A SILENT EPIDEMIC

Three years ago last month, my adult daughter, whom I’ll refer to as G, became estranged from me. I can’t blame it on the pandemic as it had its roots in other issues. As I was approaching one of those big decade birthdays, I reached out to G and said that I had been doing some soul searching about my life and that I could no longer accept her hurtful behavior toward me. She had repeatedly been hurting my feelings, treating me in unacceptable ways. I acknowledged that obviously she was having issues with me as well and I felt that the best way forward would be to find a good therapist who specialized in mother/daughter relationships. My goal was to find a way to create the healthiest relationship we could imagine so that we could have the most rewarding and fulfilling relationship possible going forward. I offered to do some research and locate a therapist who had the necessary expertise. Alternatively, I would be happy to work with whomever she located, who was qualified in this arena, for therapy. Needless to say, I would pay for the sessions. Much to my shock, that was the end for us. She blew up at me and essentially, long story short, refused to have any contact with me going forward. She also stated that I was not to speak about this with anyone who knew her. Unfortunately, that left out my family and most of my friends but I was prepared to honor her wishes.

I believe a bit of a back story would be important for my readers to be aware of. My daughter is an only child. We were a very tight knit family. Friends and family would often comment on our close relationship. When asked what I had done to inspire such closeness, I would typically respond to my friends, who had multiple children, that because J was an only child, we spent more time with her than they had the luxury of doing. I never wanted to toot my horn, suggesting that we were a remarkable family unit, or that we had accomplished something that they had failed to do with their own family. We actually created a democratic system within our family. Everyone got 1 vote on pertinent matters - where to bicycle for lunch, what movie to see, where to go on vacation, what to eat for dinner etc. Of course my young daughter didn’t realized that the parental block always had 2 votes to her 1 but I can assure you, we let her win often :). On reflection, perhaps too often.

G is a very talented and creative person, and writing had been her gift since she was a child. I have a box full of cards, letters, notes and even one of her journals, all of which conveyed a consistent theme. I love you dearly and thanks for being such a terrific mom.

I keep 2 such small notes framed on my desk to remind me that I’m not living in the Twilight Zone.

One note was written during her marriage, for Mother’s Day

“Mama, Thank you for always thinking of us, looking out for us, and trying to find ways to make our lives better.”

This note was written after her divorce

I often spent time, over these last 3 years, going through that box, reading over and over again the words that G said, the sentiment that she felt, all praising me and honoring me as her mother. Although it helped in the short run, it never let me forget the current estrangement.

In the hopes of painting a few pictures for you to get a sense of how we operated in our family, I’d like to share a few tidbits in our history. I remember when G came home from college and said she wanted to get a tattoo. This was over 25 years ago mind you. Clearly she was of age and didn’t need our permission but she brought it up nonetheless, as was her wont, when she was making important decisions in her life. She often sought our council yet made all final decisions herself. My initial reaction was that it would be best if she didn’t get a tattoo. Her first visit back home from college, her freshman year, she walked in the door with a ring in her eyebrow. It actually was initially painful to look at her but I never said a disparaging word. I had never seen an eyebrow ring before and was definitely caught off guard. I did have concerns about a potential future employer and the judgement he/she might make when he/she first met my daughter but, again, I kept it to myself. The good news, at the time, was that well before she graduated, she came home one week-end without the ring in her eyebrow.

Back to the tattoo story. After considerable thought, I came up with an idea. I proposed that we all get a tattoo together, as a family, with the promise that no further tattooing would be done. G was happy with that plan and went on to actually design a unique tattoo that would be meaningful for all of us. She created a variation of an ancient rune which we could each locate in the placement and size of our choice. I chose to place mine high up on my hip that would only be visible in a bathing suite. G and my husband decided to put their tattoos on their backs. Mine was the smallest as I truly hate needles and yes, it was painful. I remember years later she approached me one day saying that she had decided to get another tattoo. My response to that was swift. I was going to hold her accountable for her promise, freely made at the time, that none of us would get future tattoos. Ultimately she honored that promise although she was not happy about it. I would bet the farm that she now has another tattoo or two.

