When the Past Met the Present: Recognizing Parental Alienation in My Own Story
How witnessing my stepdaughter’s struggle helped me uncover the truth about my own childhood
Author’s Note:
This piece is a personal reflection on parental alienation, emotional manipulation, and the generational patterns that shaped my understanding of family. If you’ve experienced similar dynamics, as a parent, child, or partner, I hope this story offers insight and a sense of solidarity. Some content may be triggering.
The Awakening
I didn’t know what parental alienation was until recently.
I hadn’t really heard the term before. It wasn’t something I grew up knowing about or ever had explained to me. I always assumed that kids who hated one of their parents must have had a good reason, that the parent had done something terrible to deserve it. I didn’t realize that it could be the result of one parent poisoning a child’s perception of the other, until it was happening in my home. Watching my stepdaughter go through the emotional whirlwind caused by her mother’s manipulations forced me to take a closer look at things I hadn’t dared examine before.
At first, it was about my husband’s ex. Her behavior was confusing and destructive: twisting facts, undermining his role as a father, and feeding our daughter narratives that left her emotionally torn. At one point, she said she hated all of us, especially her dad, but even people she had once been very close to. She said she didn’t want to come to our home and that she would rather not be here at all. The emotional distress was overwhelming—for all of us. I won’t go into every detail, but the level of distortion in her thinking was heartbreaking. These weren’t just words from a child in pain; they were signs of a deeper manipulation, the kind you don’t see until it’s already taken hold. This was during the most extreme period of alienation, before I really understood what was happening. I hadn’t yet realized there had been other, more seemingly benign signs years ago, even before I met my husband. It was textbook alienation, though I didn’t know it at the time.
As I began researching and learning about the signs and symptoms, patterns, and long-term impacts of parental alienation, something unexpected happened. Memories from my own childhood began to surface. I started to realize that I had lived through a version of this myself.
My Own Story Resurfaces
My mother kept me from my father.
She didn’t outright say, “You can’t see him.” It was more subtle, but still manipulative. I remember being told to call him, not to connect or build a relationship, but to ask for money or a favor. I was used as a go-between, a tool to get what she wanted. I was three when he left, and while he wasn’t a perfect dad by any means, I now see that he didn’t stand much of a chance.
He sent birthday and Christmas cards, each one carefully signed with nothing more than his name. No messages. No warmth. Just a signature. At the time, I thought that was his choice. Now, I’m not so sure. Maybe he thought that was all he was allowed to do. Maybe he believed that was all I wanted, or that it was all he was capable of. He only made it to sixth grade, and while he had moments of success, he struggled to maintain them. His limitations showed in small ways, like his spelling.
Now I’ll never know—because my dad died right before my eldest daughter was born.
My step-daughter’s mom has also kept her away from her dad at times. When he was away at school, she refused to relocate with him, effectively creating distance between them for nearly two years. Then about eight years ago, she used a seemingly minor parenting oversight as the basis for a serious allegation. Rather than working through it privately as co-parents, she escalated the situation, involving authorities and leveraging it in court. That move changed everything. It was the beginning of a long battle that ultimately took their daughter away from him for a time, despite his sincere efforts to resolve things constructively.
It’s painful to admit, but I think my mom alienated me from my dad.
The realization didn’t come easily. It took seeing my husband fight so hard to be a father, to stay involved, to love unconditionally in the face of constant resistance, for me to recognize what I had missed in my own life. Witnessing the loving, caring, and healthy relationship he had with his daughter before the alienation took hold made it even more clear—he was the kind of dad I always wished I had.
Watching what happened to him made me see how much damage one parent can do when they use a child as a weapon. To witness a beautiful father–daughter relationship, especially when I didn’t have any positive father figures growing up, transform into something almost indescribable, nearly non-existent… was devastating.
Seeing the Parallels
Her mother has reminded me of my own mom for a long time, long before everything escalated and the alienation became undeniable. After I began learning about parental alienation and the language that came with it, I reflected on what I knew about her from my time with my husband and from stories shared by others who knew them. It became clear that the alienation had started long before the most severe incidents.
She “love-bombed” my stepdaughter early on, making her feel like she was the only one who could truly understand her, aligning her tightly with her, and giving the impression that only she could take care of her the way she needed. It mirrored what my own mom did to me, and that clicked into place during my research and reflection.
There were other similarities too—patterns I had noticed before but never connected to parental alienation until about a year ago. My mom was vain and self-centered, and often treated me as her emotional sounding board, like a stand-in therapist, unloading her feelings and frustrations onto me. Her mother is similar in these ways and does the same to her, which we've seen in communications between them.
