Back in August, my husband and I revealed we are estranged from his parents for the first time. It was something I never thought he would feel comfortable disclosing, but I certainly wasn’t going to discourage it. I had been holding onto years of pain that I was finally going to be able to process through my favorite format: writing for public consumption. (Why sharing my life on the internet is my preferred form of processing is a discussion for another day. Either on here or with a new therapist.)

It felt like a relief for both of us to no longer hide this part of our lives and connect with others in similar situations. Soon after our big reveal, John turned to me and said, “I think your mom would be proud of us.” As much as I wanted to agree, I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach instead. “I actually don’t think she would be,” I replied, which is a bummer because even after a parent dies you still want to impress them.

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