The Mountain
The Mountain:
When estrangement blocks your path
As spring moves toward summer, familiar family plans emerge. Graduations, weddings, summer travel caravans and events. The path you’ve walked for years opens ahead of you as it always has. You know the turns, the landmarks, the shady spaces where you gather for yearly fun. The Fourth of July celebration, birthdays, family barbecues … they hold the special moments that remind you of all you’ve created: a loving family, a space for cousins to grow up together, the ordinary rituals that make a family feel like itself.
But this season, as you set out on your familiar journey, everything has changed. A mountain of rock, stretching tall and wide, blocks your path. This is more than a bump in the road. You’ve encountered—and climbed over—those before. This thing called “estrangement” is massive. You could never have expected this enormous obstacle, a mountain that seems to have fallen without warning from the sky and landed smack-dab in your way.
Determined not to let this massive impasse block your beautiful path, you approach it boldly. Then you hear rumbling. A few rocks fall at your feet, and you stumble backward. You right yourself and approach again, but there’s no opening, no footholds … only the rumbling threat of a landslide that just might swallow you whole.
You’re scared and angry. How could this happen? You didn’t change anything, so how did this suddenly appear? You kick at the rock. Pain shoots into your foot and up your leg. Gritting your teeth, you turn to see if anyone’s looking—and of course they are. People you know and love, all seeing the mountain before you, and recognizing that the path has changed.
Even so, because you’ve always been strong and capable, the one who figures it all out, your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Tears sting your eyes. You turn away from the ones you love and face the mountain once again.
Shielding your eyes with your hand, you peer way up to the top and spot your estranged adult child standing there at the edge—pointing and laughing at you. As if it’s funny to see you befuddled, unable to pass.
Behind you, someone who cares steps closer and rests their hand on your shoulder. Your first impulse is to pull away. Being seen in this much pain feels almost unbearable. You don’t want pity. You don’t want to be the one who needs help.
Thoughts crowd in: Why can’t I handle this better? I should be able to get past this. I’m a fool to cry—and I can’t stand anyone to know this hurts.
You feel a mix of relief and regret as your loved one moves away. You want to comfort them in this awkward moment, but tears well up, and you can’t let them see. This is so hard, a mountain like nothing you’ve ever faced. You stare at the craggy surface, resisting the urge to look up and see that person so happy at the top.
Estrangement: You’ve never climbed this mountain before
The shock of this situation settles in. No one warned you this was coming—ever. You don’t know what equipment is needed, or whether climbing is even safe. Not with your adult child behaving so strangely.
The lovely path you thought would continue on with summer parties, family gatherings, and the joy and love and connection you built, is blocked. And you have no idea how to move forward.
You no longer even recognize that person standing at the top. Not knowing what to do now isn’t a flaw in your character. It’s you … being human.
Your gaze drifts downward, landing on your feet. You’re standing in the rubble. You’ll have to turn around and, in front of all these people, face the truth. This hurts so much. You loathe to admit that, at least for now, this obstacle has changed you.
Taking a breath, you steel yourself and turn toward the people who love and have always counted on you. Some are making small talk. Some lower their worried eyes so as not to embarrass you. And that hurts, too.
You straighten your shoulders, feeling the need to appear as impenetrable as that mountain of rock. To prove you’re okay. To make everyone else comfortable by pretending the looming mountain doesn’t exist. But that’s a losing battle. It’s too big to hide.
The mountain is already obstacle enough. Trying to look unshaken while facing it is another climb entirely. And if anyone else were facing it, you wouldn’t expect them to smile as if nothing had changed. To act as if there were no history or person to mourn. You would expect their tears, understand their anger, empathize with their pain—and be relieved when they allow you to comfort them. Because when hardships are faced with honesty, no one has to pretend they know the way.
Perhaps you show the most strength when you admit the enormity of the problem, the confusion, and your inability to fix it. This is more than a bump in the road. Perhaps you reveal the most strength when you call this out as huge and stop pretending you’re just fine and that you know how to cross this unexpected mountain that doesn’t fit the beautiful family landscape you’ve spent a life of love creating.
Maybe the first step forward is to see the mountain for what it is: enormous and heartbreaking. And to recognize that this obstacle is not within your power to change, fix, or climb. Not now. Maybe not ever.
For now, perhaps the way forward is to stop pretending the mountain isn’t there. To breathe. To look around. To let the ones who love you stand beside you in this changed landscape.
This is hard, and it’s okay to admit that.
Related
Upcoming event: Wednesday, June 10, 2026, 10:30 a.m Pacific
Title: Over, around, or through: How do you face the mountain? The coping skills we’ve learned along the way may not serve us well in estrangement’s inhospitable terrain. Join Sheri McGregor and fellow parents in this event that explores our natural coping style(s)–and how they may be costing you–in a lighthearted but meaningful way using the “Mountain” as a metaphor for estrangement. In- Membership event. RSVP required to attend.
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13 thoughts on “The Mountain”
It has been four years this month since i last saw my daughter, grandaughter and grandson. A couple of years ago reading about The Mountain would have brought tears. Today i was able to read through it and remember the pain i once felt. Not just pain, confusion embarrasment and disbelief. But four years in I have accepted the fact that the daughter i loved and the grands i helped to raise may never be a part of my life again. My faith has helped; i continue to pray for them. But I am 75 years Ive let go. This is the last chapter in my life. And i will live it and enjoy each day as it comes. Sheri it is with your help I have made it through this. God Bless you and every member of this group.