And then there are the illnesses. Her mother always seems to have some medical issue that shifts the focus back to her. I've watched my stepdaughter carry the emotional burden of this, much like I did with my own mom. Her mother has spoken often about surviving serious health issues, something we later learned stemmed from a minor medical discovery during an unrelated procedure. Despite claims of a serious illness and hair loss due to treatment, there were no visible signs, which, if as serious as she made it out to be, would have been obvious. Another time, she asked if we could keep our daughter longer because she was supposedly having a serious surgery. We later found out that the procedure never took place.
Just before the relationship with my stepdaughter changed dramatically, a couple of summers ago, her mother told her she had sustained a serious neck injury and needed out-of-state medical treatment, and implied the risk was life-threatening. Our daughter was deeply distressed when she got to our house, my husband stayed up late to comfort her. He told her that doctors are knowledgeable and very capable, that we needed to trust she was going to be okay. Again, that surgery never happened. More recently, she has said she has PTSD from past relationships (including my husband) and in one message, she told her she was having difficulty managing everyday tasks and had begun using health-related accommodations.
Emotional Burdens and Childhood Roles
All of this has deeply impacted our daughter’s emotional well-being. The constant medical crises—whether real, exaggerated, or fabricated—pull her into an adult world of fear and obligation. I lived this too. In the final months of my mom’s life, I had to help her to the restroom and care for her as her liver was shutting down, though we didn’t know that at the time. She was jaundiced and very sick from cirrhosis, a condition brought on by years of alcohol abuse. Long before that, I was already her caretaker. I made her alcoholic drinks—her drink of choice… Gin and Juice. I also cooked for both of us and was sent to the store to buy her cigarettes, even panhandling at times to support her habits. Just before she passed, I remember I had to give EMTs her information and decide where to take her when she couldn’t speak for herself (I was 11). While my situation may have been more extreme in terms of caretaking, I can still see the similarities in the emotional burden my stepdaughter carries in her mother’s home.
My mom also talked negatively about my dad to me as far back as I can remember. She let me in on adult situations I had no business being part of, telling me he didn’t pay child support and that he abused her. But the truth is, I don’t think my dad had the means to support me. He had broken his back and relied on Social Security. He could barely take care of himself. As for abuse, there was yelling, and maybe he did lay a hand on her once or twice (I don’t know first hand and there is no excuse to)—but I’ve since heard stories that make me question the full picture. Stories that suggest my mom may have instigated things or intentionally provoked him out of jealousy or anger. She had many relationships, none of which lasted very long. These are the same themes we’ve seen with my stepdaughter’s mother. Those stories shaped how I saw my dad, even if they weren’t the whole truth.
There’s one last, more difficult similarity I’ve wrestled with. My mother attempted to end her life multiple times, long before I was born. My older siblings were there—they lived through it. My stepdaughter experienced the emotional fallout of something painfully similar when her own mother made an attempt when she was just ten. While the circumstances were different, both mothers seemed driven more by emotional crisis and attention-seeking than intent. But to a child, that distinction doesn’t matter. What matters is the fear. The confusion. The feeling that you have to be the strong one in a world that doesn’t feel safe. There is one big difference that was an advantage to my stepdaughter: her father. My husband shielded her from this tragic event, while in my siblings’ case, they stayed with our mom and, from what I understand, had to comfort and support her through it.
I used to think my childhood was just complicated. Now, looking back, I understand it was more manipulative and co-dependent.
Naming it—parental alienation—gave me a sense of clarity and a strange kind of peace. That this was part of an illness, and a cycle, one that I have worked hard to stop. The process of understanding parental alienation started when our attorney first mentioned the term to us. I began Googling it and came across a YouTube channel called The Anti-Alienation Project, created by an adult child who went through it firsthand. It didn’t excuse my mother’s choices, but it explained them. And it gave me more empathy, not just for my stepdaughter, but for the little girl I used to be.
The past has a way of creeping into the present, sometimes in the most unexpected ways. But it can also shine a light on things we never fully understood until we’re forced to see them up close.
And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
If you’re just beginning to understand parental alienation or want to learn more, I recommend checking out The Anti-Alienation Project on YouTube and their website. Their perspective helped me put words to what I was experiencing and offered tools for reflection and healing.
For a more formal explanation of the concept, this Wikipedia article provides a general overview, including the history behind Parental Alienation Syndrome (PAS), introduced by child psychiatrist Richard Gardner in 1985.
For a deeper dive into how parental alienation is discussed in the legal system, I highly recommend reading this article published by the National Center for State Courts: Parental Alienation: Debates and Dilemmas. It helped me understand how the topic is evolving in courts and the complexities involved in proving or addressing alienation. In our experience, even with repeated violations, where our children were exposed to adult matters and degrading comments, consequences have been minimal. My husband’s case saw only limited and temporary responses, and mine resulted in what felt like a slap on the wrist. It’s just not as clear-cut as cases involving physical abuse, and unfortunately, the system still seems to carry a bias that often favors mothers, even when the facts point elsewhere.
