Real Stories of Motherhood: Beyond the “Bad Moms” Stereotype
The word estrangement was never in my vocabulary before it happened to me seven years ago. While films like the comedy movies Bad Moms offer a humorous, albeit exaggerated, look at the pressures and imperfections of parenting, the reality of mother-child relationships, particularly when they break down, is far more complex and painful. And like many parents facing this difficult reality, I was ashamed and reluctant to talk about it (a significant 68% of those who are estranged from a family member believe there is a stigma attached). But once I started researching, I realized I’m far from alone (just search the word “estranged” on social media platforms, and dozens of support groups emerge, including one I am involved with). This is my experience, shared not as a commentary on entertainment, but as a real perspective on the deep, often hidden, challenges of motherhood.
My son Dan* and I shared a typical mother-son bond in many ways. We both enjoyed hiking and photography, spending time together engaging in these activities. He was a charming boy who grew into a strong, capable man. I could always rely on him, whether the car battery needed a jump or the computer malfunctioned. He was also there for a laugh or a hug.
Sheri McGregor and her husband hiking, representing shared family experience before estrangement
When I first met the girl Dan would eventually marry, she was in the car with my daughter. It was dark, but I can still recall her smiling face illuminated by the dashboard lights as we were introduced. I know it sounds cliché, but I remember thinking she was cute as a button — and she was. She and Dan had attended school together, and a friend later told us she’d always had a crush on him. Following that introduction, we began seeing her frequently at our house. She and I both had a real interest in fashion, so we would sometimes discuss clothes. One winter day, she joined Dan, his sister, and me in my car for a shopping trip. A cashier commented that we were all wearing plaid flannel. Not exactly high fashion, but somehow we’d all coordinated!
Dan started renting a small house in town from my husband and me, and we were happy when she moved in a few months later.
As the months went by, Dan and his girlfriend openly discussed marriage. One day during a visit, I asked him if he had proposed yet. He broke into a goofy grin. “What’s so funny?” I inquired. Dan confessed that he planned to ask her at Disneyland, on the castle bridge outside Fantasyland. “I think she will like that,” he said. I immediately called his dad, and we decided to purchase the theme park tickets for them. Dan’s 24th birthday was approaching anyway. It seemed like the perfect gift.
Shifting Dynamics After Engagement
After the engagement, things started to change subtly. Dan’s future in-laws seemed pleased about the upcoming marriage and began making formal wedding plans. Dan and his fiancée were busy with these preparations, so we didn’t see much of them over the next few months. When we did, I began to sense that Dan was making comparisons between our family and hers. On one occasion, he remarked that her family had always involved their children in sports. Then he said he doubted I had known anything about “the whole kids’ sports thing.” It’s true that my husband and I didn’t push our children toward athletics, but we consistently encouraged them to pursue the activities in which they expressed genuine interest. What he said that day stunned me. I didn’t correct him in the moment, but it was something his dad and I discussed later.
The Call That Changed Everything
The beginning of the end unfolded about two weeks before their wedding day. One afternoon, I called Dan to discuss some of the final details. I mentioned that the big day was arriving quite quickly and asked him if he was truly certain about the marriage. Given their young age, it felt like a natural question to ask. My husband and I have been married for over 35 years, but we both experienced first marriages that didn’t succeed, partly because we felt pressured into those vows. Dan knew this about us. When he responded clearly, “Yes, I’m sure. I’m marrying her,” I felt a sense of reassurance. We laughed and continued chatting for a bit. Everything seemed fine, or so I believed. A few days later, Dan called again, and that’s when I discovered things were far from fine.
It was close to midnight when the phone rang, and I answered quickly. My husband was unwell and had just settled down to sleep, and I was afraid the ringing would wake him. I honestly don’t remember most of what was said in that conversation, but thinking about it now still makes my stomach clench. I do remember Dan explaining, in a very clear, very matter-of-fact tone that I had never heard him use with me before, that his fiancée’s family would not be attending the rehearsal dinner we had planned. At first, I was so shocked that I couldn’t even respond. That’s when he put his fiancée on the phone, and she said something to the effect of, “That’s my family.” To which I responded that I didn’t understand what she meant. Dan came back on the line and said something about me being unfriendly at the bridal shower the month before. I was stunned. Hearing his accusation hurt deeply, and Dan truly knew me better than that.
