by this and really hurt. She and I were close before the estrangement, and now she is acting like that wasn’t the case. Plus, I was her primary parent. She seems to be preferring my husband now, which I find incredibly painful. On top of that, he seems excited by the possibility of reconnecting with her and isn’t very able to take my feelings into account.

I know I should be glad she wants to be in touch with us at all, but instead, I feel spun up, hurt, and worried. What if they form a pair and never include me? How will I handle my anger, sorrow, and humiliation?

— Angry and Upset

Dear Upset,

Your situation is both very painful and not uncommon. In my work with estranged families, it is frequent for a child to state a preference for reunifying with only one parent. Given your dedication earlier in her life and the closeness you shared, this adds a sharp, personal sting. It feels like a rewrite of your history together.

Reconnecting with Only One Parent?

I generally recommend trying to reconnect with one parent if that is what is offered. It can help your family feel more connected and ensure that you can provide care for your adult child if help is needed. However, it isn’t easy going because the imbalance is tough. Parents can feel pulled in different directions, and jealousy can erupt in the couple.

The Adult Child’s Perspective: Finding a “Safer Haven”

When an adult child reaches out to only one parent, it is often an act of profound vulnerability. Through their lens—and based on their unique memory of their history with both of you—one parent may simply feel more comfortable or less emotionally “charged” at this moment.

If you were the “primary” parent or the one with the more intense emotional bond, the stakes of reuniting with you might feel too high for them right now. Reaching out to the other parent is your child’s way of testing the waters. It isn’t a judgment of your worth; it is their finding the safest shore to land on as they navigate the Rough Waters of their own discomfort.

What Does “Toxic” Mean?

In estrangement, the word “toxic” can mean “too difficult” or “too painful.” You may hear it as a condemnation, but instead, think of it as a way to say it’s been too hard to connect with you. It signals that, currently, your child doesn’t feel they can be comfortable in your presence.

Your adult child may feel they have explained difficulties to you and that their perspective was either not understood or rejected. While this feels like a door slamming, try to view it as a piece of data about where the work needs to happen when things eventually move toward Calmer Seas.

For Your Couple: Navigating the Rough Waters Together

It will take deep work on your part to support your husband and daughter trying to reconnect. You will likely cycle through each stage of grief in my Oceanic Loss model more than once. The initial news probably put you back into a Tidal Wave; now, you are in Rough Waters.

In the world of estrangement, things can feel “topsy-turvy.” Know you are not alone in feeling you have fallen down the rabbit hole. Your child may only be able to start with one parent at a time, choosing the less intense relationship as a starting place, not an ending place.

Here are some ways you and your husband can make a plan to support each other:

• The Connected Parent’s Role: Talk together about parameters for your husband’s conversation. He doesn’t need to “champion” you or defend against her—that might cause her to retreat. Instead, he can be a neutral “bridge.” If she complains, he can listen without participating in the “splitting.” He can say, “I hear that’s how you’re feeling”, while staying connected to you as his partner.

• The Importance of Transparency: Agree that there will be no secrets. "Secret" lunches or texts create distrust in an already precarious and painful time for you as a couple. Knowing what is happening—not just the facts, but how it felt—prevents the fear that they are “forming a pair” to exclude you.

• Protect Your Partner Bond: Plan a “debrief” time for just the two of you after your partner meets with your child. This is to reassure both of you of your importance and value to each other as partners and to reconnect emotionally.

• Alert and Use Your Support System (Put on your Life Jacket!): Humiliation thrives in silence. Use support groups, individual therapy, and trusted friends. When we feel humiliated, it’s hard to feel deserving of compassion and self care, but this is exactly when you need it most. Tell a friend to drag you to yoga or on a morning walk—things you know you like to do but may not feel motivated to do during this time.

  _____________________

So, Dear Upset,

Know that you are valued, loved, and cared for, even when you are not being included by your child. Continue with your routines and self-care practices that help you feel good about yourself and your life.

This is a difficult phase of estrangement, and hopefully a stop along the way, not a permanent destination. Make sure when others offer you love and support, you do your best to receive it.

Best wishes for navigating your challenges in this phase of your journey through Oceanic Loss,

Kathy

Please email me Ksinsheimermft@gmail.com or connect through the Comments section

This is column # 30.

Dear Kathy,

My daughter and I are at a standoff. She insists on a version of our family history that is simply not correct. She didn’t feel supported by me, and now she is taking space. To me, facts are facts—but she treats reality like it’s something she can bend to fit her feelings. When she speaks her “truth,” I don’t just disagree—I bristle. Inside, I feel frantic, like I am literally coming apart. I know I need to find a better way to handle this, but when I try to accept her version, I feel like I’m falling. I’ve always relied on my perception of reality to feel safe and confident. If I can’t trust my own eyes, who am I? How do I reconnect with her without feeling like I’m falling apart?

— Upset, Confused, and Off-Balance

Dear Off-Balance,

You are describing a sensation of psychological vertigo. Your daughter’s insistence on having her own reality versus yours deeply troubles you. When you grew up, there wasn’t such a thing as “differing realities.” There has been a generational shift toward allowing for differences in perception—more space to recognize that each person experiences the same event in a different way. You aren’t practiced at this, and trying to do it makes you feel uncomfortable—unstable even.

Something happened between you where your daughter didn’t feel supported, and you hate having to think about her seeing you in that way. You want to argue for your “truth,” but that is getting you nowhere.

Why It “Hurts Your Head”

You mentioned feeling like you are “coming apart.” This isn’t just a metaphor; it is a neurological event. Human beings use certainty as a biological survival mechanism—we need the floor to be solid to walk. When your core perception of the world is challenged, your brain’s anterior cingulate cortex—the part that processes physical pain—actually fires.

When you hear her “truth,” your brain registers it as a physical threat to your safety. You have used your “Correct” memory as a compass to navigate the world. To accept your daughter’s version feels like demagnetizing that compass.

“As the teacher Pema Chödrön suggests, that feeling of ‘falling’ happens when the rigid ground of our certainty begins to crumble.”

Losing your balance is frightening! Furthermore, you likely don’t like how you are depicted in this different version of reality. You might look selfish, thoughtless, or unkind. It isn’t a fair version of you, and your instinct is to fight it. Your daughter’s refusal to accept your version is destabilizing because it threatens your image of yourself as a “good parent.”

The Intergenerational Ghost: Difference Can Feel Dangerous

Why does a difference in memory feel like a life-or-death emergency? For many, “The Truth” is the only thing keeping the world from dissolving into chaos. You may have grown up in a home where “The Truth” was the only safe harbor—where seeing things differently carried a heavy price of exile, shame, or conflict. In that environment, “lying” (which often meant simply seeing things differently) wasn’t just a mistake; it was a moral catastrophe. You could feel condemned or worried you would lose love if you didn’t conform to the one truth in your family system.

Perhaps, beneath a confident exterior, your sense of self is more fragile than at first glance. When you cling to your version of history, you are clinging to the only scaffolding you have to stay “held together.” To accept her differing reality feels like a structural failure that will cause your entire identity to buckle. You aren’t fighting your daughter; you are fighting your own internal collapse.

From “The (Only) One” to “The Two”

As the psychoanalyst Dr. Jessica Benjamin points out, moving from “I am right” (The (Only) One) to “We both exist” (The Two) is inherently unstable. What does Benjamin mean by “We both exist”? It means that although our perceptions are different, we can both be correct, at least to ourselves.

We are both here. We don’t agree, but we can stand next to each other, respecting how we each see things. If you acknowledge and recognize your daughter’s reality, you are acknowledging her view, her value, and her importance in your world. This is not the same as agreeing—it may be agreeing to disagree. But you don’t have to “murder” her reality in order for you to exist. You can both exist, and no murdering is necessary. You can be adjacent, differing, loving, and connected. This transition feels like a loss of power, but it is actually the birth of a real relationship.

Re-finding Your Balance

When that frantic, fragmenting feeling starts to rise, try these four shifts to stay in the room:

• Describe the Fear to Yourself: Say to yourself: “My system is feeling threatened because my ground is moving.” Acknowledging the biological reaction helps move you out of a panicked “survival mode” and back into your thinking brain. Allow yourself to feel both the act of accepting her reality and the fear that comes with it.

• Two Climates, One Horizon: Accepting these different perceptions can feel like you are in separate realities. In the drawing for this column, the realities are adjacent. Notice that both hearts are bandaged; they are both hurting and carrying the weight of this divide. The heart depicting your distress is on crumblier ground, but if you can accept these separate realities, you can look up to see you are looking at the same horizon—you have more in common than you realize.

• Focus on Impact, Not Facts: When your daughter shares her perception, don’t look at your “records” to compare experiences. Look at her face to see that she’s in pain. Listen to her words—that she has been wanting you to take in her reality. If you can focus on her experience rather than YOUR evidence, you will find you don’t fragment as much. You remain the “Good Enough” parent who can witness your child’s life.

• Continue your self-exploration: What makes your daughter’s version of reality so deeply painful? What happens that you need to defend your perception instead of trying to understand hers?

_____________________________________

So, Dear Off-Balance,

If you feel like you are falling apart, it may be because you’ve used your “Correctness” as your gyroscope for a very long time. You’ve used it to protect a part of you that feels surprisingly shaky. But here is the secret: You don’t have to be “Right” to be alive, to thrive, or even to be loved. You can accept your daughter’s reality without losing your own. Accepting and living this will profoundly help you feel more connected with her.

The goal isn’t to find out who is “lying”; it’s to find enough room in your heart for two different versions to live in the same family. When you stop fighting for the monopoly on truth, you might find that the ground isn’t actually crumbling—it’s expanding to hold you both.

Best wishes as you navigate this new, shared ground,

Kathy

Please contact me at Ksinsheimermft@gmail.com or in the Comments section.