Twenty years ago, my husband and I decided to relocate. We wanted to stop working the crazy hours that we’d locked ourselves into and find a place to live that had better weather than the east coast and would have a lower cost of living. After years of exploring, we decided to move to Ashland, Oregon. Being near the California border, it had warmer winter weather without the awful humidity in the summertime that we were used to on the east coast. It was also a more alternative community and since my husband was trained in botanical medicine, we felt it would be a great place for the next chapter in our lives. During that last year, we proceeded to get all our ducks in a row, closing our private practice, preparing our first home, where we raised G and lived for 25 years, for sale. During that time however, G had made an unexpected visit to Oregon. A dear friend of hers asked her to join her as she had agreed to pick up her mom from the hospital and drive her back home to their farm, not far from the Ashland area. G had never been to Oregon so she decided to make the trip out. Much to our surprise, she never returned home. She called us the day before she was to return and told us that she was going to cancel her return flight home. My husband explained that she’d have to pay a fee to reschedule her flight but she said, You don’t understand. I’m not coming home. This is where I’m meant to be. Please send my clothes. Over that year she worked on us. Wouldn’t it be great if I could pick up the phone and call you so that we can meet for tea, or a movie, a hike or just to hang out? She reminded us that Ashland was a long way from where she settled after all. We struggled a bit with the option. The weather in where she lived wasn’t as good as it was in Ashland and our goal was to be able to spend our time outdoors year round. Also, the area wasn’t as alternative a health community that we thought would be ideal for us. Ultimately we decided that since our beloved only child really wanted us to live near by her, we would give it a try for a year and see how we felt about this area of Oregon. The rest, as they say, is history. Twenty years later, we’re still here.

As days of estrangement morphed into weeks, then months and then years, my pain, suffering and disbelief never stopped. I had gotten to the point of intrusive thoughts not coming up multiple times a day but it was often there, hiding in the background until a friend started talking about their daughter, or a show on t.v. that featured a loving mother-daughter dynamic. I couldn’t for the life of me understand how something like this could have happened… to our family. Although my husband was not initially included in the estrangement, 17 months ago, G terminated her relationship with her father as well. So what does a clinical psychologist do when something this awful happens to her? I went into therapy. I worked with 2 different therapists over a 6 month and then 9 month period. I think I needed to be sure that all of the support I received was accurate. The feedback I got was that I was not a bad mother. That in fact, I had been a devoted mother and didn’t deserve to be treated this way. My poor husband felt he was doomed to be in the middle; wanting to support G, who was clearly distraught, and me who was devastated by the estrangement. The other agenda I had by engaging in therapy was that G stated that she wouldn’t consider speaking with me until I had been in therapy for at least 6 months. Interestingly, when I emailed her saying that I had been in therapy for 15 months, she still refused to join me in therapy. As my therapist said, “She keeps changing the goal posts on you.”

I did try a few things to get her to reconsider the estrangement and join me in therapy. I left flowers on her doorstep with a note that simply said “I Love You”. I donated $250 to her new substack to support her writing efforts. My husband spent her birthday with her and I had created a gift package that I thought she’d enjoy. I filled it with items that would possibly inspire her art and numerous goodies that I knew she’s like. Apparently she was very critical of most of the items I sent. For example, I had saved all of her baby teeth in a beautiful handmade vessel. I included the vessel with the teeth, thinking she might enjoy the vessel and perhaps would use her baby teeth in a future art project. She had a habit of using much loved personal items and turning them into art. Her response to my husband was “What kind of mother would give away her child’s baby teeth?” I also included a journal that she had given us when she left for college. When we left G at her university, after helping her set up her dorm room, she told us that she had left something for us on our bed. It was a long drive home, filled with tears and anticipation of what we would find on our bed. Much to our surprise, she left us her journal, which she had started the Thanksgiving of her senior year and ran through the night before we took her to college. It was filled with stories about her anticipation of leaving the following fall. Given her writing abilities, it was a beautiful, but often a painful look into her heart and soul. We read about her fears of leaving her friends, the home she grew up in, how she would miss us and how much she loved us. Her final words written were “Don’t miss me too much”. She understood how hard this would be for us as well. I thought it might be helpful for her to reread that journal in light of her decision to become estranged from me. Once again, I was wrong. She refused to read the journal and left it for my husband to bring back, along with her baby teeth and vessel.

