Damaged… or Just Wiser?

As an alienated parent, I can attest to the torment and anguish that we all experience when we’ve lost our children. It’s not because of anything we did per se, but usually because of the whims and desires of a disturbed or narcissistic alienator.

And when I reflect on that loss, I find myself looking back and trying to imagine what it was like before all of this madness invaded my space. I remember how I used to look at people. How I was unafraid to explore new places wherever life took me, and how I reacted to things in a way that is much different than I do now.

It’s strange, as my mind drifts back to how easily I used to trust people. I used to believe in giving people the benfit of doubt. But now, I tend to step back and pause for a quick moment first. And when someone smiles too easily or offers their help too quickly, I silently question their motives. I even find myself listening between the lines. Wondering if they’ll one day use my kindness against me,

much like my alienator did.

Then I think about how there was once a time when I was quick to forgive, even offering those who hurt me a second chance, sometimes even a third one. But years of being drug through the mud, lied about for many things I didn’t do, silenced in courtrooms, and even erased from my own child’s life… well, it tends to harden you. Not in a bitter way, exactly—just not in the same way that others might expect. Instead, it’s more like scar tissue that forms around a wound that never got a chance to heal.

What I’m trying to say is, this kind of betrayal doesn’t just leave a mark. It changes the very way we move through the world.

I used to think that love by itself was always going to be enough. That if I loved hard enough, long enough, and stayed hopeful enough—things would eventually turn. Unfortunately, no matter how pure or enduring love is, it can’t compete with hatred that our current law weaponizes, or the lies that are upheld by systems meant to protect us.

Because of all this, I sometimes find myself staring off into a blank nothing. Not because I’m lost, but rather because I’m holding something far heavier than anyone else can see. And in those moments, I wonder: Am I damaged because of all I have been subjected to? Or am I just more experienced in the cruel aspects of life that were thrown at me?

Perhaps, it’s a combination of both.

Because how can any of us walk through something like this and not come out unscathed?

After all, we weren’t built to be erased. We weren’t meant to have our children turned against us, to be treated like strangers or monsters while our hearts still beat in sync with theirs. Contrary to the belief of the family courts, we weren’t designed to endure this level of emotional cruelty… and yet, here we are.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever fully regain my sense of normalcy after what’s been done. But something I do know is this: I’m not the person who I used to be—and it’s doubtful I ever will be again. However, I’ve learned to survive the kind of heartbreak that doesn’t ever let up. I’ve learned how to walk with grief and not let it destroy me. And I’ve learned how to stand for the kind of truth that matters even when the world prefers a lie.

So, if you’re reading this and wondering if you’re broken, maybe you’re not.

Maybe you’re just one of the rare few who’s been forced to face the worst of situations in life, and still chose love anyway.

And that kind of love? It never goes away.

It waits quietly in the shadows. Faithfully. For the day the lie collapses… and the truth walks back through the door.

And when it does—we’ll still be here.

David Shubert