This is column # 29

Dear Kathy,

When I see an estranged mother trying to set a boundary for her adult child, I think I know why she is doing it. The amount of grief, loss, and shame she is experiencing is overwhelming. Sometimes she doesn’t feel like she can get through her daily life. Do you have ideas for us to help us deal with the daily onslaught of grief many of us are experiencing? How do we cope, and even, possibly, how can we sometimes feel more alive than if we are grieving all of the time?

— Overwhelmed, Grieving, and Somewhat Hopeless.

Dear Grieving,

Thank you so much for your letter. I agree, the grief of estrangement can be overwhelming. Like any grief, you want it to wane a bit so that you aren’t always just trying to swim to the surface. So, how do you do that?

First of all, it makes perfect sense that you would grieve important relationships that you have lost—be it your child or even your grandchildren. Or, if you are an adult child, you may grieve the loss of contact with your parents. They are no longer in your life because the relationship is too difficult, yet you miss them nonetheless. This is a profoundly painful experience.

(Note: While I am writing today specifically from the perspective of the parent, these truths apply to anyone navigating the silence of a loved one. I have heard from many adult children that they miss their parent deeply, but find they cannot maintain contact without a level of understanding that hasn’t been reached yet.)

Grief: A Form Love Takes in Absence

I am wondering if you might be unknowingly using grief as a way of remaining attached to your adult child. If you hold them in your heart—remembering, loving, and missing them—does it feel like you are still fulfilling your role as a parent? Does it keep you connected through the loss?

We know that by grieving, we feel close to the person we miss. That grief is the expression of a love that has lost its “home.” Sometimes, when we feel we have made errors in parenting, we unwittingly use our regret to stay close to the child we miss. We might subconsciously believe that as long as we are suffering, the bond remains intact. But how much does this constant mourning actually help? Usually, it simply pulls you under with no positive result.

Grieving may also reflect a lack of understanding. It expresses how you feel lost, misunderstood, or abandoned. You tried to be a good parent, but you have been told you failed. You may grieve the lost opportunity to be seen and experienced as you hoped you would be.

The Illusion of Control

My recent columns have been about boundaries. We wish we could set them with an estranged child because we want to feel more in control of our experience. A boundary can change interactions, but it can also provide an illusion of control that isn’t truly there.

Estranged parents frequently feel powerless and hope to get back in the driver’s seat of their emotional lives by setting limits. If a boundary is meant to stanch the bleeding of grief, here is an approach that is actually within your control: Finding Meaning.

Finding Meaning in Your Grief

To summarize the work of David Kessler on the “sixth stage” of grief—meaning—we can look at our struggle through a different lens. Meaning is what we do with the love we still have for someone who is no longer in our daily lives. It is the bridge between the version of life we expected and the reality we are living now.

Meaning does not require a miracle; it is found in the way we choose to treat ourselves in the aftermath of the “miracle” that didn’t happen. When we take a walk, meditate, or prepare a healthy meal, we are saying: “My life and my well-being still have value, even in this pain.” That choice—the choice to care for the person we are right now—is where meaning lives.

This requires a small pivot away from the passive state of receiving the “waves” of grief toward an active position of creating meaning.

Recommendations for Finding Meaning

(Based on the work of David Kessler)

1. Meaning is a Deliberate Choice. Kessler emphasizes that meaning is not a grand, external event. It is a choice made when the hoped-for resolution is not occurring.

   • The Goal: Shift focus from the cause of the pain to the character of the life you are building. Ask: “What is possible for me now?”

2. Meaning as Transformed Love. Finding meaning is the act of giving your love a new direction.

   • The Goal: Acknowledge that the depth of your grief reflects the depth of your love. Use that energy to fuel acts of care. Ask: “I am hurting today; what is one loving thing I can do for myself or another person?”

3. The Power of Mundane Self-Care. Meaning resides in small, repetitive acts of self-preservation.

   • The Goal: View daily routines—walking, cooking, resting—as meaningful declarations of your own value. See these acts as the fuel required to carry the loss.

4. Witnessing and Being Witnessed. For grief to transform, it must be acknowledged rather than hidden.

   • The Goal: Move from isolated suffering to shared resilience. Find “sturdy” support systems where you can speak your truth without shame. Many parents experience a great deal of shame and haven’t let others know what is going on. Often, telling friends is a massive relief; you may find they already noticed your silence.

Building the Bridge: Your Meaning Framework

• The Outcome: Meaning allows you to move through the pain rather than living inside it.

• The Location: Meaning is found in the bridge between hope and reality.

• The Timing: Meaning is a choice made repeatedly, perhaps even daily.

So, Dear Grieving,

I know you wish with all your heart that things were different. Since they currently remain as they are, I suggest you take steps to make meaning under these circumstances. This isn’t “giving up.” It’s seizing the moment and building the strength required to navigate this emotional weather.

A way forward may be to make meaning of your loss, at least for now, and to pivot toward finding new paths that include more self-compassion—both in your deep grief and in the moments where your day might actually feel a little lighter.

Best,

Kathy

Please reach out to me via my email Ksinsheimermft@gmail.com or in the Comments section

This is column # 28

Dear Kathy,

You have been writing about boundaries. You advised an adult child to set clear boundaries with his father so they could have a relationship instead of being cut off.

I get it, but I also don’t. If an adult child can set boundaries, what about parents?

My adult daughter has been estranged for over a year. She is somewhere between no and low contact. I wish I could set a boundary with her that would put an end to her pushing us away like this. To get her back talking with me, so we could sort this out. But I don’t think I can. If I do anything that seems like I am trying to fill the role of a parent, she balks or takes space. So, there’s really no boundary I can set as the parent. Right?

—Frustrated, Longing, Confused and Seeking Answers

The Power Shift of the Cut-Off

This column explores the inherent imbalance in relationships where one individual (the Initiator) cuts off another (the Receiver). In any estrangement (adult child-parent, sibling, friend), the Initiator takes charge of whether and when there is contact, which is an assertion of power. Often, the Initiator feels they have been historically overpowered or unheard. Cutting contact is their way of reclaiming agency.

Once the cut-off is in place, the shoe is on the other foot. Communication is halted, leaving the Receiver standing on the outside of a locked door. When the Initiator makes this power move for their emotional survival, it leaves the Receiver feeling powerless.

Dear Seeking,

Thank you for sharing your confusion. When an adult child estranges, it is almost always an act to rebalance power. They are trying to take space to feel safe or better than they do when they are in an active relationship with you. Something in the parent-child dynamic makes them feel disempowered, so they use the only tool they feel they have left: distance.

I have had many adult children tell me they have explained to their parents exactly what is wrong, while those same parents tell me they have “no idea” why this is happening.

Often, a parent hears the words but doesn’t believe the child’s perspective is “true.” They might say, “That didn’t happen,” or “It wasn’t that bad.” When an adult child feels their reality is being erased, they stop talking. In that silence, you are not in a position to place a boundary within the relationship, because your child does not feel it is emotionally safe to engage with you.

Gayle and Oprah’s Blind Spot

We recently saw a lack of understanding of this dynamic play out on a national stage. Instagram erupted over a conversation between Gayle King and Oprah Winfrey. Gayle stated that if her children ever cut her off, she would simply refuse the boundary: “I would show up at their home.”

To a parent, this sounds like a mother fighting for her family. She would camp out on their doorstep until they let her in. But in the landscape of estrangement, this is a major boundary violation. It treats the child’s need for space as a hurdle to be jumped over rather than a wall to be respected.

Oprah’s response—that this could never happen because Gayle and her children grew up with mutual respect—misses the dynamic of modern estrangement entirely. As Rachel Haack noted in her Substack, “The Gayles of the World Get Cut Off Too.”

I can’t explain why Oprah did not seem to understand these dynamics given that she has recently focused two episodes of her podcast on this topic, but it is clear to me that she and Gayle were applying parenting structures from another time. Until recently, parents held parental authority and would be responded to if they asked their adult children to connect. For many reasons—too many for this specific column—adult children no longer feel they need to respond to parental authority in the ways parents felt they needed to respond in their own families. It is a surprise to parents that they don’t hold the authority that they expected to have, and, as asked in the letter for this column, they cannot successfully set a boundary.

Family Structures Have Changed

What Oprah tells Gayle—that she was a related, attentive parent and that should protect her relationships with her children—is what many thought prior to the current upsurge of estrangement. While the adult children I have spoken with are respectful, they no longer feel they must sustain relationships with their parents when the costs feel too high. My wish for Gayle is that her children want to be in relationship with her, but many parents who have parented as Gayle did are experiencing estrangement.

An Example: A Father-Daughter Standoff

I worked with an adult child who took space from her father when she felt betrayed by his priorities during a family crisis. Because she felt he wasn’t trying to understand her pain, she used absence as communication. Her father, used to being the authority, felt utterly powerless. He hated the boundary she set. But here is the hard truth: He could not “boundary” his way back into her life. He had to learn that his only path back was to respect the very boundary that was hurting him—to stop managing her reaction and start listening to her hurt.

Where Your Power Lives Now

So, Seeking, back to your question: Is there really no boundary I can set?

If we define a boundary as a way to control your daughter’s behavior, then the answer is no. But as Anne Katherine, author of Boundaries: Where You End and I Begin, famously wrote:

“A boundary is not a way to get someone else to change. It is a way for you to change your response to them.”

In the world of estrangement (and elsewhere), the only boundaries that work are the ones over which you have control. You are probably used to a certain amount of parental authority. In this circumstance, you must trade that authority for your own agency with yourself. The new boundaries and goals you can set are:

• The Boundary of Giving Space: Respect your daughter’s “No” more than you need to satisfy your own yearning. This is a boundary on your own actions—deciding not to pursue or “camp out” on her doorstep. This shows you are listening to her.

• The Boundary of Self-Reclamation: While you are a mother, you are also an individual. Attend to your own grief: “I will work toward not allowing my daughter’s absence to be the only thing that defines my worth.”