Sheri McGregor, a mother of five, reflecting on the complexities of family relationships and the fear of being seen as a bad mom
My husband and I were in complete disbelief. How could a person you’ve loved your entire life act that way? The next few days were spent in a sort of holding pattern, just trying to keep busy and numb the pain. When Dan did call again, it wasn’t to apologize or offer an explanation. He called simply to confirm that we would not be attending the wedding. When he stated he was just confirming our absence for “the plates,” tears streamed down my cheeks. I was his mother, seemingly reduced to a mere number on a catering order.
After that devastating call, I had no choice but to contact our relatives who had been invited and try to explain why we were no longer going to Dan’s wedding. Of course, there were questions: “What happened?” Estrangement triggers so much shame, especially when the only answer you’re left with is, “I’m not sure.” It feels intensely isolating, as though everyone is making judgments about you, implicitly believing you must have done some awful thing to cause such a rupture. There were a couple of relatives who immediately rallied and offered support, saying things like, “Something’s really going on here. Do you think she wants him all to herself?” Statements like that, while speculative, felt supportive and kind in that moment. My internal response was, I don’t know, but I am not going to say anything negative about anyone involved.
Navigating the Pain Before the Wedding
The two weeks between that phone call and the wedding felt like a blur of pain. I walked around in a daze, every time the phone rang, my heart would leap into my throat. I would think: It’s got to be him. This cannot be happening. He’s going to call and fix it. But when it wasn’t him, there was also a strange sense of relief mixed with the crushing disappointment. He had sounded so cold and detached on the phone, and frankly, I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing that chilling tone in his voice again so soon. I did tell his siblings, “You could probably still go to the wedding if you want to.” However, our four other adult children were fiercely protective of my husband and me and felt that Dan’s behavior had been incredibly inappropriate and hurtful. Since we had already ordered Greek food, Dan’s favorite, for the planned rehearsal dinner, we decided to invite a couple of extended family members over to share the meal with us the night before the wedding, trying to find a small measure of comfort in family connection.
The Difficult Wedding Day
The day of the wedding itself was deeply sad. I think we all woke up that morning with a flicker of hope, thinking that surely Dan would call and make things right before the ceremony. But he didn’t. And so, we did our best to simply avoid talking about the wedding throughout the day. My husband and I were simply numb and emotionally spent. That day, we mostly alternated between sitting long-faced in front of the television, hiding behind a newspaper, or simply gazing blankly out into nothingness from a patio chair. Amidst my own pain, I remember feeling for Dan too, wondering if he was hurting there without his family present. It seemed too painful an image to even fully imagine — even if he had made the choice for this arrangement himself.
Sheri McGregor and her daughter, highlighting the support system within the family during challenging times like parental estrangement
Adjusting to a New Reality
Some time later, I was in line at the bank and spotted Dan across from me in the grocery line. It was an intense, visceral Oh my gosh! There he is moment. But when he finished and left the store, he walked directly past me without acknowledging my presence. I finished my banking transaction, but I completely broke down in tears once I got to my car and cried all the way home. His car had a very distinctive sound, and a little while later, I heard him coming to drop off his rent check (he was still renting from us at the time). I hurried outside, thinking maybe I could intercept him and we could finally talk face-to-face. But by the time I got down to the mailbox, he was already speeding away. I texted him immediately, “Next time you see your mother in the store maybe you could speak to her.” He responded that he hadn’t seen me, but how could that possibly be true? As I reflected on the encounter later, I thought, Well, I didn’t exactly jump out of the bank line and run over to him either. Maybe he felt awkward. I do try to maintain a lot of empathy for him, acknowledging that it was probably a distressing moment for him too, caught between two worlds.
