Love Endures in Alienation

As an alienated parent, my life is filled with grief, disbelief, and at times, a despair so deep it’s almost impossible to describe. Parental alienation isn’t just one person trying to keep me from my child—it feels as if an entire network has been assembled against me, a web of influences so pervasive it’s nearly impossible to fight. My former partner is at the centre of it all, but they have rallied others: friends, family, solicitors, the police, and even systems I once thought would protect us. This isn’t just a struggle between two parents; it’s a constant, layered assault, coming at me from every side, weakening my bond with my child more and more each day.

It starts with the other parent, the person I once trusted, who is now at the core of this network of alienation. Every conversation, every interaction, is turned into an opportunity to paint me as dangerous, untrustworthy—as someone my child should fear. The alienating parent rewrites our history, taking memories and moments of love and twisting them into something dark, so that every trace of warmth or trust is erased. My attempts to stay calm, to express love, are not only ignored but weaponised and used against me. The alienating parent doesn’t stop until our relationship has been completely recast as harmful, until my own child sees me as an enemy.

Then there is my child, who has become another instrument in this alienation. I see the confusion, the flickers of doubt in their eyes, but they are being forced to pick a side, and little by little, I feel them slipping further away. They repeat things that sound nothing like them—words I know have been planted, stories they recite that are far from the truth. My child has been conditioned to believe I’m someone to be rejected or even feared. This betrayal cuts deep because my own child has been taught to see me with distrust, with anger, even disdain.

And it doesn’t end there. The alienating parent enlists others, rallying friends I once trusted, family members who never even think to question what they’re told. It’s as if my entire support network has been turned against me, one by one. Those who should have asked questions, who should have sought the truth, simply cut me off. I reach out to them, hoping to explain or defend myself, only to be met with silence or judgement. They believe the narrative my former partner has spun, never hesitating to judge me, and with every person who turns away, I am left more isolated, even more alone in this fight.

Even the legal system and authorities seem to have been brought into the fold, often used as instruments of alienation rather than justice. I used to believe the courts and police would see through it all, that surely someone would understand what was happening. But instead, these institutions become tools in the alienating parent’s hands. The police, called in with false accusations, show up at my door, look at me with suspicion, reinforcing a narrative I am helpless to dismantle. Every visit, every report, gives the alienating parent’s story a frightening new layer of legitimacy. The police, often unaware of the dynamics of parental alienation, can’t see the manipulation at play. And with every interaction, my reputation as a loving parent is chipped away.

Their solicitor is no different, aligning themselves with the alienating parent’s campaign, escalating accusations, echoing the distortions of the past. They take every opportunity to present me as unfit, dangerous even, casting doubt on my ability to parent. Instead of seeking resolution, they amplify the lies, portraying our case as a simple custody dispute, never recognising the carefully orchestrated tactics used to tear me away from my child. With every decision, every statement that goes against me, the wall separating me from my child grows taller and more unbreakable.

And the world around me doesn’t make it any easier. People judge parents who are estranged from their children, assuming we must have done something to deserve this distance. Society views us as either absent or unloving, oblivious to the reality of alienation. Most people don’t understand parental alienation; they think it’s just part of a “messy breakup.” They don’t see the gradual dismantling of a parent’s role, the shattering of a bond that was once so precious. And that judgement from society, ignorant yet sharp, only deepens the isolation.

Through it all, this isolation seeps into me, making me question myself. I wonder if I could have done more, if I somehow deserved this rejection. There are days when I’m so worn down that I start to believe the things said about me. I find myself drowning in guilt and shame, wondering if I really am failing as a parent. I used to be strong, I used to know who I was—but now, I barely recognise myself. This experience has left me feeling like a shadow, a ghost of the parent I once was.

But despite everything, I hold on. I have to. There are moments, tiny glimpses, when I feel a spark of hope. I remind myself that my love is still here, waiting for the day my child might see through the lies. I hang on, knowing that I am still their parent, that I will be here if they ever need me. And that’s the only thing that keeps me going—the hope that one day, despite all the forces that have been set against me, my child will see me as I am: someone who loves them unconditionally, without end.

~An Anonymous Alienated Parent