• The Goal of Growth: Instead of asking “How do I get her back?”, ask, “How can I learn to listen to a truth that differs from my own? How can I grow in ways that help me with my own feelings, as well as prepare me to repair with my child if/when I get the opportunity?”

So, Dear Seeking,

Being the one cut off by no-contact is deeply painful. Your power now lies in accepting the options that are under your own control. By finding your own inner work, you live a version of yourself that is grounded, respectful and separate. If you are able to be in touch with your daughter, these practices will serve you well.

I do realize that some parents cannot achieve reconciliation, and for that, I am truly sorry. But by respecting her “No,” you are finally giving your daughter the credence she’s been looking for—and that is the only foundation upon which a new chapter of your relationship can be built.

Wishing you growth and progress,

Kathy

Please contact me through the Comments section or email me at ksinsheimermft@gmail.com

This is column #27

It is one thing to understand the need for a healthy boundary; it is another to state and hold the boundary when the emotional pressure is on.

The Basic Principle of Healthy Boundaries

If your “boundary” requires the other person to fully understand it, agree with it, or like it... it’s not a boundary. It’s a request.

A boundary only requires ONE person to act: You. You are the one who ends the call, the one who changes the subject, and the one who walks out the door to protect the relationship from the “veering off” that leads to cutoff. You hope for the cooperation of the other person, but the boundary does not depend on it.

To help you move from theory to practice, I’ve put together a list of Healthy Boundary Suggestions. These are the specific suggested scripts and actions to help you maintain your connection without losing your ground.

The Goal: To stay in the relationship without losing yourself.

1. The Core Philosophy: “Two Things Are True”

Center yourself with this mantra:

“I can be a loving son/daughter/sibling/friend AND I can say ‘no’ to this request. The other person’s disappointment does not make me a bad person.”

2. The Scripts: What to Say and What to Do

The Endless Phone Call (Protecting your energy)

• The Script: “I have 15 minutes to talk today before I have to go. I’ll check in again on Tuesday!”

• The Action: You say good by, making it clear you have to go, and hang up when the 15 minutes are over. Don’t wait for the other to be able to end the call.

Topic Trespassing (Protecting the peace)

• The Script: “I’m not going to discuss [sibling/politics/money]. Let’s talk about the kids or your garden instead.”

• The Action: You stop responding or change the subject if the other person continues. Repeat your limit once, maximum, if you feel it might help. If the other person continues to talk about the restricted topic, you end the call.

Unrealistic Favors (Protecting your autonomy)

• The Script: “I know you’d like me to [fix the roof/give money/solve your problem for you], but I’m not able to do that. I can help you look up some local resources, though.”

• The Action: You do not provide the labor or the funds, regardless of the pressure.

The Guilt Trip

• The Script: “I can see you’re upset that I’m saying no. I’m going to step away so we don’t argue, but I love you.”

• The Action: You leave the room or the call immediately to prevent a blow-up between you.

3. The Boundary Maintenance Checklist

If your parent “pushes”, remember:

• Don’t Defend: You don’t need to explain why your “no” is a “no.” “Because I’m not able to” is a complete sentence.

• The Broken Record: You may wind up stating your boundary repeatedly (over time). See this as a reminder and reinforcer for both of you of the boundary.

• Exit Early: It is better to have a 5-minute pleasant call than a 20-minute call that ends in conflict.

4. Navigating the “Rough Waters”

Setting a boundary may trigger a return to Rough Waters in Oceanic Loss.

You may feel:

• Grief: For the parent/friend, etc. you wish could respect your limits on their own.

• Fear: That they will now cut you off or try to punish you because you said “no.”

• Guilt: For taking the authority role from a parent by setting limits when the typical role is that a parent sets limits for a child. In the post yesterday, I referred to this as “Upside Down”.

The Strategy: When these feelings hit, call in your “Support Crew” (partner, siblings, or friends) and remind yourself:

“This is understandably uncomfortable. I am trying boundary setting because I want to stay in contact. I am doing this for myself and for those I influence, such as my children.”

Support for Keeping Going

You have taken the bold step of learning to set healthy boundaries and are bearing the discomfort of changing the dynamic in your relationship. Self care and respect are key here. Best wishes for receiving the support you need and for a successful, healthy change in your relationship.

Please contact me through the Comments section or my email: ksinsheimermft@gmail.com

Dear Kathy,

I am turning 50 this year. My father and I have been off and on estranged throughout my adulthood. I am one of four children and two of us are estranged from our dad. Whenever I reconnect with Dad, it goes well for a little while, but then he begins to ask me to do things for him that cross the line—not good for me, but also not good, ultimately, for him. I actually think he may be one of those parents you read about who struggles with immaturity. He doesn’t take “no” for an answer.

I don’t like being out of contact with my dad and I don’t like the example for my kids. He’s getting old and becoming frail. I love him and I’d like to reconnect, but I’m sure we will be in the same impossible spot before very long. Do you have any suggestions?

—Missing Him but Extremely Cautious

_____________________________________

Dear Missing Him,

I’m sorry to hear how rough it’s been with your dad. You are missing him, but it doesn’t seem safe—or perhaps wise—to reconnect without a new plan. When you tell me he won’t take “no” for an answer, I wonder if this is where some good boundaries might help.

Boundaries 101: The Open Fence

In too many families, boundaries have been used as a weapon—a way to say, “If you do this behavior, I can’t be in a relationship with you.” It’s no wonder so many are afraid of them. In the current “therapy-speak” culture, boundaries are often presented as ultimatums meant to change someone else’s behavior. But a true boundary isn’t a threat; it is a way to protect your peace so you don’t feel you have to leave.

I want to suggest that a healthy boundary isn’t typically a wall to shut someone out; it is the very thing that makes it safe to let them in. As Nedra Glover Tawwab reminds us:

“Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously.”

The most effective boundaries are like fences that let air and light through but keep out what they are meant to keep out. Think of a Two-Rail Post and Rail fence. It marks where your property stops and his starts. Some things travel back and forth—like music, light, or conversation—but much is contained by the rails.

Boundaries are a way of talking about being separate. This process of “differentiation” is a lifelong task. As the pioneering family therapist Murray Bowen famously put it, the goal is:

“To be in emotional contact with others yet still be autonomous in one’s own emotional functioning.”

We need this sense of autonomy to grow and mature. When that developmental separation is discouraged, tested, or fails, it often leads to estrangement, because the adult child simply cannot find another way to protect his own space.

“Two Things are True”

When you set a boundary, it’s important to be aware of what is under your control and what isn’t. To navigate this, I suggest applying Dr. Becky Kennedy’s “Two Things are True” concept. While she often uses this framework for parents and young children, the principle holds a powerful truth for adult relationships, too.

In your case, it looks like this: You can be a good son who is firm with your boundaries, and your father can be a good parent who is upset by those boundaries. You can be a deeply loving, compassionate son, AND you can firmly say “no” to your parent’s unrealistic requests. One does not cancel out the other.

The Discomfort of the “Upside Down”

There is something so upside-down about this role reversal that it can feel deeply uncomfortable. Traditionally, the way you were taught to respect your father was to do as he expected. He set the limits, and you did your best to follow them. To protect your relationship now, you have to turn that dynamic on its head.

You would step out of the traditional role of the “good son” and perform a role that feels more like a parent—respectfully setting a limit and asking your parent to follow it. This reversal, while necessary, is often painful. You may find yourself grieving the father you wish he could be as you step into the role you wish he would fulfill: the one who sets the healthy boundaries.

Be Prepared (Part 1): Anticipating Your Father’s Reaction

Untangling your needs from the struggle with your parent is the first step. Part of that is knowing the “weather” you are walking into. Be prepared for your dad to possibly do one or more of the following:

• Be really glad to hear from you.

• Not understand what you are trying to tell him about his behavior.

• Try to convince you that what you are thinking will happen actually won’t happen.

• Become (likely temporarily) upset or angry that you want to set a limit.

• At first not push the limit—but eventually do so.

• After a period of time, accept the limit and push it less frequently.

Be Prepared (Part 2): Anticipating Your Own Experience

This is a heavy lift, and your own internal state will fluctuate. Be prepared to experience some of the following:

• Relief that you are not cut off from your dad and are modeling what you want for your children.

• Worry about how this will play out.

• Testing: You will be tested by your dad being upset or pushing on the limit.

• Upset: You may be upset by your dad’s reaction if he denies the behavior or gets angry.

• Need for Support: Inform and consult your circle—your partner, friends, and your siblings. Since your siblings have different relationships with your father, their reactions may vary. Ask them to respect your “fence” even if they handle him differently.

• Settling In: Eventually, you can settle into this new role of being able to tell your father “no” while remaining in loving connection with him.

Navigating the Aftermath: The Emotional Weight of the Open Fence

As you begin this work, you aren’t just managing a person; you are managing a history.

• The Broken Record: Because he has a history of not hearing you, you might wind up feeling like a broken record. You aren’t being stubborn; you are being constant. If you stay steady, saying “no” will hopefully become a habit—a routine piece of fence maintenance rather than a family crisis. This will become easier over time.

• The Challenge of Emotional Fallout: This change will stir the waters and bring up old memories. How has your father’s difficulty with limits affected you over time? Older emotional reactions may get stirred up. While initially uncomfortable, this could lead you to greater self-understanding over time.

• A Temporary Return to “Rough Waters”: You may find yourself grieving your wish that your father could be the one to provide the structure. By taking on the role of the limit-setter, you are accepting that he cannot. This realization often places you in Rough Waters in my model of Oceanic Loss. (Model posted below). As your boundary begins to work—and I hope it does—it may well lead to a good, changed, more functional connection with your father. This would take you out of Rough Waters and return you to Calmer Seas.

So, Dear Missing Him,

Building the emotional muscles to say “no,” bearing the sadness that your dad may not change, and navigating the Rough Waters of Oceanic Loss is a lot.

