If you see people for who they truly are—not the mask of hurt and pain they wear—then and only then can we love them truly. And only then can they feel truly loved. That's where healing thrives.
It's profound when you think about it. It is what we all want for ourselves—to be truly seen. It is also perhaps the thing we do the least with others. In our lowest moments, we all wish people would see us, know us, accept us, and love us with all our warts and scars.
How freeing it would be not to dress up, put on our costume for the day, and carry the weight of an identity so heavy that by the time we get home, we're emotionally exhausted. Yet, when we are with others, we're so convinced by the narrative we have played all day, that we start to also see people as actors in our play.
Since launching this foundation and site, telling people about the community, offering help, and wanting to hear your stories, I've been having conversations and receiving texts and messages from so many. I've been working on a “storytelling framework” that will help others articulate their story in such a way that it helps process the trauma while realizing the beauty and hope that still exists all around you. We will touch on that more later, but I was surprised by a few of the conversations. I just wasn’t expecting them, honestly.
“I love what you are doing and it is so needed. If you are interested, I would love to give you the perspective of the child in my situation.” —signed, a Daughter.
“I am not in a relationship with my brother and father and sadly never will be.” —signed, a Daughter.
“I love you, but I won’t read your posts or your site because it hurts too much to face it all. But I support you 100%.” —signed, a Daughter.
My response to them was, I see you! It's not lost on this Dad that the weight of estrangement falls on both sides of the scale.
I often think back to my own—not so little girl—now, and I know I wasn't perfect. I can recount times I failed or could have done better, loved harder, been more patient, sacrificed more time, worked less, and the list goes on. But I also realize that I did the best I could. We live imperfect lives in an imperfect world, balancing relationships and challenges as if a tightrope, doing our best to stay on until we reach the other side. That’s living. We do the best we can. So I try not to own too much guilt and shame. While I might have been too self-absorbed in my own pain to see it before, I am now more aware and seeing people differently through a clear lens. It's not just about me or the moms and dads, but the kids too. It was in these responses, that the connections truly hit me.
So, here's what I want you to know, kids (and I get it, you are not kids anymore, but to us, you are always going to be the little kid that ran around, laughing and smiling when life was simple, and so the reference “kids”)— I see you. If you've put distance between you and your parents, I’m sure you have a good reason. Even if it was your choice, it must have hurt then and even still, because we were made for relationships. If the distance was imposed on you, and you're hurting and wanting that gap bridged, I feel for you and hope that day comes. Hear me when I say, even in the darkest moments, deep down, your parents love and miss you because you are a part of them, their DNA. I only say that because that is what I tell myself when I think of my own. Krista and I remind each other that in every minute of her absence, in every word of the narrative, she has our DNA. The strength it took to leave is the strength we gave her. The courage to stand on her own, even as a high schooler, she got from her mom & I. The words of deep faith and love for others in her journals left behind came from a heart made from ours. Her sense of family will also, hopefully, kick in someday too because we have a strong sense of family ourselves and always have. I also know she knows her Dad’s love feels is unconditional, unwavering, and somewhere I am sure she feels the same, because she has my DNA.
I'm glad I heard some of the stories from these “kids” with strained relationships with their parents and siblings. It's a solid perspective and a reminder that love goes both ways. That a break has two sides. And that hope is for everyone. But don’t get stuck—do something. Maybe reach out and tell me your story, and I will share more of mine with you. I am here if you need someone or resources, just do something. Anything. If you are local to Arizona (Phoenix and surrounding areas, I will come grab coffee or dinner).
I will leave you with this. Embrace vulnerability. Sharing your story can be healing, even when it's difficult. Expressing emotions helps in moving forward.
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