The Hidden Cost of Turning a Child Against a Parent

There are two of my children I barely have a relationship with today.

Not because I stopped loving them.

Not because I walked away.

Not because I didn't try.

The truth is much harder than that.

I believe they were turned against me.

Even now, years later, I still don't know exactly what was said.

That's one of the hardest parts.

When someone accuses you directly, at least you know what you're defending yourself against.

But when conversations happen behind closed doors, when one parent controls the narrative, when years of comments and opinions are quietly planted, you don't even know where to begin.

You can't answer accusations you've never heard.

You can't correct stories you don't know exist.

You can't defend yourself against something you can't see.

I remember spending years asking myself the same questions.

What were they told?

What do they believe about me?

What happened when I wasn't in the room?

How do I fix something when I don't even know what's broken?

One year became two.

Two became three.

Then four.

Before I knew it, my children were growing up without really knowing me anymore.

That is a pain I wouldn't wish on anyone.

People talk about divorce.

People talk about breakups.

People talk about losing parents.

Almost nobody talks about what happens when you lose your relationship with your children while they're still alive.

There is no funeral.

No casseroles delivered to your door.

No sympathy cards.

Most people don't even realize it's happening.

You carry it quietly.

You go to work.

You smile when people ask how the kids are doing.

You pretend you're okay.

And inside, your heart is breaking.

What makes it even harder is that people often assume there must be a reason.

Surely the child wouldn't pull away without cause.

And sometimes that's true.

I think this is where we need to have an honest conversation.

Not every child who distances themselves from a parent has been alienated.

Sometimes children pull away because they were genuinely hurt.

Sometimes there was abuse.

Neglect.

Violence.

Addiction.

Broken trust.

Repeated disappointments.

Children deserve protection from people who harm them.

If a child is creating distance because a parent has repeatedly hurt them, that's not alienation.

That's often called estrangement.

And that distinction matters.

Because children should never be forced into relationships that are unsafe.

But that's not what happened in my situation.

And it isn't what happens in many situations.

Sometimes a child isn't pulling away because of their own experiences.

Sometimes they're pulling away because someone else has spent years shaping how they see the other parent.

That's where parental alienation enters the conversation.

And whether people agree with every aspect of the label or not, the behavior itself is real.

I've lived it.

Many of you reading this have lived it too.

It often starts small.

Negative comments.

Subtle criticism.

Withholding information.

Blocking conversations.

Creating loyalty conflicts.

Making a child feel guilty for loving the other parent.

Putting children in situations where they feel like they have to choose.

Over time, the child begins seeing one parent through the eyes of the other parent.

And eventually they stop seeing that parent for themselves at all.

One thing I've learned is that healthy parents may dislike each other.

They may disagree.

They may have conflict.

But healthy parents understand something important.

Children are not weapons.

Children are not tools.

Children are not a way to punish an ex-spouse.

Children are people.

They deserve the freedom to love both parents when both parents are safe and capable of loving them.

What took me years to understand was that this wasn't really about me.

At least not in the way I originally thought.

For a long time, I kept trying to figure out what I had done wrong.

There were years when I knew almost nothing about what was happening in my children's lives.

I wasn't getting updates.

I wasn't hearing about school events, milestones, struggles, accomplishments, or the everyday things parents normally know.

Unless I was able to reach one of my children directly, information simply didn't come.

There is a helplessness that comes with realizing you love your children deeply, but you're being kept on the outside looking in.

Some days it felt like everyone else had access to my children's lives except me.

I wasn't asking for special treatment.

I wasn't asking for control.

I was asking for what some parents take for granted: the chance to know how my children were doing.

That absence creates a different kind of grief.

Not because you stop being their parent, but because you're no longer allowed to fully participate in their lives.

I wanted to know what explanation would finally fix everything.

What magical conversation would suddenly make my children see me differently.

But eventually I had to face a painful truth.

This wasn't about finding the perfect words.

This wasn't about proving my innocence.

This wasn't about facts.

Because when someone is determined to control a narrative, facts often become irrelevant.

The goal isn't truth.

The goal is control.

And that realization changed everything for me.

I started seeing something I hadn't fully seen before.

This wasn't about protecting the children.

This was about protecting an image.

Protecting an ego.

Protecting a version of events that served one person.

I can honestly say that after years of living through this, I don't believe the focus was ever on what was best for the children.

Because if it had been, their relationship with a loving parent would have mattered.

The truth would have mattered.

Their future would have mattered.

Instead, it became about what one person wanted.

And that's what breaks my heart the most.

Not for me.

For them.

Because children pay a price for this.

A price many people underestimate.

We often focus on the targeted parent because the pain is obvious.

But children carry the damage too.

Imagine being taught to distrust your own experiences.

Imagine being encouraged to reject someone you once loved.

Imagine feeling guilty for loving both parents.

Imagine being asked to choose sides in a battle you never created.

That kind of pressure doesn't simply disappear when childhood ends.

Many adults who lived through situations like this talk about struggling with trust.

Relationships.

Identity.

Self-worth.

Some spend years trying to figure out who they are because they were taught to ignore what they felt and believe what they were told instead.

Some carry anxiety.

Depression.

Guilt.

A deep sense of confusion they can't fully explain.

And perhaps the saddest part of all is that some don't discover what happened until they're adults themselves.

Until life gives them enough distance to ask questions.

To see patterns.

To revisit memories.

To wonder if the story they were told was actually the whole story.

I wish more parents understood that children eventually grow up.

They become adults.

And adults start looking for truth.

The things hidden from them don't stay hidden forever.

The things they weren't allowed to question eventually become questions.

The relationships they were encouraged to abandon eventually become losses they have to make sense of.

That doesn't mean every relationship can be repaired.

Sometimes too much time passes.

Sometimes too much damage has been done.

But truth has a way of waiting.

Patiently.

Quietly.

For the moment someone is ready to see it.

I still have two children I don't have much of a relationship with.

That reality hurts.

There are days it hurts more than others.

There are moments I wonder what I missed.

What memories we could have made.

What conversations we should have had.

What their lives are like when I'm not part of them.

I don't pretend that's easy.

It isn't.

But what I know today is this.

Children deserve the right to form their own opinions.

They deserve relationships built on truth instead of influence.

They deserve the freedom to love a good parent without guilt.

And they deserve adults who love them enough to put their wellbeing ahead of anger, revenge, pride, or the need to win.

Because children are not pawns.

They are not leverage.

They are not collateral damage in adult conflicts.

They are human beings.

And every child deserves the chance to know both of their parents for themselves.

Not through someone else's story.

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If this post felt close to home, I created a workbook to help you take this a little deeper.

Sometimes we read something and think, “That’s exactly how I feel,” but then we close the page and go right back to carrying it alone.

The workbook gives you a place to slow down, be honest about the grief, sort through what you can and can’t control, and begin listening to yourself again.

It’s not about having all the answers right away.

It’s about giving yourself space to process what happened without losing yourself in it.

Begin the Workbook

#EvolvingWomanhood