However, you love and miss your dad. And you want to set a healthy example for your children. If you are able to build a secure, open fence around you—one that lets in light and air—you may be able to stay connected but separate enough to give and receive the love you feel with your father. You will be modeling for your own children what it looks like to be in a loving, respectful relationship with good boundaries.

I am wishing you the best in this deep and rewarding challenge.

Kathy Sinsheimer, MFT

Please contact me through the Comments section, or email me at ksinsheimermft@gmail.com

This is column # 26

It’s Valentine’s Day, and it has been two years since I’ve seen my daughter—my “sweetheart.”

Ours is a typical story: we were very close until she began to pull away, first into “low contact,” then, recently, “no contact.” I always thought our bond was permanent.

A widowed friend told me that after forty years with a spouse, your brains actually meld together. I wonder if that happened to us? If my daughter was so fused to me that she had to rip herself away just to be her own person? If she ripped herself out of our shared brain, I’m the one left behind, still bleeding. Is that why the “holiday red” everywhere looks less like hearts and more like blood to me this year?

— Heartbroken and Bereft

Please note that this column will be speaking about a mother and a daughter, but rupture in other relationships can also hurt like this.

______________________________________

Dear Heartbroken and Bereft,

Valentine’s Day can be very painful when your heart aches. Your daughter’s need for autonomy has left you with a wound. So-called “Hallmark Holidays” can leave you feeling you do not have what others have, and don’t know how to find it. Valentine’s Day is one of those daunting holidays where you hope yours will measure up, but often leave you feeling you haven’t.

Your daughter was your “sweetheart,” and that is how you still feel. You understand she has been needing space, but you can’t wrap your head around how she has pulled away so completely. Your widowed friend’s observation applies here.

Dr. Ed Tronick, a developmental and research psychologist, tells us:

“The sense of ‘me’ is not just in my own head; it’s a ‘we’ that is created in the space between us. When a rupture occurs and the repair doesn’t follow, the self begins to feel a sense of falling apart, because that ‘we’ was a vital part of its own regulation.”

You have lost the “we” in the form of your daughter’s presence in your life. In neurobiology, we call this neural coupling. She is alive in your thoughts, feelings, and memories, but she doesn’t want a valentine from you this year and won’t let you call her “sweetheart.” Your heart and brain are aching for her, yet she cannot be the other half of your desire.

In estrangement, there is always a sense of power imbalance. You felt you were engaged in a mutually created close relationship, but your daughter has left that mutual space to create her own separate life. She may feel she can’t have contact because it interrupts the separateness she badly needs. This leaves you feeling understandably helpless.

As you look at that shop window, you are experiencing what Sigmund Freud described as the unique vulnerability of the human heart:

“We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love, never so helplessly unhappy as when we have lost our loved object or its love.”

In psychoanalytic language, “object” is a funny word, but it simply refers to the receiver of our love. Freud is pointing out a defenselessness you clearly feel.

The greatest Valentine you can give yourself this year is the gift of self-compassion. It is the realization that your heart is vast enough to ache for your daughter who is absent while still having room to love the people—and yourself—who are right here. As Pema Chödrön teaches us:

“The most difficult times are the most productive. If we can stay in the ‘middle’—the place where we feel completely helpless and raw—without trying to escape or fix it, something starts to shift. We begin to discover a heart that is wide enough to hold both the love and the loss at the same time.”

How do we stay with these rough feelings?

1. Make Space for the Ache The first step is to stop fighting the biology of the yearning.

• Allow the ache: When we try to “logic” ourselves out of missing someone, we often just increase our own distress.

• The Body Knows: Acknowledge that attachment is felt in the body. If your heart or brain feel like they are “bleeding,” it is because you are grieving a connection that felt essential. Making space for that feeling—not as a sign of failure, but as a sign of your humanity—is the beginning of self-compassion.

2. Notice How You Love We all attach in ways that we have learned. Our expectations may be patterned on what we think love looks like based on our experiences growing up. You probably love your daughter as you were loved, or as you wish to have been loved.

Your daughter currently wants to be loved differently—more separately. In your model, this is painful and rejecting. I can tell you that in my practice, most estranged children tell me they still love their parents; it’s just that they can’t be with them without feeling deeply uncomfortable. Noticing how you love will show you that your expectations are a reflection of your history. This is where you might apply Chödrön’s wisdom: staying in the rawness to find something new.

3. The Pivot: “Love the One You’re With” Once the ache has been acknowledged and the patterns have been seen, it is time for me to quote Stephen Stills one more time: “Love the one you’re with.” Appreciate the love that is being offered to you on Valentine’s Day.

Dear Heartbroken and Bereft,

This holiday is a rough one! Your loved one wants space, not closeness, on this holiday of love. Today has an extra sting.

You are brave to write to me, which tells me your heart is big and your feelings are quite stirred up. In my model of Oceanic Loss, you are back in the Rough Waters. You may have been in Calmer Seas recently, but this holiday has brought a surge. It is okay to reach for a life jacket, some sea sickness meds, and a box of tissues. And also to reach for those who are dear to you and near to you.

I hope that during this storm, you can think of yourself as being in the “middle,” discovering a heart that can hold both the love and the loss at the same time.

Best,

Kathy Sinsheimer, MFT

Please reach out to me in the Comments section or at ksinsheimermft@gmail.com

This is column # 25

My estranged son has recently opened a door to my husband, but remains closed to me. It feels deeply unfair. Currently, my son blames me, my husband acts neutral, and I feel like the therapist is siding with them. I did the “heavy lifting” for years, but now I’m being cast as the scapegoat. I am angry and bereft—how do I stop being the only one carrying the blame of this family’s troubles? — Angry, Blamed, and Penalized

Dear Angry, Blamed, and Penalized,

Thank you for writing to me about your frustrating and uncomfortable position. When I tried to picture your problem, the image of a billiard table with balls rolling and hitting each other came to mind. The blame in your family seems to land in one place for a while, then the ball rolls on to hit the next family member.

Your son blames you; you blame your son, your husband, and your therapist; your husband tries not to blame anyone but ends up pushing you away by not supporting you. As the blame rolls on, no communication is effective and no progress toward reconnecting is made.

In billiards, there is a move called a combination shot. One ball hits a second ball, which then strikes a third. The middle ball barely moves, but it is the essential conduit that allows the force to reach the final target. In your family, your husband is acting as that middle ball. By playing “Switzerland,” he isn’t stopping the momentum of your son’s blame; he is simply letting it pass through him until it strikes you. He feels “neutral” because he isn’t moving, but you feel the full “smack” of the impact.

Psychoanalysts Jill and David Scharff describe this phenomenon:

“In the family system, when one person cannot contain their own pain, they ‘place’ it into another. The recipient then carries the ‘unbearable’ for the whole system, becoming the target of the feelings the others are trying to escape.”

Why Do We Blame?

The urge to blame is, at its core, a desperate wish for relief. When the weight of responsibility for the family’s pain feels too heavy to carry, we reflexively shove that “bad feeling” away. This is a habit we likely learned in our own families of origin.

We do this because we are looking for a temporary discharge of bad feelings. Holding that feeling—like the guilt of feeling at fault or the shame of having an estranged child—creates physical and emotional tension that feels deeply uncomfortable. Blaming is an evasive move that temporarily allows us to transfer that discomfort from “inside” to “outside.” In the moment of the “smack”—when we point the finger—our nervous system experiences a deceptive burst of relief. We have effectively exported our internal heat to someone else’s fireplace.

Beneath this urge lies a primal, often unconscious belief: that responsibility is a finite, toxic substance that must be held by someone, just not “me.” We imagine that by making someone else the villain, we can reclaim our own status as the “hero” or the “victim,” ridding ourselves of the internal burn of shame.

But this relief is an illusion. Because we are all part of the same system, the “bad feeling” doesn’t actually leave the room; it just changes hands. The reason blame never works for long is that it requires a constant “re-upping.” The moment the other person refuses to hold the blame—or sends it back—the “bad feeling” rushes back toward us, and the ricochet begins all over again.

The tragedy for the family system is that we mistake this moment of relief for a solution. In reality, we are just passing a “hot coal” back and forth. No one is putting the fire out; we are just making sure our own hands aren’t the ones burning right now. Blame appears to keep the system from exploding, but it actually prevents it from ever healing. We stay busy with the repercussions of the ricochet rather than facing our difficulties.

I can understand the urge to blame in order to avoid feeling like you have caused pain. Unfortunately, with the complexities of being human, it is inevitable that we will both cause and feel pain. When you feel hurt, it can be tricky to respond in a way that leads toward repair. Blaming is the opposite of repair—communication, compassion, and true forgiveness are far more likely to facilitate family connection.

How to Slow the Ricochet

If your family has coped primarily by blaming, it would help to develop a way to resolve problems through understanding.

• Practice Self-Observation: Understand that blaming is a knee-jerk reaction to a bad feeling. Take a pause when you feel the impulse to blame and see if you can take responsibility for your part without pointing fingers.

• Pay Attention to Your Discomfort: Look inside to see why the feelings you are having are so uncomfortable that you feel the need to “deposit” them into a family member just to get rid of them.

• Wait Until the Table is Clear: Don’t react in the heat of the “smack.” Wait until later to talk about what happened so your thoughts and feelings can be sorted out.

• Ask for Understanding: Tell your family you are trying to understand things differently and may make blunders.

• The “Side Table” Practice: Ask a trusted friend to practice listening with you. Have them tell you something they want you to understand, then say it back to them. Ask, “Did I get it?” Listening is the active opposite of blaming.

• Be Compassionate: It takes time, patience, and care to change the dynamics of a family. Be gentle with your family members and yourself.

Invite the “System” to Help You

Once the “table is clear” and your own feelings have settled, move from defensiveness to systemic leadership. This involves speaking directly to the other “players” about the roles everyone is stuck in.