A couple weeks later, Dan secured a new job and texted me that he would be moving out of our rental property soon. I was pleasantly surprised when he actually agreed to meet me in person to turn over the keys. As I drove up his street on the appointed day, I had this whole fantasy playing out in my head about a tearful, reconciliatory reunion. Unfortunately, the reality was far different. He was incredibly guarded during our brief interaction, and admittedly, so were we, still reeling from the events. It was an undeniably awkward encounter, and Dan ended up rushing off quickly. As he was jogging back to his car, I remember saying aloud, “I’m going to cry every day for the rest of my life.” Maybe it was a melodramatic or even stupid thing to say in the moment, but that is precisely how I felt – utterly heartbroken and hopeless. And I did cry. Every single day for months afterward. But Dan didn’t even turn around when I said that to him; he just kept moving and drove off. I considered reaching out to him after they had time to get settled in their new place. But after experiencing his coldness towards me, I simply couldn’t bring myself to make the first move again. It had become painfully clear that Dan had changed significantly. It truly seemed that he was done with us, and that we couldn’t fix the relationship, even if we desperately wanted to.
I was an emotional wreck during those first six months of estrangement, gaining weight, struggling to sleep, or else plagued by nightmares. That first holiday season without him was particularly brutal. I rushed around wrapping presents and preparing festive food, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. But when Christmas Day was over, I lay in bed, consumed by self-doubt, wondering if I had done enough as a mother over the years. The terrifying thought looped through my mind: Will everyone else I love just leave me too? It felt pitiful and raw, but this intense fear of abandonment is incredibly common for estranged parents. You’ve devoted your entire life, your energy, your resources to raising this person. If that person can leave, then it feels like anyone you care about potentially could. That night, as I lay there in the darkness thinking of all the time and emotional energy I had wasted crying over a grown adult who seemingly didn’t want a relationship with me, I couldn’t escape the painful realization of how much valuable time I was losing. I had worn out my husband, my other children, and even some of my closest friends with my relentless sadness and grief. They all missed the old, optimistic Sheri they knew. More than anyone, I missed that person too.
Reclaiming Life and Finding Community
Determined to reclaim my life from the grip of grief, I stopped wallowing in the past and consciously decided to march forward into my future. As I sought out information and resources, I discovered that thousands upon thousands of regular, decent people suffer the pain of estrangement from their adult children. I know there are complex situations where adult children make the difficult decision to leave parents for genuinely good and necessary reasons. But that is not the context of the experiences I was encountering, nor my own. We are talking about regular parents who were kind, supportive, and deeply invested in their children’s well-being. People who sacrificed greatly, who even took out mortgages on their homes to pay for their children’s college educations. And yet, much of the popular advice I was seeing felt incredibly judgmental toward the parents, placing blame and the sole responsibility for reconciliation squarely on them. That response ignited a sense of anger and righteous indignation within me. Dan’s choice to leave his family wasn’t going to be the defining factor of my life or my identity. I knew in my heart I was a good mother. I was a good person. We were still a good family unit, albeit one hurting from a profound loss. Slowly, deliberately, I started putting myself back together, piece by painful piece.
I leveraged my education in human behavior to conduct a large-scale online survey, connecting with thousands of parents of estranged adult children. I began using my experience as an author and writer to compile a book designed specifically to help other hurting parents navigating this same desolate landscape, filling it with the practical techniques and emotional strategies I was using to help myself heal. My book, Done With The Crying: Help and Healing for Mothers of Estranged Adult Children, was published relatively recently. Then, about a year after Dan had moved out of the rental house, he actually called me. For part of that conversation, it genuinely felt like I was talking to a complete stranger – the connection felt broken, the intimacy gone. But there were also fleeting moments where I thought he was intentionally bringing up shared interests or past activities – like his new camera and some of the hikes he and his wife had recently gone on – perhaps as a tentative attempt to reconnect with me. Those were the precious moments when the emotional distance seemed to fall away, and I felt a surge of hope and familiarity, thinking, Wow, this feels like my son again. He assured me before hanging up, “I’ll call you again Mom, soon.” That promise filled me with intense hope and anticipation.