Another attempt to reconnect came the following Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving had always been G’s favorite holiday. I created a care package for her. I included recently discovered photos of her as a small child with my dad, whom she loved deeply but he had died years before. I added a few found objects that she always loved, in order to include in future art pieces. The piece de resistance was a sculpture I created/modified. I had this idea that by communicating with her through art, I might find a way to reach her. We had always cherished a small wooden sculpture of a small family of 3, entwined in loving arms. I created individual hearts that were broken in half and attached them to each of the three people, the mother, the father and the child. I was cautiously optimistic that this might touch a cord in her heart when she saw it, but that didn’t happen. The package was unopened and written on the package was “return to sender”!

My next efforts were focused on learning more about mother/daughter estrangement, and boy, was I surprised. I learned that family estrangements are now considered to be a “silent epidemic” as 1 in 4 families - pre-covid - experienced estrangement with a primary family member. A primary family member was defined as a parent or sibling. I was shocked. How was it possible that I was completely unaware of that horrible statistic? What I learned was something that had a tremendous impact on me. I was not alone. According to my research, the majority of estrangement was associated with a divorce. No big surprise there. Most of you are likely familiar with a spouse bad mouthing their ex-spouse to their children. Ultimately once grown, the children may understand the dynamics that had occurred and decide to reconnect with the estranged parent. Sometimes not. There was another group of estranged parents that was similar to my experience. It usually involved mothers and daughters. I read story after story of mothers’ disbelief. They too felt that they had had a close and loving relationship with their daughters only to be later estranged from them. They too felt like they were now living in the Twilight Zone. I cannot begin to explain the relief that I felt. Despite the reassurances from my therapists, I was always left with the thought that perhaps I hadn’t shared my history with G sufficiently or accurately. I owned up to mistakes I felt I made, things I would do differently if I was raising a child today but I tried my best to accurately describe my role as G’s mother. I even asked G to meet one time with my therapist to provide her with the details of her issues since the only information she had shared with me was that I had “emotionally abused” her. She reluctantly agreed to the one visit although the night before the session was to take place, she emailed me saying that she didn’t want me to participate in the session. I quickly said I didn’t have a problem with that. Her reply was “You’re not going to like what I’m going to say” to which I replied, please don’t worry about that. I want you to be honest with the therapist so that she’ll be clear about the issues that led to the estrangement. I added that, upon self-reflection, I was comfortable with the role that I played as her mother so she should feel free to share all with the therapist. When I met with my therapist days after that, she said that the session was a “waste” of her time. G revealed nothing of consequence. She offered no details that would help the therapist untangle all that had happened. I have to say that professionally, I found that very odd. Most people who had been abused by a parent would appreciate the opportunity as an adult, in a therapeutic setting, to share their horrible experiences with their abusers therapist. Here was her chance to share every horrible thing she believed that I’d done to her. Apparently the therapist felt similarly and asked if I had considered that perhaps G had been involved in a cult. I dismissed that idea immediately as I didn’t believe that was possible. The next idea was that perhaps she had a medical problem that might be causing such erratic behavior. Although I have no way of finding out about such things, I have no reason to believe that might be the case.