• To your Husband: You might say, “I know you are trying to be the ‘good guy’ to keep the door open with our son, but when you stay neutral while he blames me, it leaves me with the weight of our family’s troubles. Could you sometimes be a bridge, not just neutral? Can we find a way for you to support his reconnection without me having to be the bad guy?”

• To your Therapist: Tell your therapist how it feels in session: “I feel the blame placed squarely on me in this room. Please help us look at the dynamics of our whole family, so I don’t end up as the only landing spot for the bad feelings we are all struggling with.”

By doing this, you aren’t “blaming back.” You are pointing out the blaming pattern and asking others to help you change it.

Dear Angry, Blamed, and Penalized,

You are in a tough spot where you keep feeling smacked by the momentum of everyone else’s pain. I hope you find the voice to speak to your husband and your therapist about their roles on the billiard table—pointing out how “neutrality” can sometimes act as the very cushion that allows the blame to ricochet back to you.

By naming these cycles of blaming, your family can begin to shift away from this hurtful dynamic toward one of deeper understanding. By choosing to hold your own feelings rather than striking back, you begin shifting the flow. It is quiet, difficult work, but it is the way to stop the “smack” and bring this system from constant ricochet to a pace where you can begin to see each other with more clarity.

Take care of yourself as you find your footing.

Best,

Kathy

Please contact me in the Comments section or email me: ksinsheimermft@gmail.com

This is column # 24

“I maintained contact with my parents despite the script in which I was the scapegoat—the youngest child who didn’t listen. More precisely, I went my own way. I think the difficulty of re-establishing contact or keeping contact is that you have to become a ‘gray rock’ who doesn’t react to the provocation & learn to trust yourself. It’s not easy as we tend to fall back into childhood roles. My parents could not change. My hope for others is that their parents could meet somewhere in the middle, so that both parties can compromise.”

— Different, scapegoated, grayed and distanced

Dear Grayed (whom I’ll call Grace),

Thank you for your letter. You were cast as the family scapegoat and eventually found that the only way to survive the role was to hide in plain sight.

Most of us believe our family is just a group of individuals reacting to life in real-time. But through the lens of Family Systems Theory, we see something more calculated: a long-running theater production. You didn’t audition for your part, yet you found yourself in a family play where the expectations and perceptions became scripted for you before you could even speak.

Virginia Satir, the “mother of family therapy,” viewed the family as a microcosm of the world. Within that world, roles are rarely a choice. They are an invisible casting process where your innate temperament meets the family’s unconscious need for structure.

Birth order, gender, and the unhealed histories of your parents converge to write a script that preserves the family’s equilibrium—often at the cost of your development.

For example, if your nature was to push back and so was your father’s, you likely became locked in a power struggle. Since he was larger and more practiced, he overpowered you. To survive these interactions, you did the only thing you could: you became the “Gray Rock” you described in your email. You learned to hide your color to keep the peace.

The Survival Tool: Becoming the “Gray Rock”

When Grace mentions becoming a “gray rock,” she is using a term popularized to describe a tactical withdrawal from emotional volatility. Dr. Ramani Durvasula, a leading expert on high-conflict dynamics, explains the goal of this strategy:

“Gray rocking is not about changing the other person. It’s about making yourself so uninteresting that the other person loses their ‘appetite’ for you. You are reclaiming your time and your peace by becoming a screen instead of a mirror.”

To “Gray Rock” is to become as uninteresting as a literal rock on the ground. You provide non-committal answers (“Okay,” “I see”) and withhold the “fuel” the family script requires. This isn’t about being cold; it’s about managing a volatile situation by protecting your inner world.

The Architecture: Why a Scapegoat is Cast

Why does a family need a Scapegoat? Theorists like Salvador Minuchin and R.D. Laing call this the “Identified Patient.”

Identified Patient: The family member who is highlighted as the problem to deflect from deeper, systemic cracks in the family structure.

If Grace is the “difficult” one, the rest of the system doesn’t have to look at unhealed traumas or troubling dynamics between the parents. Grace, by “going your own way,” you were effectively resigning from a role that the system shaped you to play.

The Psychic Tax of the “False Self”

To stay in contact with her inner self, Grace hid as a “gray rock,” adopting what psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott called a “False Self.” To survive, she had to truncate her growth and aliveness. While being the gray rock protected her, it also muffled her. The “tax” is a cost of depersonalization—you are in the room, but your true self is hidden away in a bunker.

As you begin to move out of your role, you may feel oddly uncomfortable. You expected to feel free and joyous, but you may also feel worried about outgrowing your gray rock zone. It is a psychic muscle memory. You are used to being held in a place where you avoided the pressures of your family system. Now, you have given yourself the freedom to express yourself more freely, but your reflexive memory is lagging behind—remembering the past and not yet fully sure of the safety of the present.

How to Begin Re-finding Your Aliveness

• Audit Your Role: Figure out how your designated family role served the system, but specifically how it hurt you.

• Seek Specialized Support: Find a therapist trained in Systems Theory to help you identify the family dynamics influencing your behavior.

The Work of Acceptance:

• Accept the Discomfort: Changing deep-seated patterns is hard and often uncomfortable. Expect resistance, both from yourself and the system.

• Tolerate Multiple Realities: Accept that family members will have different memories of the same events and different needs for healing.

• Practice Self-Compassion: Your old patterns will likely repeat. The goal isn’t perfection; it’s recognizing your slip sooner and responding with patience and curiosity.

So, Dear Grace,

Thank you so much for telling me about your gray rock role and your need to distance yourself from your parents in order to add color to your internal and external experience. I hope that your time being more separate has helped add the color you have wished for and needed to feel more your true self.

Parents of Grace: Grace’s need to “gray” herself is a signal about the family structure as a whole. Understand that her withdrawal isn’t just about her—it’s an opportunity for you to identify the roles you’ve all been playing. When the structure changes, everyone benefits from the new-found clarity.

Best,

Kathy

Please contact me in the Comments section or email me: ksinsheimermft@gmail.com

This is column # 23

A Note to Readers

This column explores how our relative positions in the family—as both children and parents—shape our lifelong dynamics. Today, I am focusing specifically on the inherent imbalance of size and power within these roles. It is important to acknowledge that when power and control are misused, they become abuse. I will address the destructive consequences of child maltreatment in a separate column. Today’s discussion, however, describes the universal challenges of size and authority that exist in every parent-child relationship.

Dear Kathy,

I’ve been reflecting deeply on your insights here on Substack. I am currently functionally estranged from my parents. Their own unfaced trauma has made them too difficult for me to be around, and after years of trying to make it work, distance became my necessary last resort.

I keep thinking about the physical and psychological “size” of it all—the way they still feel so large in my mind, making it hard for me to feel like a separate, capable adult. How do I shift this view of my parents so that I can feel like my adult self if I try being in contact again?

— Andy

Dear Andy,

You are touching on a dynamic that is as inevitable as it is difficult to navigate. From birth, our relationship with our parents is shaped by an innate imbalance of power—physical, emotional, and financial. Initially, we are utterly dependent on them for survival. As we grow, we don’t fully lose that original sense of the parent as a larger-than-life figure whose approval is affirming, but whose anger, judgment, or distance feels devastating.

The Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön has a famous observation that captures the unique pressure of family:

“If you think you are enlightened, go spend a week with your parents. They are the ones who know how to shrink you back to the size of a six-year-old with a single look.”

When interacting with a parent, no matter your age, you may feel an inner shift where you become smaller or younger than you want to be. Understandably, you chafe at this and push back, often bringing about the very conflict you hoped to avoid. Similarly, parents can reflexively fall into old roles of directing the dialogue and decision-making, becoming more authoritarian than suits a relationship with a grown child.

The Internalized Report Card

We all carry echoes of our early roles. I am reminded of the universal tension of bringing home a report card—hoping for approval but bracing for the opposite. Some parents are supportive; others are harsh. Some act as if those grades are theirs, their pride feeling possessive rather than encouraging. You likely no longer show your parents your grades, but you may still hear their voices, wondering if they would be pleased.

The Pull of Attachment and Differentiation

Attachment theory, pioneered by John Bowlby, explains why “size” feels so high-stakes. Bowlby noted that we are biologically programmed to seek a “secure base” in those we perceive as “stronger and wiser.” This draw is essential for a child’s safety, but for an adult, that same pull can feel like a loss of autonomy, causing uneasiness or emotional vertigo.

The family therapist Murray Bowen called the effort to balance this when growing up the “Differentiation of Self.” He argued that adulthood is the ability to hold onto your own reality even when the outsized influence of your parent’s perspective threatens to overpower you. When we aren’t yet differentiated, a parent’s disapproval feels less like a difference of opinion and more like a condemnation of ourselves.

(We see this same “sizing” happen with siblings. We often stay “the baby” or “the big brother” for family members because the original power script is so difficult to rewrite.)

How to Reclaim Your Maturity

Developing psychological awareness of your own internal voice is a practice that requires time, immense patience, and a deep well of self-love. It isn’t a quick fix; it’s the work of a lifetime to untangle who you are from who you were told you were.

1. Practice the “Observer” Stance

When you feel that “tightening” Pema Chödrön describes, try to name it in the moment. You might say to yourself: “There is that old ‘Report Card’ feeling. I see it, and I feel the pull to seek approval, but I don’t have to live inside it today.”

• Identify the Source: Can you tell if this is truly your own voice, or is it an echo left over from a parent who used criticism as a misguided tool?

• Sort the Feedback: Is there anything actually helpful in the critique? If not, recognize it as an outdated survival script that no longer serves you.

2. The Discomfort of the Work

It is important to anticipate that actively listening to inner voices can feel worse before it feels better. When you start listening, you are also hearing the shame, self-criticism, and feelings of inadequacy the voices carry. This isn’t a sign that you are doing it wrong; it is the “heat” of the work. You are allowing yourself to face what has been operating in the shadows.

