Coping with adult child estrangement: Are you borrowing worry?

Last week, I was in a meeting when yet another person brought up the coming super El Niño. The third person in as many days to tell me they were getting ready for what could be a rough winter. One was replacing his roof much sooner than planned. Another was lamenting the flooding that often happens where he lives. And the third was shocked I wasn’t worried about the forecast. His unspoken question seemed to linger in the air: “Have you been living under a rock?”

Apparently, I was supposed to be getting prepared. So, later that evening, I looked it up and discovered that an El Niño is, in fact, underway, and is expected to gain more strength. But, what that will mean for me in Northern California isn’t certain. The effect of El Niño conditions on precipitation is much less predictable here than in the southern part of the state. And in the six years I’ve lived here, we’ve been fine—even when strong winters brought atmospheric rivers that flooded nearby areas.

My house sits on a high point in the surrounding topography. We’d be fine again, wouldn’t we? Then I thought about the winter winds that moan up through the valley, sometimes breaking branches. Hmm. There’s a beautiful oak tree fairly close to the house. For the first time since moving here, I seriously considered having it taken down.

I love that tree. As I write this, I can look out and see its graceful limbs arching. Sometimes I sit under it on hot afternoons, enjoying the shade that helps make summer tolerable. In the autumn, its acorns fall, providing food for the red fox squirrels who hide them for later—and sometimes chatter intolerably when a rival has raided the stash. There’s always a bird or two in its boughs.

Suddenly, I was conjuring scenes of its branches breaking through the roof.

An arborist helped me put things into perspective. Examining tilt, structure, and overall health, he assessed the risk of limb loss or uprooting as slim. No guarantees, of course.

In my neighborhood, many massive oaks stand near homes. They hang over rooftops, shade pools, and provide refuge for birds and other wildlife.  If these neighbors who have lived here for decades aren’t worried, should I be?

My tree is on high, flat ground. All that talk of a super El Niño by smart people I respect had brought me distress, but their situations weren’t the same as mine. So, I didn’t need to borrow worry or make plans based on someone else’s circumstances.

 Whose forecast are you following?

How does this relate to coping with adult child estrangement? Because there are a lot of voices out there claiming to be right. And sometimes, they stir feelings that muddle our sensible way forward.

A brother you respect says to “keep trying or you’ll regret it” and, suddenly, you’re rethinking your decision to stop reaching out. Instead, you’re imagining some future day when you wish you’d kept chasing your estranged one.

A psychologist says what “most parents” will endure to keep contact with grandchildren, and you start to second guess your decision to self-protect. If “most” will tolerate almost anything, should you? Are you less loving because you won’t?

A good friend’s adult daughter with mental health problems is verbally abusive—and your friend remains closely involved despite the toll it takes on her. That’s her “high road,” and one she encourages you to stay on with your troubled son who abuses drugs. “He’s not well,” she says. “He can’t help it.” Meanwhile, you’re guarding your pocketbook and locking your door, dreading the next manipulation tactic.

Borrowed worry can come with borrowed standards

• A good mother never gives up.
• Family is everything.
• You should always leave the door open.
• Someday you’ll wish you’d done more.
• I’d walk through fire for my grandchildren.

Especially in the emotional aftermath of discord, statements like these can sound like wisdom. Delivered with conviction from people whose opinions you care about, the words can influence your thoughts, feelings, and decisions. But their conviction doesn’t mean they know what’s best for you.

Anticipating a future that hasn’t happened

In Rumination Remedies, I talk about how we can be sitting in one place yet existing somewhere else in our minds. We travel backward to past conversations, reconsider past decisions, and imagine what we should have said or done differently. Or we mentally head into an unknown future full of questions.

• What if she never speaks to me again?
• What if my sweet grandchildren grow up thinking I didn’t care?
• What if he dies and I regret stepping away? 

Sometimes you don’t even choose the destination of your thinking. You’re handed a worry from someone else, and their concern may not fit your circumstances. When you’re coping with an estranged adult child, uncertainty can make those imagined futures especially compelling.

While you’re replaying the past, or thinking ahead to an imagined moment of disaster, you’re emotionally responding in the present to something that isn’t happening now. That’s one of the problems with a dreaded forecast. Having an idea of what may happen can be useful when it helps us prepare, but a forecast based on conjecture, another person’s circumstances, or someone else’s standards can flood you with emotions that can sweep you away.

Ultimately, the decisions you make need to fit your own history, circumstances, limits, and well-being. That doesn’t mean figuring everything out alone. Wise support can help you see more clearly. That’s true especially when it comes from people who understand estrangement, respect your role as a parent, and can share relevant experience without insisting that their experience should become yours.

There’s a difference between support that helps you examine your situation and advice that hands you somebody else’s answer, even if it comes from an expert. That’s one reason I value the community in my peer support membership. Members bring real histories and hard-earned perspective to the conversation, but there is plenty of room for differences. The goal isn’t to tell another parent what they must do. It’s to offer support and encouragement, and help one another think more clearly about what fits their circumstances.

Look at your tree

My neighbors keeping their oaks didn’t prove that mine was safe, but seeing their trees helped interrupt growing worry that called for drastic measures. I came back to the evidence: the tree’s good health, tilt, and location.

Examining facts is valuable in estrangement, too. What are the circumstances and history? What happens whenever there’s contact? What has changed in the person and the relationship—and how does it affect you?

Only you, perhaps with the help of others who understand, can determine what’s realistic for you. Is the relationship damaging your health, diminishing your peace, and eroding your overall well-being? In estrangement situations, as in all of life, there comes a point when you must stop looking at somebody else’s roof, floodplain, or storm and assess your own.

Today’s tree and tomorrow’s storm

There may indeed be stronger storms this winter.  Keeping my oak for now isn’t a guarantee of its future, but I made the decision with the information that’s available today. For now, I’m glad to enjoy my beautiful tree and let go of borrowed worry.

When you notice yourself getting frightened about what may happen next, perhaps ask:

• Is this danger actually mine?
• Is this preparation I need—or worry I’ve borrowed?
• Who might I turn to for help?

If someone else’s prediction has sent you worrying into a future you can’t yet know, come back to the present. Prepare for what truly needs your attention.

Before you sacrifice your peace, health, dignity, resources, hope, or perhaps even a relationship, make sure you’re responding to your own circumstances.

Related

Wisdom: What does it mean to be an elder

Estranged adult children: The parents’ song of grief and renewal