Let’s talk about the “E” word—the one almost no one says out loud, even though it’s everywhere. Our friends, extended family members, coworkers, neighbors, even the woman in front of us at the supermarket—people you’d never suspect, are quietly wiggling through a very private, very shame-filled reality.
Estrangement.
For the people living it, estrangement feels like a curse word. For the people watching it from the sidelines, it feels like a dirty secret. And for the people who feel it’s a “trend” or a “phase”…I can understand why it might look that way from the outside. Without a doubt, the conversation needs more nuance.
Estrangement isn’t a trend. It’s the cost of refusing to keep paying for someone else’s dysfunction with your own wellbeing.
So what is actually going on? It’s simple and old as time: two family members stuck in emotional or physical distance so deep they can’t see eye to eye, and it’s causing one or both of them excruciating pain. This has been happening for centuries. Generations. Every culture. Every community.
The shift: Modern families are no longer forcing themselves to stick together through hell or high water just because “that’s what family does.” Being related by blood doesn’t automatically guarantee closeness or safety anymore. Security, respect, and emotional safety—especially from the people who shaped our formative years, matter more.
And when those very people prove to be self-serving, unboundaried, unfair, unsafe, or simply unwilling to acknowledge the impact of their behavior? There is no pain like it. It feels something like: “The people who were supposed to help me grow and blossom stomped on me, and then blamed me for not growing.”
So no, estrangement isn’t new. What’s new is courage. People wanting better for themselves and for their children. People facing cycles of pain and saying, ““I can’t keep carrying this, and I won’t hand it to the next generation.” People choosing wholeness over obligation. And yes; sometimes the relationship becomes the karban, the sacrifice necessary for a healthier future. Is it deeply sad? Oh man, there are no words. Is it sometimes the only way? Tragically, yes.
Why talk about this now? Because the holidays crank up the volume. Family gatherings, nostalgic traditions, Chanukah parties—it tugs at old longing. It makes you question your stance. Maybe I should try again? Maybe it’ll be different? Maybe I’m being too harsh?
It’s confusing. It’s tempting. And it can be incredibly re-wounding if you rush back into dynamics your system simply cannot tolerate. So let me be perfectly clear: There is no one-size-fits-all path. Distance, low-contact, no-contact—each is layered, nuanced, and intensely personal. Every person’s emotional capacity, safety needs, financial reality, and support system look different.
But if someone finds that no matter what they do, their relationship with a family member or close friend continues to be wounding, painful, violating, threatening, or neglectful, they—and only they—get to decide whether some or complete distance is necessary.
To the people who don’t understand—who think this is “dramatic,” “selfish,” or “toxic”: I bless you to only ever know safe, nurturing, uncomplicated relationships. May you never need to understand this kind of pain from the inside.
But to the ones nodding their heads right now…To the ones reading this and thinking, She’s talking about me—I am.
Your pain is specific, your struggle is severe, and no matter how much it may feel like it, you are absolutely not an outlier. You belong to a quiet tribe of humans you may never meet—people who are trudging through the same fire, trying to find clarity, softness, and inner peace for the first time in their lives.
And I promise you: There is a “more” on the other side. This ache won’t be erased, but it will loosen. You will grow bigger than the pain. You will meet yourself again. There will be a day where you can breathe easier.
I’m with you. So many others are with you.
This holiday season, may your figurative table be filled with every version of yourself that has protected you, carried you, and guided you toward light. Let them sit beside you. Honor them.
They got you here.
Cedarhurst