Months passed agonizingly slowly, and he never called again. It was a big emotional setback, a crushing wave of disappointment. All of those raw feelings of loss and grief came tumbling back with renewed force. By then, however, I had done enough research and connected with enough other estranged parents to know that it’s tragically not unusual for adult children who have cut off their families to periodically return, sometimes making promises of renewed connection, and then disappear again. These episodic estrangements, where contact is sporadic and unpredictable, are often the worst kind of emotional torture for parents. Each time the child pulls away again, the parents are devastated anew, reliving the initial trauma. It simply isn’t right to inflict this kind of emotional pain on the people who have raised and loved you unconditionally – and I had just had a painful taste of that cycle. Firmly, I decided it was time to start taking even better care of myself, prioritizing my own emotional well-being, and became even more determined to help other estranged parents do the same. This struggle is not just about navigating the personal pain, but also grappling with the societal perceptions that can make mothers, even good ones, feel like “Bad Moms” when relationships with their adult children falter.
Years Later: Limited Contact and Lingering Questions
In the years since that last phone call, I have only seen and spoken to my son a mere handful of times. We did have one genuinely good visit about eight months after that phone call where he didn’t call back. Dan was apologetic during that visit and even seemed a little tearful. It felt like it had all the hallmarks of a successful, healing reunion, and my husband and I were incredibly hopeful that things were beginning to mend. But when he stopped in unexpectedly a few mornings later, he brought his wife with him, and that meeting did not go nearly as well. I apologized (although, honestly, I didn’t fully understand what I was apologizing for, grasping at straws for connection), and to her credit, Dan’s wife offered an apology too. However, they were very clear that they absolutely refused to talk about what had happened to cause the estrangement in the first place. They stated emphatically that they wanted to simply “move forward” and “forget the past.” And our family, particularly my husband and I, just wasn’t comfortable with that approach. How can you truly move forward and heal a relationship without at least some understanding or acknowledgment of what went wrong, of the pain that was caused?
About four and a half years ago, Dan and his wife moved to another state, relocating to where her parents and siblings had all previously moved. He did come to say goodbye in person before leaving, but the meeting was mostly awkward and profoundly sad because we had the unspoken fear that we might never see him again (and so far, we haven’t). I told his siblings that if they want to try and reach out to Dan or his wife and maintain a relationship, that is entirely their personal business. I wasn’t going to ask them to do it, and I would certainly never preclude them from having a relationship with their brother if that was something they wanted. They all know unequivocally that if he were to knock on my door tomorrow, I would open it without hesitation. But as far as I know, none of them have actively reached out. For parents navigating this, the pain is real, and it exists regardless of whether society labels you a “bad mom” or not.
Sometimes people from outside the experience judge me and other estranged parents who have made the difficult decision to try and move forward with their own lives. They say they would never “give up” on their child, implying that somehow we have abandoned our children. I understand their feelings from their perspective, but they haven’t walked this path. Sometimes, paradoxically, “giving in” to an adult child’s decision to create distance, to respect their boundary even when it hurts, is the only sensible and self-preserving choice you can make for your own well-being and for the health of the rest of your family. I truly wish my son the absolute best in life. I genuinely hope he is happy and well in his new life, whatever that looks like. But I count too. My well-being, my life, my future happiness also matters. And that’s the most crucial message I want other estranged families and anyone grappling with the complex, sometimes painful, realities of motherhood to know: If you can find a way to just let go of all those consuming “whys” and the haunting “what ifs” that tie you to the pain, and actively choose to move on to what’s next for you, you absolutely can live a fulfilling life despite the profound loss. It’s about finding strength and redefining what being a good mom means, even when the relationship you poured into doesn’t look like you expected, a far cry from any “Bad Moms” stereotype.
Sheri McGregor is the founder of the online support group rejectedparents.net. Her book Done With The Crying: Help and Healing for Mothers of Estranged Adult Children offers guidance and support.
*Name has been changed.
