I often feel alone because no one in my circle can really understand what it means.

Estranged from my family due to emotional abuse over decades. With the help of a psychiatrist I finally found my way out, estrangement was the healthiest option for me. But I often feel alone because no one in my circle can really understand what it means.   

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Hi friend, thank you for writing in.

When I read your question, I was reminded of a moment in my life from a couple years after I left my family of origin — a summer trip, a little vacation, reconnecting in person with people I hadn’t seen since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. 

By then, I’d started developing some strategies for talking about my estrangement, and the life I’ve lived since. 

I’ve learned to lead with certainty: “I know this was the right choice for me.”

I’ve learned to start at the end: “This is a happy story. I’ve never been happier.”

I’ve learned to test the waters before I dive in deep. I watch for the first reaction. 

Does this person think my choices are a problem in need of correction? Are they actually here with me, right now, as I am … or are they looking at me as a negative space, the absence of someone else’s life? Are they going to be weird about this?

On that summer afternoon, as I talked about what I’d been doing over the past few years, one person sitting at that picnic table beamed at me and said “that’s fantastic, I am so happy for you.” And one person looked over at me and said “I just think it’s sad.”

And you can probably guess which of those relationships is a vibrant, meaningful part of my life today — where we do talk about estrangement, sometimes, because it is a true and significant part of my life, and also about all sorts of other things that matter to us both — and which one is occasional and deliberately polite. 

Something I used to find hard about building and maintaining close connections after estrangement is the uncertainty of not knowing how people are going to react. 

The cousin who encouraged me to get out of a bad situation, and was a big part of my support system in the years before I left? Almost as soon as actually walked away, she changed her mind and said she regretted it. 

The aunt I’d been close to? The last time we spoke, she called me a “vicious, cruel, merciless, inhuman monster who may as well have shot or killed my mother.” 

The therapist I’d been hoping could help me through this transition? Broke confidentiality to give details of my life to my family of origin, and tried to pressure me to come back. 

But I also briefly got in touch with an older cousin I’d never met before (briefly only because he died unexpectedly soon after) who was also estranged from the family, and for similar reasons to mine; I so deeply wish we’d had more time to get to know each other, but the little bit we had was a gift. 

I’ve reconnected with old friends who navigated similar issues with their own families. These are the friends where, when we were younger, we’d connected because we were struggling in so many of the same ways — but, because we were struggling, it was hard to be the kinds of friends we wanted to be to each other. And now we can.

And my life is full of all sorts of new and wonderful people, too, who know this part of my story and my history and choose to embrace me for the person I am. 

When every interaction feels like a coin-flip between “a normal conversation, I hope” and “somehow winding up defending the basic facts of my life,” those are painful odds — is it really worth the risk, to be seen and understood? 

But there are other ways of looking at these moments.

Now, I don’t generally like the idea of ‘relationship litmus tests’ (i.e., how somebody responds to you in one particular situation/conversation being THE defining factor for whether that relationship is worth nurturing or not). 

However. The way a person reacts to the idea of someone else’s estrangement can tell you a lot about how they’re navigating the world right now, and the way(s) they see you. 

How much does this person seem to value my well-being? 

Does this person see me as a generally kind and considerate person? If so, do they think my decision to be estranged is a failing or an exception to the rule, or do they understand that estrangement is a choice that thoughtful and considerate people can make, if and when they need to? 

Do they think I am a fairly smart and reasonable person? Or do they think I am so achingly naive that ideas like ‘other people have feelings too’ and ‘your family of origin will die someday’ are somehow brand-new to me? 

Do they understand that my choice to be estranged is not only a choice about separating myself from a painful situation, but also a choice to commit myself deeply and on purpose to the relationships I actually want to keep and build? (And do they treat that as a promise, or a threat?)

I know that’s a lot of weight to put on a conversation — especially one that often comes up early in new interactions, as soon as ‘family’ becomes a topic of discussion. 

And there are times where, the moment I say I’m estranged, I can all but hear the metaphorical door slam shut between me and the person I’m talking to.

But there are also plenty of times when I get to watch somebody choose to meet me in that moment — where I am, as I am — and that is a strong, beautiful foundation to build a friendship on. These are the people where I find my circles, my communities, my cherished relationships. Is that worth the risk of that first ‘oh, please, please don’t be weird or cruel about estrangement’ conversation? To me, yes. Absolutely. Ten times out of ten.

In terms of being understood by the people in our circles, that can mean a lot of things. 

Sometimes, it’s about spending time with people who share some of these fundamental parts of our experience — spaces and communities where we know we are welcome as we are and we don’t have to explain the 101-level stuff. 

The Together Estranged community welcomes folks to virtual monthly support groups, educational events or socials and has a private Facebook group.  We welcome you in whatever capacity you have to engage. Connection can be found in reading my fellow TE bloggers stories or subscribing to our newsletter.  There is a unifying belonging and community for you here.  

Sometimes, people may not share our experience directly, but they recognize something in your story that parallels what they’ve experienced in a different context.

And sometimes, people might not have a personal understanding of your situation at all — but they can still listen to what you tell them, believe you when you talk about your experience, support you and cheer you on as you write the next chapter of your story. “I may not ‘get it,’ but you know I’ve got you” can be some powerful love and solidarity. 

It’s so hard. It’s so worth it. You have fought for a life that is healthy for you and relationships that don’t hurt or harm — and now you get to fill this life with people who love that for you.

Wishing you all the best,

Hila