First of all… I know I’m a little behind schedule on this second post. Life has been life-ing lately, and honestly, some days just getting through the day feels like a full-time job by itself. But I’m here, I’m writing, and I’m still pushing forward.
I also wanted to share that I’ll be getting the second book in the Alienated Parent Series published soon, which I’m really excited about. Every short story in this series is based on a different alienated parent experience. I intentionally tried to include as many different situations and circumstances as possible, because no two stories look exactly the same.
Some parents are completely cut off.
Some only get supervised visits.
Some are dealing with false accusations.
Some are fighting through court delays.
Some are grieving children who are still alive but emotionally out of reach.
Alienation has so many faces, and I want people to feel represented when they read these stories.
If there’s a specific circumstance or experience you’d like to see included in future stories, send me an email. Seriously. I mean that. One of the hardest parts of this journey is feeling invisible, and I want this series to be a place where people feel seen.
As for life updates… somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, I randomly started learning tattoo artistry. Honestly? I’m actually pretty good at it.
So far, I’ve done two designs on myself. I’m still practicing shading because that part is definitely humbling, but I’m getting there. My fiancé has also bravely volunteered his forearms for practice, which either means he really loves me or has terrible judgment. Maybe both.
It’s been one of the few things lately that forces my brain to focus completely on something else. When you’re tattooing, you can’t really spiral mentally at the same time. Your hands have to stay steady. Your mind has to stay present. And for someone carrying constant anxiety and grief, that kind of focus weirdly becomes therapeutic.
Unfortunately, there’s still no update in my case.
No court date.
No real progress.
Just more waiting.
In July, it will officially be one entire year since my daughter has been gone.
A year.
Typing that honestly makes me sick to my stomach because I genuinely do not understand how time can move both painfully slow and horrifyingly fast at the same time.
This week especially dragged for me emotionally. My daughter’s father said I could video call her on Monday, so ever since Wednesday, time has basically stopped moving. Every single day has felt about 70 hours long. This weekend especially has felt endless.
When you’re waiting to hear your child’s voice, see their face, or get even five minutes of connection with them… your brain literally cannot focus on anything else. Every hour feels heavy. Every notification makes your heart jump. Every delay feels personal, even when you try not to let it.
And that’s why I really wanted this post to focus on mental health.
Because alienation doesn’t just hurt emotionally—it affects your entire nervous system. Your sleep. Your appetite. Your concentration. Your motivation. Your physical health. Everything.
I think a lot of parents going through this feel pressure to “stay strong” all the time, but the truth is… surviving this sometimes looks very unglamorous.
Sometimes surviving means crying in the shower before work.
Sometimes it means forcing yourself to eat something even when you’re nauseous from stress.
Sometimes it means distracting yourself with random hobbies because your mind cannot survive sitting in grief 24/7.
Sometimes it means admitting you need help.
And there is absolutely nothing weak about that.
I finally have an appointment scheduled in August, and honestly, I’m looking forward to it. Mental health support matters. Therapy matters. Having a safe place to unload all of this matters.
You cannot pour from an empty cup.
And alienated parents are constantly expected to survive while emotionally hemorrhaging.
So if you’re reading this and you’re struggling mentally, please take care of yourself however you can right now. Drink water. Go outside. Journal. Create something. Talk to someone safe. Scream into a pillow if you need to. Whatever keeps you here and functioning.
Your pain is real.
Your grief is real.
And you deserve support too.
To everyone following this journey with me—thank you. Truly. The messages, emails, comments, and shared stories remind me every day that this space matters.
And if you are an alienated parent reading this right now…
If you are counting days, waiting for calls, replaying memories, or trying to survive another impossible weekend…
I see you.
You are not alone in this.
This space is still for you.
This series is still for you.
And even on the days that feel impossibly long, we keep going together—one day, one step, one breath at a time.
— Meghan
Oh! I forgot I also did a really cool paint project with my fiancé and our roommates! Pics are attached.