I am left now with how to move forward. I had often asked myself, why is this happening to me? I had always imagined that as I got older, my daughter would be a close and loving person in my life. As she needed mothering less and less, I expected that she’d become more inclined to be a support system to me, as I had become for my parents as they got older. During the pandemic I saw so many of my friends being cared for by their adult children. These thoughtful adult children didn’t want their parents to be exposed to Covid so, if they lived nearby, they took to doing the marketing for their parents, for example. If they lived a distance away, they scheduled weekly zoom meetings to engage their parents and prevent the isolation that they were experiencing from overwhelming them. Some of my friends remarked that they had more contact with their adult kids during the pandemic than at any other time since their children left home.

When I step back from the profound hurt, and yes anger, I know that the victim role D is playing is poisonous for her. I worry about the ill effects of such anger and resentment that she’s been holding onto for 3+ years. I’ve come to understand one very important thing. What is in her best interest, is forgiveness. The fact that she hasn’t moved in that direction is extremely worrisome to me. The fact that she reports never being willing to have a relationship with me is going to keep her in a chronic state of distress. One day she’ll learn of my death and then she’ll never be able to repair our relationship which will continue to wear her down throughout the rest of her life. Dr. Christiane Northrup has a section in her book, Mother-Daughter Wisdom, on forgiveness.

Whatever has happened or is happening between you and mother, you can heal it and yourself through the power of forgiveness. Forgiveness is the true key to letting go. It frees you from the past and gives you back your own life. Contrary to popular belief, forgiveness is a gift you give to yourself. It is not something you do for someone else. Holding a grudge, blaming your mother for the problems of your life is like taking poison and waiting for someone else to die… Emotional pain from the past must be acknowledged and validated before we can let it go. But then we must let it go, because holding onto anger, resentment long after the painful event is over is a real health risk….Forgiveness is the peace that emerges when you take a hurt less personally and when you take responsibility for your feelings. The past is not responsible for how you feel now. Forgiveness means becoming a hero instead of a victim in the story you tell about your mother.

The unfortunate reality is that there is nothing I can do, at this point, to help my daughter. She has rejected my repeated pleas to go into therapy with me. She’s locked herself into this victim mode that will never offer her the peace she needs to be able to move forward in her life. That said, I’m looking to see what I can do for myself that would help to heal the hole that has been left in my life, and my heart, by my daughter’s absence.

Here’s what I’m proposing. I’ve decided to create an online group for us moms who’ve been unceremoniously dumped, through no fault of our own (at least as far as we know). You might be wondering why it’s considered a silent epidemic. It’s reflective of the shame and embarrassment that we all feel on some level. There’s this little nugget of concern that says, if you heard that a friend’s daughter had written her off, wouldn’t there be at least a tiny bit of doubt that said - what did she do that caused that to happen? I know when I finally revealed the details to my incredulous friends, they each asked, what event led to her doing this? I had initially been able to escape this issue because I was asked not to share this with anyone who knew her, which was essentially everyone. By the second year however, I learned that her request was a one way deal as she had, in fact, shared her version of this story to everyone, including my family. My parents are deceased, which is the second time I’ve actually felt grateful that they had passed away. The first time was Covid. That would have freaked my mom out big time. The second time is G’s estrangement. They would be devastated by her behavior toward me. They had a very close relationship with G as she was their first grandchild and lived in close proximity to them, which wasn’t the case with my sister and her two kids who lived in Florida. They loved G dearly but they occasionally shared that perhaps I was a bit too devoted to her. To have her treat me this way would have horrified them. There’s a part of me that suspects she wouldn’t have estranged from me at all, if her grandparents were alive, knowing how they would have reacted.

If you’d like to join me on this journey, or know someone who also suffered a similar fate, please email me privately so that we can get this group organized and schedule a few initial Zoom meetings. I’m offering this as a free service as I expect to receive the same benefits from this experience as everyone else. Please don’t hesitate sharing your thoughts, feelings and experiences in the comments if you’re comfortable doing so. Should you want to join the group or know someone else who might be interested, I ask that you use my personal email for this purpose only - michellerabin@gmail.com. Thank you in advance for honoring my request. I look forward to hearing your comments on this disturbing phenomenon in the comment section.