Family Estrangement Isn’t a Trend — It’s a Safety Response

Yesterday I read a post that said family estrangement is a cultural trend. That people today are too quick to cut each other off. That therapists, digital culture, and “consumer values” have convinced us that boundaries mean disconnection. And I just sat there staring at my screen thinking, what the actual fuck. Because as both a therapist and someone who’s lived it, I can tell you — that take is dangerous. I didn’t cut off my father because of culture, social media, or some “self-care era.” I did it because it was about survival.

What Estrangement Actually Looks Like

I grew up with my father’s alcoholism and his untreated mental health struggles. I learned early that my needs were selfish, that my feelings made me difficult, and that I was responsible for keeping him stable. He alienated me from my mom when I was seven. I believed him when he said she didn’t love me, and I carried that lie well into adulthood. That’s not a cultural trend. That’s trauma conditioning. When people talk about “restoring connection in the age of disconnection,” I want to ask if they’ve ever lived in a house where connection meant chaos. Where love came with rules. Where being good meant being quiet, compliant, and small.

The Pattern That Finally Broke Me

The last time I went no contact was in 2019. He had just been in the hospital, and I called to check in. Somewhere in the conversation, he got angry — maybe because I had boundaries, maybe because he couldn’t control the narrative — and said, “Fuck you, don’t speak to me again.” It wasn’t the first time. He’s kicked me out before. He’s gone silent before. The pattern was always the same: I stopped being useful or controllable, and he reminded me that his love was conditional. So I listened.
I didn’t speak to him for three years. And it was the first time in my life I started breathing for me.

Reconnection Doesn’t Always Mean Repair

Yes, we’ve “reconnected.” But it’s not what people imagine. It’s small talk, surface-level, one foot in and one foot out. Because the truth is, I know at any moment he could turn on me again. I know that my nervous system will sense it before my brain does. I know that if that happens, I’ll retreat — not out of anger, but out of safety. He isn’t my responsibility. He never was. My responsibility is to my daughter. She deserves my space, my time, my energy — not the emotional residue of me trying to manage his chaos again.

What People Don’t Understand About “Good People”

When people ask why I don’t talk to him more, they say things like, “He’s such a good guy,” or “You only get one father.” And I just stare blankly. Because you never lived with him. You never had to talk him down when he was drunk and suicidal. You never carried the weight of his pain in your tiny hands, trying to fix what was never yours to fix. You never had to clean up the ragers that tore through the house. You never had to be the best basketball player out of fear that if you messed up, he’d get drunk and punch holes in the wall. You never had to hide under blankets when he came home drunk, slowing your breath to look like you were sleeping. From the outside, it’s easy to call someone a “good person.” But safety isn’t something you can see in family photos. Safety is what your body feels when the door closes behind you.

As a Therapist and a Daughter

I’m a therapist specializing in trauma, attachment, and family systems. I understand the pull toward repair. I understand how much we crave a version of family that finally feels safe. But connection can’t happen without accountability. Forgiveness doesn’t erase the harm if the pattern keeps repeating. Estrangement isn’t disconnection it’s a boundary the body creates when survival has gone on too long. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is step away. Sometimes protecting your peace means losing the illusion of family you always wished for.

To Anyone Who’s Been There

If you’ve gone no contact or keep someone at arm’s length, I want you to know this — you don’t owe anyone an explanation. You don’t need to justify protecting yourself. You don’t have to let anyone shame you for choosing peace. You’re not cold. You’re not dramatic. You’re healing. And you were just a kid. They were the adults. It was never your responsibility to manage the family, to hold their emotions, or to fix what they refused to face. You didn’t fail them. They failed to protect you. And now you get to protect yourself.

So no, family estrangement isn’t a cultural trend. It’s not because of therapy or social media or “individualism.” It’s what happens when you finally stop setting yourself on fire to keep everyone else warm. For me, it wasn’t rebellion. It was safety. It was reclaiming my time, my energy, and my daughter’s future. And that’s something worth protecting.