3. Begin the Internal Dialogue

Once you recognize these voices, start dialoguing with them. This is where the real work of “sizing up” happens:

• Validate Your Reality: Tell those voices what you see when you look at your life today. You may find you really are capable and smart, even if the old voice makes that hard to remember.

• Check for Expiration: Ask how valid these critiques are in your current life. Are they based on who you are now, or who you were at seven or seventeen?

• Dialogue and Release: Journal with these parts of yourself. When they emerge, acknowledge them, thank them for trying to protect your younger self, and then firmly send them away.

Be gentle with yourself as you learn to stand at your true height.

So, Dear Andy,

I have recommended that you do compassionate work with yourself to allow for your understandable reactions to your parents. This isn’t easy, nor quick. Within this, you can see that I am hoping to inform parents of their role in changing their behavior towards you as well.

Transitioning to your new roles in the family—of adult child and parent of an adult child—is challenging, not only logistically but also internally. Patience with yourself, and, if available, for your parents, will be key.

I would be pleased to hear what you discover when you embark upon befriending and starting a dialogue with these inner voices.

— Kathy

Please contact me in the Comments section or email me at ksinsheimermft@gmail.com

This is column #22

Dear Kathy,

I hope you will weigh in on a slightly different type of heartbreak: adult sibling estrangement. My brother, sister, and I are all in our 70s. We were reasonably close for most of our lives—or so I believed.

After our parents died, we held a series of lunches to “sort through” our history. Our parents divorced when my brother and I were in college, but my sister was still young and living at home. During these talks, they shared stories about their childhoods that I simply didn’t recognize. My brother and sister shared details of very uncomfortable circumstances in their childhoods that I hadn’t fully appreciated. I thought these raw, emotional talks were finally bringing us closer.

I was wrong.

Shortly after, my brother stopped responding to me. When I pushed for contact, he sent a cold email telling me never to contact him again. He stated he wasn’t going to explain his reasons and that he “didn’t need to.” I frantically wrote to both of them asking to resolve this differently, but I’ve been met with total silence.

I spent the last holidays with my wife and our “chosen family.” I am grateful for them, but I am heartbroken. I thought we were clearing the air so we could grow old together. Instead, I’ve been evicted from my original family.

— Confused, Bereft, and Sometimes Lonely

Dear Confused,

In my Oceanic Loss model of estrangement grief, you are currently in “Rough Waters.” A cutoff in your 70s is the opposite of what you were seeking. You hoped for late-life companionship; instead, you are left to carry your family history alone, without the kindness of an explanation.

What role did your parents’ deaths play in this sudden shift?

The Loss of the Gravitational Center

In many family systems, the parents serve as the Gravitational Center. For decades, siblings stay in orbit around one another not necessarily because of a mutual pull, but because they are all pulled toward the “sun” of the parents.

Sociologist Dr. Karl Pillemer, author of Fault Lines, notes that parents act as the functional center or “bridge” for the family. When that gravity vanishes, the siblings don’t just stay in place; they begin to drift. Without the authority or “ceasefire” enforced by the parents, decades of buried anger, jealousy, or competition can finally take center stage, pushing the system apart.

Same Roof, Different Childhoods

We often assume that because we grew up in the same house, we shared the same experience. However, research into “non-shared environments” suggests that siblings can inhabit entirely different families. As Fern Schumer Chapman, author of Brothers, Sisters, Strangers, writes:

“Siblings don’t just share DNA; they share a crime scene. If one sibling has moved on but the other is still wounded, the mere presence of the ‘healed’ sibling can feel invalidating.”

While you and your brother were protected by being away at college, your sister was a daily witness to your parents’ divorce. At lunch you learned your brother’s early years were painfully different from your own. For you, the sibling lunches were a reunion; to them, they were more of an exhumation. Your presence may remind them of the injustice of history: you were spared—they were not.

The Surprising Danger of Narrative Divergence

Why did “clearing the air” lead to distance rather than closeness? Dr. Joshua Coleman, author of Rules of Estrangement, offers a sobering perspective on why “sorting through” the past can backfire:

”Reconciliation is not about agreeing on the past; it is about agreeing to have a future.”

By focusing on the history, you were looking for facts; they were looking for validation of their narrative. If your memories felt like an erasure of their trauma, it may have caused a rupture. Your brother’s refusal to explain himself is a wall meant to protect his own version of the truth.

Finding Compassion for Them (and You)

Navigating these tides requires finding grace for your own loss and the varied scars your siblings carry.

• Accept Their Different Experience: Their persecutory family is just as real to them as your benign family is to you. You don’t have to agree on family history to acknowledge that their pain is real.

• Recognize the “Group Cut”: Your sister’s silence is likely a “loyalty bind” driven by triangulation. Murray Bowen defined triangulation as a process where, when anxiety is high between two people, they “bring in a third to stabilize the relationship”. By siding with your brother, your sister has stabilized her relationship with him, even if it means sacrificing her connection to you.

• Grieve the Witness: Acknowledge that you aren’t just losing people; you are losing the fellow travelers of your childhood. It is natural to feel bereft when the only people who “knew you when” choose to walk away.

• Embrace Your “Chosen Family”: While they don’t have your DNA, they offer the emotional safety that your family of origin currently cannot. With chosen family, we are close because we are simpatico—we get along well and appreciate who we are today.

It will take significant inner work to let your siblings go while offering yourself the kindness you deserve. Understanding your family dynamics helps you see that their choice was likely an act of self-protection against their wounds of childhood. As you slowly move from Rough Waters back toward the Calmer Seas of acceptance, remember: you didn’t fail at family; you encountered a system that could no longer support itself against gravity.

Best,

Kathy

This column # 21

Please email me at ksinsheimermft@gmail.com or write to me in the Comments section

Dear Kathy,

My best friend isn’t speaking to me, and I don’t know what to do. We have been very close since college, and we are in our 50s. Although we don’t live in the same city now, we have been in constant communication and visited each other frequently throughout this time.

A year ago, she told me she had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and she said she didn’t want me to tell anyone. She was keeping it secret from her friends and colleagues and some of her family members. I was terribly upset and felt I needed support. I told my brother, who knew my friend but was not involved in her life in any way.

In a phone conversation, she intuited that I had told someone! I said, yes I told my brother. She was very angry, and she stopped speaking to me. I am bereft at this loss. I knew she had stopped speaking to her brother and that her mother had cut people off, but I never imagined she could do that to me. She has been such an important part of my life. Is there anything I can do to repair our relationship?

—Heartbroken, lonely and desperate

Dear Heartbroken,

First, your estrangement from your friend, especially when she is ill, is clearly deeply painful. My guess is that you feel the pain differently than she does—you are actively feeling the loss, while your friend has compartmentalized it. Your friend, I’ll call her Liz, is dealing with her cancer by hiding it. She may be trying to hide the cancer not only from others, but from herself as well. “Don’t tell anyone” includes Liz, herself.

Liz likely feels you broke her trust by telling your brother. She couldn’t see that you might need support in tolerating the potential loss of a dear friend. Fear has kicked up for both of you. Liz needed to tell you—and she did. But in her current state, she didn’t have the bandwidth to see that, in order to support her, you would need to tell someone, too.

When two people are in a high-stress situation, the tension often becomes too much for the relationship to hold. Instinctively, one person will reach out to a third person to help stabilize that stress. It’s like a tripod: three legs feel more stable than two when the ground is shaking. You pulled your brother in to help you stand up—a neutral choice, you felt—that shows you were seeking support, not gossiping. But for Liz, who was already feeling exposed by her illness, that third leg felt like an intrusion rather than a support.

Liz grew up in a home where “cut-off” was a family practice. This means she didn’t just see it; she never learned other ways to deal with difficulty. Her family model was simple: you cut people off. While she has been a wonderful friend for years, her cancer diagnosis has made her more mature social skills unavailable. She has fallen back on a primitive, survival-based defense: you do as she says, or you lose contact.

Murray Bowen’s definition of “cut-off” reminds us:

Emotional Cut-off is the process of separating, isolating, or withdrawing from significant others to manage unresolved emotional intensity. It is a reactive “flight” response used to lower anxiety when a person feels they lack the tools to stay in a relationship while remaining their own person.

Liz’s emotional intensity is an understandable reaction to a frightening diagnosis. Dr. Becky Kennedy reminds us: “When we are overwhelmed, we don’t just lose our ability to solve problems; we lose our ability to stay in the room. Disconnection is the ultimate ‘flight’ response.” Liz is currently unable to stay in the room. Your job now is to keep the door unlocked while you find your own balance.

I realize this advice may not alleviate your current pain, which is clearly deeply uncomfortable. Estrangement from a close friend can leave you at a total loss. Friends share our daily lives, help us think about our projects and goals, support us. At first, you may feel left with no internal map to fill in the territory you had shared. It can be a little like a death—only, as with other estrangements, Liz is alive, yet unavailable.

In my Oceanic Loss model, you are currently near the Tidal Wave, entering rough waters and nowhere near calmer seas. You are mourning the premature loss of a friendship due to Liz’s need for secrecy.

It may feel like your friend is punishing you, but my guess is she simply does not have the emotional bandwidth to manage a life that now includes a potentially fatal disease. Harriet Lerner, author of The Dance of Anger, captures this perfectly: “Cutting someone out of your life doesn’t always mean you don’t love them; sometimes it means you don’t have the internal resources to hold the conflict and the love at the same time.”

The Path Forward: Finding a Spot to Stand

Is there a path to repair? Let’s get you grounded first. Beyond the initial shock, you are navigating a thwarted grief—missing your friend’s presence while being denied the chance to care for her during her illness. It is a deeply uncomfortable, heavy mix of love and frustration.

Here are some suggestions for honoring your friend while maintaining your own integrity:

• The Deep, Honest, Uncomplicated Apology: Send one clear message that avoids defending why you told your brother and focuses solely on Liz’s pain. “I breached your need for confidentiality and safety. I am deeply sorry.”

