If a friend had told me, a few years ago, that their daughter hasn’t spoken to him/her for 2-1/2 half years, I’m pretty sure I would’ve made an assumption of some sort. Not a huge one, yet one nonetheless. And that assumption would have, as assumptions generally do, led to a judgment. Most probably a judgment masquerading as a statement or question. Something along the lines of, “I wonder what those parents did/said (to have that happen)…” 

I’ve learned – again – from personal experience that assumptions really never work. It’s always better to ask, rather than assume. I’ve come to feel, to see, that I have some shame in openly acknowledging that I’m a parent who’s going through this – having an adult child not speaking to me for what is now more than 2-1/2 years. This parent who always saw her in her bigness, her magnificence, no matter what. The one who was the safe haven, when pretty much everyone else was pathologizing or marginalizing. 

And, at this moment, none of that matters, it seems. What does is that silence is her response to any overture on my part, a silence that is surely more painful than anything she might ever say to me.  

I’m a parent who’s trying my best to move through life with this in my brain and heart every day from the moment I wake-up, and a creator who’s launching projects and “brands” that are rooted in authenticity, that celebrate the power of personal storytelling to help people connect with others with shared experiences. To not feel alone. It’s essential for me to be transparent about this. To take the pink elephant of shame out of the room. My room. And those of others.  

More than a year ago, I shared my parenting reality with a friend with whom I had just reconnected post-Pandemic. Her response: “Holy Shit, it’s a fucking epidemic. I know at least 5 sets of parents going through this, all caring humans, all with kids around my daughter’s age. I’ve now come to realize that there are so many families enduring this, apparently more than ever. And, each one wrestling with this reality, this circumstance, one way or another. And trust me, for most, there’s shame in there. 

A few months into the silence, I was introduced to a book called, “Rules of Estrangement,” by a San Francisco-based therapist named Josh Coleman. About what happens when adult children disengage from families or family members. And how to, hopefully, bring parents and their kids back together. The beauty and depth of Josh’s lens is that it’s written both as a very experienced clinician dealing with family matters, and as a father who had to find his way through his own daughter’s disengagement.  

Josh and I were guests on “The Open Nesters” Podcast together, and Josh’s guidance was something of a balm, for me to not feel alone. And, nothing he could advise, or suggest could do anything to get my kid to show-up. To respond, to communicate. It’s the sound of one hand-clapping. I can try and make sense of it, to rationalize about the results of mental health diagnoses, or get angry about the effects of long-term, systemic parental alienation, yet it really doesn’t matter. None of what might be “facts” matters because the pain that is delivered through silence is more gut wrenching to me than anything that my kid might actually say to me. 

In this unprecedented time that has given birth to cancel culture, and the power of technology, as well as far too much polarization between Millennials and Boomers, silence has become a (non)communication tool and weapon. We Boomers, children of the 60’s and 70’s, who brought these kids into the world, encouraged them to “speak your mind,” to “be yourself.” Often, to challenge authority. 

Well, with this you get this, it seems. It’s painful, and the remnants of shame still lurk close by, always. Self-judgment. It’s a place where answers and excuses and rationalizations don’t matter.  I’m not pretending to have been, or holding myself out to be, any kind of “perfect parent” (is that notion even possible?) It’s about the pain of silence, and the lack of an option to communicate). All I want is my kid, to engage, to talk, to hug. The irony, and reality, is that I’m always trying to figure out a way to deepen relationships and human connection, and often it’s connecting with someone else’s. kids, or someone else’s parents, that allow us to learn and grow.

Not feeling alone, not being alone, is one of the greatest routes to UnShaming, within.