My younger daughter’s son just left for a student exchange trip overseas. She was sad and I told her, the heart string between you can stretch a long, long way but it will never break. Years ago when I was young, I made a drawing of the heartstring when I was in art school in California and missing my mom who I loved so much and was far away. I realized after I told my daughter that — that’s the essence of why all estranged parents suffer so much. The heartstring can never break. I’ve been in a tumultuous relationship with my older daughter for many years and estranged on and off, recently now for about a year and a half. But love, hope and heartache never die. I suppose we are wired that way — deeply attached parents are biologically and psychologically necessary for human survival. Thus the embracing of estrangement in some internet and therapist circles is particularly cruel. My heart goes out to all the broken hearted. Thank you Sheri for all you do to help us.
Thank you Sheri for this article.
As I sat here reading it, the tears rolled down my face. I feel like I’ve been living in this dream state and when a special day comes around and I am still in this estrangement, I feel like a little more has broken off of me.
After reading everyone’s comments, I feel a bit of each person’s sorrow here.
Sheri, you truly are a blessing in this strange world, where I wish none of us lived
Dear Sheri.
Such powerful words that describe the painful journey. The pain is excrutiating at times and sadness is there just below the surface.
Isolating me and attacking is his sport. I dont know him anymore.
The scapegoating is just too cruel at times and so exhausting to myself and my lovely hubby.
Yet another cruel text..we watch how often they come., sually every three weeks
Our grand daughter turns 21 soon so another opportunity for abuse.
I dont know when it will ever stop.
Sheri has been a Godsend to me with understanding, compassion and validation. The comments from other parents also help to know we are not alone .
Thank you everyone xx
Thank you for yet another accurate description of what this unimaginable occurrence feels like. Sometimes there’s comfort in analyzing situations for what they are and not what we wish them to be. Who knew that decades of love and caring for our kids would lead to such hurt for seemingly insane reasons. Navigating how to exist in our family seems overwhelming with opinions, ideas, blame, and philosophies on why adult children cut you off for not fitting their ever changing ideas on who you should be, forgetting that we are not just moms or dads but actual people with our own ideas and perspectives and life experiences. The religious narcissism is so unsettling. The outside influence is scary. Ripping grandchildren away is almost unbearable. Learning how to “be” in this new dynamic takes time. A lot of time. Thank you for all you do, Sheri. All you do. You are appreciated so very much.
Cara, you wrote exactly how I feel!! Your words about Moms and Dads being people as well with our own experiences speaks right to my heart and life as I know it right now
Thanks
This was an interesting one. It was so sudden, so big, so unexpected. We had just talked in our long rambling, stop and start way two weeks before. It was a few days before my 64th birthday and when his name appeared on my phone, I was delighted. He was remembering my birthday for once! Maybe he was finally growing up. Becoming kinder. More aware of others. I was sitting in a beautiful park in the city I’d moved to partially to be closer to him. The golden August sunshine added to my delight. “What a perfect time to call!” I remember saying. And then, it was like the light went out of the world as my son told me he didn’t want to talk anymore, be in touch anymore, that he needed a break. I was broken and numb. And, three years later, my birthday is a different kind of anniversary now. That favorite park bench is a memorial to shame like you wrote. How we are ashamed before the people who love us, who are as confused as we are. I have inched forward. I read all the comments when I read your articles. I still feel in limbo and am still waiting to get that other phonecall. The one I was expecting. The son I thought I loved and liked me. The one I’d enjoyed for 42 years. Which is the real son? The one who seemed to love me all those years or the sullen self-pitying man who seems to have swallowed him whole. It is so hard not to know. Thank you for this article and for all the fellow broken hearts out there.
This was a brilliant article and summed up exactly how enormously overwhelming, grief-filled, painful and shocking sudden estrangement feels. Thank you so much for this and for your books. You are a blessing in this strange new world.
Thank you Sherri. Your articles are so perfect as they are written by someone who has experienced exactly what I’m experiencing. The validation is so satisfying while painful all at the same time. Keep up the good the good work that you’re doing. We need you! I need you!
Wow! Sheri I feel like this is the most spot on description of my feelings. You have nailed it. This mountain seems HUGE at times, especially at family gatherings. It’s been nearly 6 years since we’ve had contact with our 41 year old daughter. We are doing our best to navigate. We have a son & 2 beautiful grandchildren who bring us so much joy.
Thank you & God bless you.
This mountain is exactly describing how I feel. Heartbroken, depressed and for once….i can’t fix what’s affecting my whole entire family. I am broken beyond repair.
My goodness, you have put into words exactly my experience. Thank you. I think sometimes that something is wrong with me, next time I feel like this, I will re read this post and feel comfort that I’m not alone and there is understanding out there.
Thanks from N.Z
The amount of why’s in a day or how can I or what if I did this is so exhausting.
The behavior of our children treating us this way, in this generation is like an epidemic, almost an illness if you will.
I feel like I am diseased for the most part for the horrible way I was just forgotten, ignored and uncared for.
Every day I hope to be contacted for a simple hello Mom, or a can we talk. The pain is overwhelming. I feel like I should be locked away like a criminal.
Or just invisible on this earth.