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Carri H.'s avatar

After reading the latest installment in the Estrangement Ideology series, I found myself sitting quietly for a long while, absorbing the weight of its observations. There’s a lot in it that rings true and a lot that deserves pushing back on. And maybe that’s the heart of the matter: our current climate doesn’t easily allow for both/and thinking. It demands allegiance. Resolution. Finality.

As someone who has chosen estrangement (and I use that word loosely), I approach this topic from within the experience. My decision didn’t come through Reddit threads or a wave of TikTok therapy reels. I turned inward. I sought therapeutic support-real, personal, difficult work-and leaned heavily on the people closest to me: my husband and trusted friends. I didn’t talk about it publicly until recently, because at the time, it didn’t feel like a badge to display. It felt like a wound.

Reading this article, I’m struck by how much of our modern emotional architecture is built on reframing pain as identity. There’s a deep societal hunger to make meaning of our suffering but increasingly, that meaning seems to be found in isolation, not connection. Forums, platforms, therapeutic language-they offer us a script. And once we start following it, we’re rarely invited to stray from it. As the article suggests, estrangement isn’t just a private act anymore it’s an identity, a position in the moral economy of pain.

I’ve seen this happen from a distance. Individuals who say they’ve escaped cycles of emotional control only to find themselves following a new doctrine-one that uses the language of healing to reinforce permanence, to reject complexity, and to suppress doubt. It’s not that they’re wrong to walk away. Sometimes that’s the only sane, safe choice. But when the dominant message becomes, “If it hurts, cut it off,” we’re not teaching people to be healthy…we’re teaching them to be numb.

At the same time, I want to say this clearly: I do think there’s something positive in the broader effort to normalize conversations around trauma. It used to be that everything was hidden-shameful, buried, unspeakable. That silence often caused more pain, more rupture, more secrecy handed down like an inheritance. In some ways, the willingness we now have to name our wounds has made us more connected, not less. We recognize shared experiences, and that can be healing.

But as with anything…when does it become too much? When does naming become overidentifying? When does normalizing turn into absorbing our entire sense of self into trauma? At what point does the pendulum swing from liberating honesty to ideological rigidity?

There’s a particular thread in this conversation I wrestle with often: the expectation that children should care for their parents, no matter what. Most Eastern cultures fall into this belief. Having spent the last 12 years of my life in the Middle East, I’ve seen it up close. Nursing homes are almost nonexistent. It’s assumed that children, usually with the help of hired support, will care for their elderly parents in the home.

But what happens when that parent lived a sedentary, unhealthy lifestyle-one that could have been different, one that was chosen? Is it still the child’s burden to carry? Must they put their own life on hold until death grants them permission to begin again? I’m an only child, and I’ve spent over a decade living outside the U.S. I don’t feel safe or comfortable returning, for many reasons-including what happened recently when I tried to renew my passport.

In February, I had a chilling interview at an American embassy where I was essentially accused of being “anti-American” for voicing opposition to genocide. My passport renewal was turned into a tool of intimidation. I was made to feel like a threat for having a conscience. That experience shattered something for me-not just politically, but existentially. It drove home the reality that I have no clear “home” to return to. And it made the complexities of estrangement even more complicated.

Even though I’m estranged from my mother… if something were to happen to her now, what would I do? Where would that responsibility fall, and on whom? I’ve built a life far away from hers and not just geographically. But does that severance absolve me from the moral weight we’re all expected to carry for our aging parents? Or is that an illusion, too?

These aren’t questions with easy answers. And that’s the point. What worries me most about the growing normalization of estrangement isn’t the act itself, but the framework around it. When we collapse all intergenerational misattunement into “trauma,” when we reduce flawed, tired, human people to diagnoses like “toxic” or “narcissistic,” we strip away the possibility of change-not just in them, but in ourselves.

There’s something chilling about how well this framework aligns with our broader cultural mood: immediate clarity, curated identity, emotional purity. Everything unwanted must be removed. Everything painful is pathologized. Everything complex is collapsed into a binary-abuse or accountability, safety or danger, love or exile. And if you hesitate? You’re told that’s just internalized manipulation. You’re trauma-bonded. You’re not healed enough yet.

But real healing isn’t clean. It doesn’t follow a five-step guide on Instagram. It’s messy, contradictory, full of false starts and uncomfortable questions. And above all, it’s human.

I’m not here to argue against estrangement. God knows some parents have left their children with no other choice. Which I feel I fall into. But I am wary of how quickly estrangement has become moralized, monetized, and mediated. I’m wary of how often it’s framed as proof of growth, rather than what it actually is-a painful, complicated, and sometimes necessary decision that deserves gravity and nuance.

The article makes a critical point I want to echo: what gets lost in all this ideological clarity is the slow, silent work of repair. The real, “unsexy“work of sitting with your pain, your doubt, your part in the story. The uncomfortable conversations that don’t end in applause, but maybe in a crack of mutual recognition.

We need more space for that. More room for people who are not sure. More permission to leave the door cracked open without being accused of weakness or regression. And more language that invites repair…not just severance.

Estrangement, at its core, should be about protecting your peace-not proving your purity.

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laura's avatar

After we received the one paragraph, 5 sentence farewell to our family I asked my child if we could do family therapy. He organized a session two months later. When I had the opportunity to dialog with his therapist, my first question was " in your thinking, is estrangement more a personal rift or influenced by cultural shifts", she believed it was mostly personal. She admitted she had no experience with estrangement.

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