Still, we’ve seen progress. While my stepdaughter’s mother has nearly regained her parenting time, we’ve witnessed moments of reconnection, stability, and hope. We’ve worked hard to give her a foundation she can trust, and every small breakthrough reminds us that healing is possible. These situations don’t resolve overnight—but consistency makes a difference.
In our cases, at least the courts have acknowledged that children suffer when parents involve them in conflict. My daughters’ father has been repeatedly instructed not to draw them into adult issues or speak negatively about me around them. Judges have affirmed that when one parent attacks the other, children internalize it, because they are part of both of us. The emotional harm is real, and we’ve seen the consequences up close. When that pain is dismissed or minimized, it only goes deeper. But when it’s named, there’s a chance to break the cycle.
Patterns and Recovery
Looking back, I can see how the emotional consequences of my childhood shaped my behavior well into adolescence. I became involved with boys at a young age and was promiscuous by the time I was 13. Though many of my teen and young adult relationships were long-term, they weren’t necessarily healthy. I was clinging to connection, trying to fill the absence of a father figure. I see reflections of that now in my stepdaughter. During her most extreme period of alienation, when she was emotionally cut off from her dad, she began cycling through short-lived relationships in seventh grade, sometimes only lasting days. After her father returned to her life full-time, that pattern dramatically shifted. She didn’t date at all for most of eighth grade.
I’ve also struggled with boundaries and people-pleasing, habits I trace back to being my mother’s emotional caretaker. I was taught to manage someone else’s emotions before ever learning how to understand my own. Those patterns still echo in my adult life. Sometimes I become hysterical, emotionally flooded to the point where I can’t think clearly or respond calmly. It usually happens late at night, often when I’m alone, or now, when my husband is there to support me. It’s like my body doesn’t know how to hold everything at once, so it spills over. I now believe it’s a trauma response, rooted in years of carrying more than I should have had to.
And I see some of the same signs in my stepdaughter. When she’s overwhelmed, she often shuts down or lashes out, struggling to regulate what she’s feeling. These are not just random moments—they’re the lingering consequences of emotional confusion and instability. I first sought therapy at 18, after leaving my sister’s house. The first therapist wanted to prescribe anxiety/anti-depressant medication after one session, but I wasn’t ready to medicate; I wanted to understand. I found another therapist who listened and helped me unpack my past. I’ve returned to therapy at different points in my life, and even when I’m not actively in it, I continue to reflect. What stands out now is that despite all the work I’ve done, parental alienation was never part of my recovery, until I watched it unfold again, this time through her.
Even with everything I’ve gone through, I’ve been able to build a stable and functional life. I’ve held jobs, continued my education, worked with all kinds of people, and adapted to nearly any environment—a skill I now recognize as rooted in my childhood. Bouncing from home to home taught me how to read people and situations, becoming a kind of emotional chameleon to survive. I was the first in my immediate family to graduate from high school, a proud accomplishment. And I recognized early on that I could easily follow in the footsteps of addiction. Instead, I made a different choice. I stopped drinking, not that I ever drank enough to be considered an alcoholic, but I knew the path I could go down and the example I wanted to set for my kids as they grew up, someone who made conscious, healthy choices, even when the odds were stacked against me. I committed to creating something healthier. In many ways, I’ve outgrown the patterns I was raised in, even as I’ve watched some of my siblings repeat them. I want more than survival. I want healing, growth, and peace. And more than anything, I hope my stepdaughter sees that she can choose differently too.
Breaking generational patterns isn’t something that comes easily, or automatically. In my family, those cycles have repeated in different ways for different people. Some have faced struggles with addiction, unstable relationships, or the kind of emotional chaos that mirrors the environment we grew up in. I say that not with judgment, but with compassion. I know how easy it is to fall into those same patterns—I’ve felt the pull myself. But something in me wanted more. I didn’t want to survive just to repeat the same story. I wanted to rewrite it. And while that choice hasn’t been easy or perfect, it’s been intentional. I hope my stepdaughter sees that, and knows that she can choose differently too.
Writing this has helped me process not just what happened to my stepdaughter, but what happened to me. The cycle of parental alienation, emotional enmeshment, and blurred boundaries is more common than most people realize. But it can be broken. Naming it is the first step. Healing takes time, but it begins the moment we stop pretending these patterns are normal. For my stepdaughter, for my girls, and for the little girl I used to be… I want to be part of that change.