Still Loving, Still Hurting: seeking ground while tumbling through estrangement

Responding to an email from an estranged adult child

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Dear Kathy,
I read your columns and think they are really good! For me, grief also comes in waves—along with guilt, anger, and a lot of sadness. I felt that grief even before I fully went no contact.

I worked hard to explain myself to my parents, even joining them in family therapy. But it hurts my heart that they weren’t willing to do the uncomfortable work of taking accountability and self-reflection. It’s easier for them to make me the scapegoat than to face the toxic and unhealthy family dynamics at play.

I feel there’s nothing more I can do on my side. That’s incredibly hard to accept. I love and miss my parents very much, and part of me wants to keep trying and trying. But after years of essentially talking to brick walls, I reached a breaking point.

I wrestle with knowing I’ve hurt them, and I struggle with the helplessness of feeling that nothing I said or did made a difference. It’s been hardest to let go of my “enabler” parent—the one who seemed healthier but still wasn’t healthy enough. My leaving and “abandoning” them echoes how they emotionally abandoned me in childhood.

Meanwhile, they tell others that they were good parents—“look at all we’ve done for our child”—and claim I’m just entitled, unwilling to work on myself, or simply mentally ill. They dismiss, gaslight, and look for validation that the problem is me.

In my experience no child goes no contact on a whim.
—Still Loving, Still Hurting

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Dear Estranged,

Your letter is courageous and deeply moving. You describe something many estranged adult children feel but rarely name: grief that begins long before contact ends.

You worked hard—conversations, family therapy, repeated efforts—yet your parents could not do the difficult work of taking accountability. Instead, they returned to blaming you. I’m sorry they couldn’t find the emotional resources to meet you in the places you identified as essential for a healthy relationship. This has left you feeling helpless, which can keep you cycling back to see if you missed some action that might repair things. My guess is they miss you, too, but cannot yet summon the courage to grow. Now you all miss each other, yet a chasm lies between you.

You name clearly the importance of parents examining their role rather than scapegoating you. For your own well-being you need to avoid their dismissal and gaslighting. Let’s begin with a common stumbling block: accepting that you and your parents may remember family life in very different ways.

(For parents reading this: many adult children feel they have explained their hurt repeatedly, even when parents feel they were never told.)

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Our Realities Are Not the Same

Parents and adult children often hold very different versions of family history. Parents try to explain what “really” happened; children insist their experience be accepted. Arguing over facts rarely creates understanding—it widens the distance. I’ve seen families shout at each other in hopes of silencing a differing view.

What can help is shifting from debating events to acknowledging impact. Even if you disagree with parts of each other’s account, you can still affirm that your family member is hurting. Accepting emotional reality is not surrender; it’s an opening for reconnection.

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When Differing Realities Collide

Part of what makes estrangement so painful is cognitive dissonance—the mental discomfort of holding two clashing truths at once. Psychologists still use this term; it’s as relevant today as when Leon Festinger first described it in 1957. Parents may cherish an image of themselves as loving and protective, while an adult child carries vivid memories of feeling unseen or emotionally hurt. When these versions meet, both sides can feel their very identity threatened.

Cognitive dissonance is more than an idea; it is felt in the body. When a core belief (“I was a good parent,” or “I did my best as a child”) is contradicted by a loved one’s memory, the brain sounds an alarm. Stress hormones rise, the heart rate quickens, and we instinctively seek hoped-for relief: arguing, withdrawing, or trying to rewrite the events in the other’s mind. Our sense of self depends on coherent stories; when a different memory challenges that coherence, it can feel like an assault on who we are.

As Imago therapists Harville Hendrix and Helen LaKelly Hunt observe, disputes about “what really happened” are rarely about facts alone. They often begin because childhood wounds—times when we felt unseen, misunderstood, or unsafe—are re-stirred in the present. When a loved one denies those memories, the nervous system reacts as if the original hurt is happening again. Healing, they write, does not come from proving whose memory is correct, but from recognizing that each person’s experience is real for them.

For parents, accepting a child’s account may seem to mean “I failed as a parent,” a thought so painful the mind resists it as if it were physical harm. They may argue facts—not because they lack love, but because acknowledging their child’s pain collides with the story they need to believe about themselves.

Adult children experience dissonance too. They can love their parents and still know certain patterns were harmful. Holding both truths—love and injury—without one canceling the other requires emotional strength and can feel at times unbearable. Adult children feel painfully challenged by their parents’ differing version of reality and are hurt by their parents’ resistance to accept their experience and requests for change.

When Clashing Realities Trigger You

When these collisions of memory leave you shaken, pause and ground yourself. Silently note, This is a quieter wound waking up. Breathe slowly, feel your feet on the floor, or notice a single sound. These anchors remind your body that today is safe, even when memories feel sharp. If you choose to talk in that moment, focus on how the you are feeling rather than trying to prove whose facts are correct. Taking time first with yourself and then with the other helps create a space where more understanding might occur. Healing grows from being heard and understood, not from winning an argument. Pausing before you continue a conversation may allow for feelings to settle and more productive conversation to ensue.

Recognizing these reactions as natural—even when agonizing—is a strong first step. Understanding how our minds defend our most cherished self-stories can soften blame and help explain why even caring families sometimes fight hardest when the truth most needs to be heard.

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Holding the Pain; Reaching for Growth

Estrangement carries pain for everyone involved. Holding this awareness can help you preserve your own well-being, leaving room for understanding—and the possibility of future connection.

“Compassion begins when we see the vulnerability in ourselves and allow it to live in our awareness.” — Gábor Maté

So, Dear Estranged, your task now is to care for you heart while continuing to grow in understanding—of yourself, of those you love, of the complexities of differing realities, and of what true compassion asks of us.

Please email me your questions to Ksinsheimermft@gmail.com

This is column #4