How to Heal a Broken Family

As the daughter of one, I vowed to never put my child through the same pain. But life has a way of circling back to the wounds we thought we had escaped.

When I was Young

I remember sitting in daycare, watching little girls play with their fathers, devastated that mine was so far away. One year, my mother didn’t let us visit him (perhaps for good reason) but still, I never forgave her. The pain of being separated from him was too much for me to bear.

So when my daughter was born, the first thing I did was draft a contract that said we would never be apart.

Come to find out… the court did not recognize that contract or the love between us.

Now, I find myself in the same isolation. Only this time, as the parent.

Understanding Parental Alienation

Parental alienation is when one parent keeps a child away from the other, turning the child against them either through words, actions, or subtle emotional manipulation. It is a war where everyone loses.

The anger, grief, and powerlessness I have felt as the alienated parent is indescribable. My grief has teeth, and some days it bites through everything. But in between her father and I, sits my daughter, quietly watching every breath we take.

If I don’t transmute my anger in real time, she will grow up in a minefield of emotional confusion. I have had no choice but to find love and compassion.

Because she is equally both of us. When we fight, we tear her apart.

The Unseen Wounds in Children

As a teacher, I’ve seen this dynamic play out. I remember one little girl who was violent toward her baby sister—constantly pushing her down when no one was looking. Her mother later confided that the father had left right after the baby was born, and the older child blamed her sister for never seeing him again.

Now, I see the same pain in my own child.

Since my mother came to support me in the foreign country where my child is being retained—living with me, helping with legal matters—my daughter has completely rejected her. She smacks her hand away and yells at her when she gets too close. It’s been heartbreaking to watch.

The other day, my four year old daughter finally explained: She wants Grandma to go home because she believes Grandma is the reason we’re not together.

I gently told her, “As soon as Papi says so, we’ll be together again and Grandma is helping us get there.”

She shook her head, “No. No.”

The Psychological Cost to Children

Children in these dynamics often feel they must side with the parent they are most dependent on—emotionally, physically, or for a sense of stability. Their safety depends on it. To bond with the alienated parent might feel like a betrayal, or even a threat to their place in the home. And so they push that love away, not because they don’t feel it, but because the cost of expressing it feels too high.

It is a zero-sum game that often turns the child against their own parent, forcing them to oscillate between loyalties, identities, and emotional truths. Over time, this creates deep inner conflict. The child learns to suppress parts of themselves to stay aligned with the “preferred” parent, which can lead to shame, anxiety, and confusion about their own feelings.

They may begin to internalize the belief that love must be earned through rejection of the other, that connection requires betrayal, and that authenticity is dangerous.

This splintering of the psyche doesn’t just affect their relationship with their parents—it shapes how they show up in all relationships. Trust becomes fragile. And without intervention or healing, the child often carries these unresolved dynamics into adulthood, unsure of who they truly are or what love is supposed to feel like.

Seeing the Story Beneath the Behavior

When a parent alienates, it’s easy to see them as cruel or manipulative. And while the harm they cause is real, I’ve come to understand that these behaviors often arise from deep, unacknowledged wounds.

The alienating parent may be drowning in fear, grief, or emotional overwhelm. They may feel abandoned, betrayed, or powerless. And instead of facing that pain, they try to control the one thing still within reach: the child.

The child becomes both a lifeline and a battleground.

Most alienating parents believe they’re protecting their child. But what they’re really doing is projecting their own trauma. They are unconsciously creating stories and alliances that mirror their pain and justify their fear.

This doesn’t excuse the behavior. But it does call us to pause. To reflect. To remember that healing must include all members of the family system—even the one causing harm.

Because behind the armor is often someone who has never felt safe.

Someone who may have been rejected themselves.

Someone repeating a painful pattern not out of malice, but out of survival.

And in trying to protect themselves, they are not protecting their child.

They are teaching the child that love is conditional. That truth is dangerous. That to be loyal, one must abandon a piece of themselves.

This is why it so important we don’t approach these dynamics with blame, but with presence. With truth. With care.

To say, “I see your pain. I know you’re trying to protect something sacred. But in doing so, your child is losing their sense of self. Can we find another way?”

Healing a family doesn’t mean taking sides.

It means standing for wholeness.

The Darkest Days

When my daughter was taken from me, I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I no longer wanted to live.

I lay in the dark for days, frozen in grief. Her laughter echoed in my mind. Her scent lingered on her clothes. I would hold them to my chest just to feel close to her. The silence was deafening.

I was not just grieving my daughter. I was grieving the mother I had been, the rhythm of our bond, and the beautiful life that we once shared.

Love Reached for Me

And then, little by little, love reached for me.

Sheri called me every day, reflecting my light when I couldn’t see it.

Georgie led me through weekly virtual dance parties just to get my body moving again.

Troy held space for weekly meditations, gently guiding me back into connection and balance.

And Amanda flew across countries to hold me during my darkest days.

It was through the kindness of others that I began to rise again.

Love guided me back to myself.

What If Love Could Reach Him Too?

Now I wonder, what could happen if my daughter’s father received the same support?

What might shift if the community came together to hold him in his wounding?

If instead of judgment, he was met with presence.

If instead of isolation or validation, he was offered reflection and support.

What if he, too, had people reminding him of the love within?

Helping him find his way back to the heart?

Because healing cannot happen in a vacuum.

It happens in relationship. In community.

I believe that if we can hold each other through the darkest moments, we can transmute even the deepest of pain.

Families Need Support, Not Validation

Before my daughter was taken from me, I witnessed three families walk this road. I saw the suffering and I stayed silent. I didn’t feel equipped to help. I didn’t think I had the capacity to hold that level of pain.

Now that I’ve walked through it myself… now that I’ve lived the heartbreak…

I understand now the destructruction that silence brings. Because more often than not, parents can no longer hear one another. Only an outside voice can reach where theirs no longer can.

Families need support. They need mediation. They need to be held by a community that refuses to turn away.

They do not need labels of “good” or “bad.”

They do not need validation.

They need to be seen as part of a system in need of healing.

This Is Bigger Than One Family

This isn’t just about my family.

It’s about a culture that doesn’t know how to hold rupture.

About systems that separate instead of support.

About generations of children growing up without access to both parents.

If we want a more whole, connected future, we have to start here—in the heart of the family.

Dreaming Forward

It took me 35 years to forgive my mother.

Thirty-five years of blame. Of disdain. Of believing she tore our family apart.

I do not wish this for my daughter’s father.

I do not wish this for anyone.

So rather than collapse into victimhood, I am answering the call.

As I now understand this triangulation from the inside out, I share my voice.

Here is what I am dreaming forward:

A world where we stand for the highest in one another.

Where we hold each other in Munay—divine love with will.

Where we don’t avoid the hard conversations or wait for someone else to step in.

Where we see the suffering and meet it with action, not judgment.

Where children grow up whole—never forced to choose between love and truth.

A world where the family is not just restored, but reimagined.

Expanded beyond bloodlines.

A community that holds us all.

Can you see it too?

If this moved you, please forward to someone who needs to hear this today. We heal faster when we heal together. Thank you for your love and support.