• Low-Heat Check-ins: Every few weeks, send a “no-response-needed” note. “Thinking of you today. No need to reply—just wanted you to know I’m here.” This keeps the porch light on without demanding she walk through the door.

• Hold Her in Your Mind and Heart: While science debates if silent intentions can heal cells, they certainly heal systems. When you hold Liz in your heart with love rather than fear, you potentially lower the strain between you, at least on your side. You are becoming a “safer harbor” for her to return to.

• Somatic Practice: When the pain of her absence feels like a “phantom limb,” try this brief Loving-Kindness Meditation:

“May you be safe. May you be at peace. May you be healed.”

You can hold both you and Liz in your heart as you repeat this to yourself.

Self-Care Remains Key

It is vital to stay involved with your own self-care. Being cut off can cause us to doubt ourselves, bringing on bouts of self-recrimination. Punishing yourself for seeking relief will not move anything forward. In all estrangements, chastising yourself for the cut-off only makes you feel worse and does not positively affect the outcome.

So, Dear Heartbroken,

You are in very rough waters. In my drawing for this week, the heart is being crashed by the Tidal Wave, with an inverted umbrella—no protection. Please reinvigorate your self-care practice and elicit compassion toward yourself. You needed to tell someone—the news was simply too big to hold alone. Liz couldn’t tolerate that, and here you are. You are both hurting. You will need to hold this space of distance for now. My hope is that Liz is able to pivot, allowing you both to return to your years-long, deeply held friendship.

Warmly,

Kathy

Please contact me at ksinsheimermft@gmail.com, or write to me in the Comments section.

This is column # 20

Dear Kathy,

It’s New Year’s, and I would love to make some resolutions. But every time I think I know where I’m “at” with my children, it turns out that the ground shifts. I have three adult children (from two different mothers) and I am finding that I can’t be certain of how things stand with at least two of them at any given time. Closeness and distance, anger and warmth seem to fluctuate from storming in the Arctic to being by a Volcano, and everywhere in between. How can I make resolutions when at any moment there could be an earthquake? —Loving Dad who doesn’t know what foul weather gear to bring

(For readers: Please note this column applies to estranged relationships with adult children, siblings, and friends, as well as estranged parents.)

Dear Loving Dad,

You are perfectly reflecting the challenges of the estrangement cycle. These dynamics are rarely static; they vary in length, intensity, and temperature. Whether you are experiencing low contact, no contact, or the exhausting “yo-yo” effect of fluctuating warmth and anger, you are living on a continuum of estrangement dynamics.

I have added your images of the volcano, the arctic and the warmth/growth periods to the Oceanic Loss Model in the drawing above. I think they fit pretty well!

States of Matter Mirror Phases of Estrangement

Do you remember in Science Class when you learned the three states of matter: solid, liquid and gas? Your volcano belches the “gas”, the artic storm rains down the solid ice and the liquid ocean is the “everything in between” that you mention in your letter.

Thinking of estrangement in these three states could help you locate yourself in the “shifting ground” you describe:

• The Gas Phase (The Volcano): The explosive, high-heat moments of sudden conflict or “no contact” that feel like a shock to the system.

• The Solid Phase (The Arctic): The seemingly frozen silence where nothing moves and the emotional ground feels cold and unyielding.

• The Liquid Phase (The Sea): Most often, estrangement is fluid. Note the ripples in the center where the heart floats.

How to Prepare for Living in a Fluid Cycle

You are right to pack “foul weather gear” for external storms (your children’s behavior) and internal ones (your own mind and body’s reactions). Your gear should include:

• Self Check-in: Assessing if you are comfortable with your own actions and efforts to engage with the estrangement. Practice working through conflicts with loved ones who are engaging with you in ongoing, interactive, developing relationships.

• Methods for Self Calming and Self Care: These include exercise, breathing, nourishing meals, making sure you have enjoyable activities on your own and with others.

• Support from Others: Participate in support groups, with friends, reading and podcasts that remind you that you aren’t navigating this alone.

• Personal Interests: Engage in hobbies and goals that remain under your control, regardless of whether your children participate.

A New Kind of Resolution: The Practice of Balance

Since we cannot control the weather, our resolutions for 2026 must focus on our own well-being.

Compassion (Self and Other) = Surer Footing

Resolutions Based on the “Gear” in your Duffel

1. I will practice Balance—literally. I will join a yoga, Tai Chi, or balance class. When we strengthen our physical core, we remind our nervous system how to stay upright when the ground beneath us is unsteady.

2. I will nourish the “I” outside the “We.” I will invest in my own community, so my fulfillment isn’t solely dependent on the status of my relationships with my children.

3. I will include my body in my self-care. I will acknowledge that estrangement is experienced in my bones and breath, treating my body with the compassion it deserves.

4. I will stay open and participate. I will remain involved in whatever healthy process is available for contact with my estranged loved ones.

_____________________________________

So, Loving Dad with Duffel,

You don’t need to wait for the ground beneath you to become solid in order to find your peace. I recommend you pack your foul weather gear—along with your scuba suit and sunscreen—to be prepared for whatever weather 2026 brings.

Warmly,

Kathy

Please reach out to me in the “Comments” section or email me at ksinsheimermft@gmail.com

This is column # 19

The holidays have been rough. I’ve cleaned up from Christmas and my garbage can is full. One of my children came to spend time with me, but the other stayed away. She has been “low contact” for about a year, and while she kept in touch a bit, she was clearly caught up in her own life and wanting space from me.

I love having one child nearby, but the pain of the distance from the other can knock the wind out of me. I try to follow your advice to “love the one you’re with,” but my heart isn’t in it. I worry if I stop mourning her absence, I’m somehow caring for her less. I am also angry with her, and that keeps the “hot” feelings going. How do I picture a refreshed New Year while staying connected to a child who wants space?

— Confused, Longing, and Wishing to feel Optimistic

(For readers: Please note this column applies to estranged relationships for adult children, siblings, and friends, as well as estranged parents.)

Dear Confused, You wish you didn’t hurt, but you do. You want to give space to your loved one, but still feel connected. You don’t want to be treated like garbage and you, yourself, don’t want to throw out anything you hold close. My column on November 16, “Am I Being Thrown in the Garbage,” has been “liked” more than any other; this question clearly resonates with those experiencing estrangement.

You imagine looking forward, yet your heart pulls you back in a way you can’t “think” your way out of. Research tells us why the energy to “bloom” feels so far away:

• Your Brain’s “We”: There is a tug-of-war between a mind that understands your family member needs a separate life, and a heart and body that continue to pull toward your loss. Neuroscientist Dr. Mary-Frances O’Connor explains that our brains encode deep bonds as a permanent part of our identity. When a loved one is missing, there is a literal hole in our internal map of reality; we feel a hole in who we are.

• Your Architecture of Attachment: Infant researcher Beatrice Beebe tells us that your deep bonds become part of the very “architecture of the brain”. We have “expectations” of our loved ones woven into our social minds. This is why letting go feels impossible—we are trying to navigate a world where our internal map no longer matches our external reality.

• Your Physical State: Heartbreak is not just a metaphor; it is a physical state. From Florence Williams’ book Heartbreak, we know the pain of rejection activates the same regions of the brain as physical pain.

  No wonder the going is tough!!!

Each of these findings tells us that we cannot simply “let go” through logic or willpower alone. Because this loss is literally built into the architecture of our brains, we need more than just a change of mind; we need to attend to our physical and emotional selves to help us effectively grieve and find the capacity to live fulfilling lives.

In our identities, there is a permanent connection through the bond we share with our loved one. When that bond is severed, the loss of contact feels as real and as strong as physical pain. On a scale of 1 to 10, you are at a 10, and there is no standard pain medication for this type of heartache.

To begin filling that hole, assuaging the pain and finding the energy to bloom again as we move toward the New Year, I suggest these four approaches:

1. Shift Your Attention: Allow yourself to grieve, but begin to fill the “hole” with new experiences and memories. This includes intentionally leaning into the relationships that are available to you. New practices create new neural pathways.

2. Find Somatic Healing: Because this loss exists at the level of the body, address it there. Use somatic breathing techniques (look for these on YouTube) to help calm the “hot” feelings of anger and panic in addition to grief and pain.

3. Recall Examples of Resilience: Bring to mind a time when you—or someone you admire—showed resilience. What was the source of that strength? If this feels too far away, return to your grief work in order to clear the way toward stepping into your resilience.

4. Nourish Your Identity: Plan activities that help you remember who you are outside of your loss—whether artistic, physical, or service-oriented.

So, Dear Longing,

It is understandable to feel both grief and a glimmer of optimism this time of year. In my drawing, the garbage can—representing the “shoulds” and upsetting expectations—is below the porch, awaiting its removal on trash day.

Consider this:

Moving forward ≠ Caring Less

Moving forward = Possible Renewal

By choosing renewal, you aren’t leaving your daughter behind; you are simply refilling your own emotional supplies so you have greater strength to love the ones you are with (including yourself).

Best,

Kathy

This is column # 18

Dear Kathy,

I am not feeling settled in our home this holiday. Our daughter has been estranged from us for most of this year, and she is not coming home for Christmas. We just started working together in therapy, but there has been very little progress so far. Her rejection feels like an accusation, and that stings! It is hard to get the stinging to stop.

Others I love will be here with me—my husband, our older daughter, and my sister’s family. But the hole in my heart is making it hard for me to feel joy, to prepare with my usual pleasure, and to be open to the people who love me.

How can I find a different location—a different emotional location—to approach these holidays? I love our daughter and miss her, but I don’t want her estrangement to overshadow our family time.

Sincerely,

Wishing to Not Be So Distracted

Dear Wishing,

Your challenges are deeply felt in the estrangement community at the holidays. You want to love those who have gathered, but you are distracted by the one who hasn’t.

