A Mother Erased-

There’s a particular kind of grief that has no name.

It’s not death. It’s not divorce. It’s not a clean break or a defined trauma.

It’s something quieter, murkier—and in many ways, more isolating.

It’s the grief of being erased from your children’s lives while you’re still here, still loving them, still aching for them every single day.

That’s where I am right now.

I am a mother whose children have become unreachable.

Not because I don’t love them—not because I don’t try.

But because something happened beyond my view, beyond my control, and now they’re gone from me emotionally, relationally, and physically.

I don’t know exactly what stories have been told.

I don’t know the reasons for the silence.

I don’t know how my name is spoken when I’m not there—or if it’s spoken at all.

What I do know is that I would give anything just to hear their voices, to be included in the small details of their day, to know what they’re going through, who they’re becoming, what they’re dreaming about.

But I don’t get that. Not right now.

The Loneliness of Not Knowing

No one prepares you for this kind of separation.

It’s not clean like co-parenting books describe.

It’s not structured like a custody agreement.

It’s ambiguous. Unspoken.

And the silence makes the grief stretch further.

I don’t even know how we got here—what’s been said, what’s been assumed, what’s been held against me.

And no one is willing to tell me.

That’s the part that hurts most.

The not knowing.

The absence without explanation.

What I Want Them to Know

If my girls ever read this—or if another parent or child does—

I want it known: I love them with every part of me.

Even if I’m not present in their lives right now.

Even if they feel distant, unsure, confused, or angry.

My love is not conditional.

It never was.

I want them to know that I haven’t forgotten them.

I think about them all the time.

I wonder what music they like.

I wonder if they’re sleeping well.

I wonder if they ever think about me, too.

I’m still their mom.

Even if I’m invisible.

Why I’m Sharing This

I know I’m not the only parent who’s going through this.

Parental alienation, gatekeeping, miscommunication, hurt that festers into estrangement—it’s happening all over the world, often in silence and shame.

I’m writing this to break that silence.

Not to point fingers or vilify anyone.

But to simply say: This is happening. This hurts. And you’re not alone.

If you are a parent who’s been cut off, sidelined, or kept at a distance from your children without clarity or closure—

I see you.

Your grief is valid.

And your love still matters, even if it can’t land where it belongs right now.

What Helps Me Keep Going

• Faith. I believe that truth has a way of rising. That love outlasts confusion. That someday, they’ll want to know my heart for themselves.

• Journaling. I write letters to my girls they may never read. But it keeps me connected.

• Connection. If this post reaches even one person who understands, then I’ve already made a meaningful connection in this storm.

• Hope. I won’t let go of it. No matter how far away they seem.

To Anyone Reading This

Maybe you’re the parent, like me.

Maybe you’re the child, unsure of what to believe.

Maybe you’re the friend, the sibling, the outsider looking in.

Whoever you are—

Don’t underestimate the pain of this kind of loss.

And don’t underestimate the power of time, truth, and unconditional love.

I’m still here. Still loving. Still hoping.

And if you are too—maybe we can walk this hard road together.

If you’ve been through something like this, I’d love to hear from you. You can share in the comments or reach out privately. You are not alone