You know better than to give the absentee so much power, but your heart isn’t logical. You are stinging, and no amount of emotional calamine lotion seems to help!

When we hurt, our minds tend to rant. We get stuck, we lose sleep, and we replay the rejection over and over. This invokes a feeling of dislocation. We feel something in our home is awry because the people who “belong” there are missing.

So, how do we begin to find that “different emotional location” you asked for?

Why Do You Feel Like This?

There are many reasons you can’t settle. The heart in the drawing is standing in the middle of a map, trying to navigate, but feeling disoriented.

First, there is the disruption of your expectations. In your mind’s eye, you pictured your adult children returning home for the holidays. You looked forward to the traditions you had enjoyed together when they were growing up. Your daughter is choosing to opt out of this picture, forcing you to experience a version of the holiday you never imagined.

Second, there is the disruption you feel at the level of the body. When your daughter was a baby, your bodies were extremely close. Even as she grew and became independent, you felt her closeness kinesthetically. Her absence can feel like a phantom limb—a missing part of your own body or heart.

Research tells us this ache is real. As the science writer Florence Williams notes in her book Heartbreak:

“Heartbreak is not just a metaphor. It is a physical state. To the brain, the pain of rejection activates the same regions as physical pain.”

It’s no wonder that your daughter’s absence hurts so much.

Let yourself feel, “This really hurts,” then begin to find a way to center yourself in the “now.” Yes, your pain is valid and real, but there may be a way to hold that truth while still showing up for the present.

The “Good Enough” Home

If I quote Stephen Stills again, it will be the third time in the history of this column (and this is only the 17th column). Nonetheless, I feel the urge to remind you that his line “Love the one(s) you’re with” still applies.

Your estranged daughter feels she will have a better holiday elsewhere. You mourn that, and you regret the slow pace of your family therapy. But you cannot fast-forward the work.

For now, I suggest you look for a “good enough” home. As the psychotherapist Robert Stolorow suggests:

“We cannot always create a perfect home, but we can create a ‘good enough’ holding environment for our feelings. A place where grief can sit in the corner and joy can sit by the fire, and both are allowed.”

For you, this means accepting the imperfection of the holiday from the vantage point of your wishes, and embracing the holiday that is possible this year.

Finding the Map to Here

You are looking for your emotional home. One location for this home is your body—it is where you live and where you spend your days. Settling your body will help you feel more grounded and at “home” this holiday.

Racing thoughts and “stinging” emotions obscure the map to that home. To find it, you must slow down.

• Locate Your Map: What helps you decelerate your racing, circling thoughts? Is it walking the dog? Listening to a meditation app? Venting to a friend? Planning activities with the companions you do have? Find what works for you, and give yourself the contact and support you need.

• Read the Coordinates: Your breath is your method to locate center. When you feel the sting of absence or the ache of sadness, acknowledge it, but then return to your breath. Steady, slowed breathing will signal your body to decelerate, and remind you that this is not an emergency. Tell your loved ones to feel free to remind you to slow down if you start to rev up.

• Arrive: Remind yourself: I am here. I am safe. I am with loved ones. It is okay to hope for change, but know that the “now” is also good. I can grieve, and then I can be in the present moment. (I know it’s a little corny, but when we quote Baba Ram Das telling us to “Be Here Now,” we have to realize he may have been on to something!)

Take Moments to Miss Your Child

I describe these goals as if they are easy—I know they are not. You may calm yourself, only to have something trigger you. It might be a specific song, or the stuffing recipe she loved best.

Do not assume you won’t miss her.

Acknowledge her, miss her, and then consciously use your map to come back. Granting your child the space she needs is your challenge; granting yourself the peace you need is your gift to yourself and those who have gathered with you.

Widening the Circle

Finally, remind yourself of past holidays. You may be missing those you have loved and lost, such as your own parents and grandparents.

Savor your memories. If you have the desire, bake your mother’s cookies or set out your grandfather’s crèche. Bring to mind the generations that built the foundation of your home.

So, Dear Wishing,

Holidays are a balancing act between the past and the present. Your contact with yourself is key to holding your center and finding your way.

Pema Chödrön wrote in The Wisdom of No Escape:

“Maitri [loving-kindness] is the act of making friends with yourself. It is the basis of a good home. If you can’t be at home with yourself, you will never be at home anywhere else.”

Tell yourself: I need to remember my home is inside me and that home is good enough.

Consider this equation:

Fighting Loss = Guilt + Pain

Sharing Love = A Path toward Peace

Best,

Kathy

Please write to me in the Comments section or email me at ksinsheimermft@gmail.com.

This is column #17.

Dear Kathy,

My dad asked me if he could send me gifts for Christmas. My mother passed away, and I’ve become estranged from my dad. Our grieving processes clashed, and I eventually separated myself from him in order to grieve on my own.

Part of me wants to say “yes” in hopes of easing the strain and maybe opening a door. But part of me wants to say “no” because he hasn’t really tried to understand our problems.

If I say “yes,” will he feel he can buy me presents and act like everything is better? Or would it help our difficulties if we exchange presents as a symbol of trying to reconnect? Part of me misses our old family traditions and being together. Part of me doesn’t—I’m too disappointed and hurt. Could you help me sort out my feelings?

Signed,

Confused and Torn at the Holidays

Dear Confused and Torn,

You raise a very frequent topic this holiday season: In estrangement, it’s tough to know what to do about gifts when contact is limited and there are many unresolved feelings.

Gift-giving reminds us of earlier times when the holiday structure seemed to hold us together. We miss the traditions, yet being together doesn’t feel safe because the relationship is fraught. You still feel connected, but the connection feels fractured, with deep structural damage.

The Symbolism of the Gift

Before we decide on an action, it helps to understand what a gift symbolizes—both for you and for your father.

Note: This column about gifts applies to many estranged families, not only families who have lost a parent.

Ideally, gifts are a gesture of love and a demonstration of how the giver sees the receiver. We all crave that feeling of being understood. In the film Me Before You (2016), the character Lou receives a pair of bumblebee tights she loved as a child. She cries, “It is the best thing you could have given me.” It wasn’t about the tights; it was about being seen and remembered.

Parents who want to send gifts to their estranged children are often trying to reestablish that feeling. They want to reach back to you through a familiar means. When you were young, the excitement of the tree or the Menorah was a shared pleasure. By asking about sending a gift now, your father may be hoping to rekindle those earlier times of closeness.

For the parent, the “ask” isn’t just about the object. It is about the ritual: shopping, wrapping, shipping, and waiting to hear if the gift landed. In all these steps, the parent feels connected to you. They are likely trying to say something they cannot express with words.

Unpacking the Conflict

For you, the gift carries a heavy weight. Let’s unpack your complicated feelings.

You are afraid that by saying “yes,” you give your father the opportunity to sweep the real issues under the rug—buying his way out of the hard work of repair. Conversely, you are afraid that by saying “no,” you might miss an opportunity to melt some of the ice between you.

In the illustration above, a bandaged heart sits on the porch while a delivery truck looms in the distance. We can’t tell if the heart is wishing the driver has packages for it, or hoping the driver drives right past. Or both!

This is the ambivalence of estrangement. We may want to be close again, but we are afraid it will feel like sandpaper on our skin. We ask: How do I find a way back together while still preserving my need to live my life as I need to?

The Double Layer of Grief

Your letter reveals two layers of grief. You lost your mother—a profound tragedy. Then, because the grieving dynamic with your father was so difficult, you had to distance yourself from him as well. Effectively, you have lost both of your parents.

This distance from your father has served you well for a time, allowing you to grieve your mother without interference. But now, you feel a shift.

In a conversation with grief expert Dr. David Kessler, psychologist Dr. Becky Kennedy noted, “We can’t change the hard, but we can change the alone.” Your openness to receiving a gift may indicate that you are ready to change the “alone” to help you move forward.

Dr. Kessler added, “What we run from pursues us; what we face transforms us.” Are you possibly ready to face your father and have a conversation about your frustration with his past actions?

If we have cut someone off to protect ourselves, have we also cut off a part of ourselves that we wind up missing? Facing the decision about the gift isn’t just about your dad; it’s about facing your own grief and your future.

Strategies for a Decision

So, what should you do? Before you reply to his text or email, I suggest using these journaling exercises to clarify where you stand right now:

• Line up the conflicts: List the specific issues standing between you and your dad. Look at them clearly on paper or a screen.

• Evaluate your strategies: Write about how your current strategies (silence, distance, arguing) are working. Are they making you understood? Are they protecting you?

• Identify your desires: Write about the part of you that wants to “ease the strain” as well as the part that sees distance as the safest choice. What do each of those parts of you need?

• Draft your responses: Write three different drafts of a response to him:

  • Draft 1: The “Yes.”

  • Draft 2: The “No.”

  • Draft 3: The “Conditional Yes” (e.g., “Here is what I need you to know and/or do before I accept this.”)

Look at the drafts to determine if they have helped you find your answer. My hope is that seeing it all lined out will help you find a way forward this holiday season with more clarity and continued self-preservation.

Making the Implicit Explicit

If you are ready to look at a path for moving beyond your current distance, my advice is to ask for that “new path” as your real gift.

Make what is implicit explicit. You can tell your dad, “I appreciate the gesture, but the gift I really need this year is for us to address [Topic X].” Perhaps the exchange is his asking to give you gifts, and you asking him to address your requests for conversation, growth, and new understanding.

Consider this:

Accepting the Gift ≠ Accepting the Behavior

Opening the Present + Unpacking the Past = Possibility in the Future

My wish for you is closeness with trusted loved ones this holiday season. And, if you begin work on reconnecting, I hope you find enough safe space in your feelings that you wind up feeling closer than when you began.

Best,

Kathy

Please write to me in the Comments section or email me: ksinsheimermft@gmail.com

This is column # 16