I was four years old when my parents separated. I then lived with my father, and I saw my mother every other weekend and during the holidays. That actually went quite well. We had good times together, e.g. B. great vacations. She supported me with my studies, hugged me when I needed it, was there for me. We visited friends and my grandparents. I felt comfortable and happy every time I was with her again.  

But I gradually realized that my father did not agree with it. Sometimes there was the derogatory look or other times a stupid comment about my mother, which she wouldn't have done right again. Or that I would have it much better with him. Before every visit to my mother, the mood was tense two or three days beforehand. When I came back from her, there was no cheerful "hello", but first I heard what great things I would have missed with him just because of my mother. I then had to report what I had done to her. No matter what it was, somehow he always understood how to badmouth my mother's time.  

My mother would always interfere in everything, wouldn't let us go. He told me a lot about everything that had happened between him and my mother. But I didn't want to hear that at all. He told me I had to hear that because it was the only way I could see what kind of person my mother was.  

Somehow what I heard didn't match what I was feeling and experiencing. But why should he lie? At first I contradicted him, but at some point I gave up, it made no sense anyway. What I wanted to tell him, he didn't want to hear.  

I then began to see my mother through different eyes. I asked her about some things my father had told me. Of course she denied it, my father had predicted that to me beforehand, he knew her. He was right and somehow that was proof that what he said was true. At least that's what I thought at the time - a little bit more each time.  

My father naturally supported me in this perspective. We became more and more like a father-son team - that felt great at some point. My mother started to annoy me more and more. I didn't want to go to her every weekend either. When I was there again, I believed that it wasn't as nice as it used to be. I finally got the impression that she had changed.  

She started writing letters and sending packages. I was never allowed to open it alone, always with my father. He commented on their content and made everything bad. And then my mother wanted to come to one of my school plays, which I was looking forward to so much. That didn't work for my father at all. So I wasn't allowed to go to the performance and I was really sad. No, actually I was furious with my mother because she spoiled it for me. I couldn't tell at the time that it was actually my father. He pressured me, manipulated me, and yelled at me when things didn't go the way he wanted. I bent. What should I have done when I was just a kid?!  

On the other hand, he spoiled me, I got everything I wanted, had a lot of freedom. And I even had a new mother – my stepmother, whom of course I shouldn't call that, because now she was my mother. My “old” mother was supposed to disappear from my life. If I ever spoke to her, I should only call her "Birgit".  

But we didn't talk to each other that often anymore. My father went to court so that I finally wouldn't have to see my mother anymore. What I had to say was drummed into me by my father and my "new mother" for weeks. Youth welfare office, legal adviser, court, I told everyone what my father wanted to hear. I now believed this myself. Nevertheless, there was still a voice inside me that said that something was wrong. There were still positive feelings for my mother. Deep down, I felt bad for having to do this to my mother and say bad things about her. I just couldn't or didn't want to show it at the moment. Nobody asked me about it either, and so as not to get in trouble with my father, I did what he wanted. Did I have another choice? Telling lies became my survival strategy at home. My father liked what I said and it made me less stressed. But I forgot what was right and what was wrong.  

I was a teenager now and got everything I wanted. But that didn't make me happy. There was a great sadness in me and the memories of my mother kept coming up. While others in my class were celebrating and partying, I would often lie alone in my room and cry. I was running on autopilot, always careful not to get in conflict with my father.  

I definitely wanted to do my studies far away from home.
It was the first time that I wasn't under my father's control and was able to exchange ideas with friends. Little by little, I became aware of the narrow world I've lived in over the past few years. It took almost two more years to get in touch with my mother.
I just had a bad feeling. For one thing, if I had contact with my mother, I would betray my father, who always looked after me. On the other hand, there were the negative stories about my mother. I had more and more doubts about this. So I gathered all my courage and wrote my mother a letter. Shortly thereafter we phoned and also met. There were many more meetings with my mother. At first I didn't even know what to talk to her about. I think she felt the same way. Eventually I started asking questions and got answers, not just from her, but also from other family members and former friends. Gradually, a completely different picture emerged of my mother and thus also of my father. My childhood and youth turned out to be one big fabrication of lies. I had become a perfect liar myself because I had seen no other way to protect myself.

I wanted to change this. I needed to know the truth for myself. So I also asked my father what had happened. He was just angry, swearing at me and upset that I had reconnected with my mother. It was like when I was a kid again. What was important to me was suppressed, I was made small, I had to obey. I fell into a psychological hole from which I could only free myself with a lot of strength and intensive therapeutic support. In the meantime, contact with my mother was again in danger due to the escalation with my father.  

My mother and I have a good and stable relationship today. We had to work through a lot together. This process was hard and produced many tears. But it was important to both of us. However, it still feels like something is missing and the years that we haven't been in touch we can't get them back.  

I have almost no contact with my father anymore. He hasn't been interested in me since I've been in contact with my mother and don't let him suppress me any longer. I write him a message or a card for his birthday and Christmas. Almost nothing comes back and if it does, then nothing positive.  

I've lost a parent twice in my life. That shapes me and my therapist thinks that we have achieved a lot, but there are still scars in the soul. I live with constant self-doubt. It was difficult for me to develop self-esteem. When it comes to friendships, I'm not sure if I should get involved. For me there is always the danger of the pain of loss if friendships should break up again - not to mention a relationship with a friend. But I hope that one day I will be able to have a “normal” relationship without constant fear of loss. At the moment I don't know if I want to have children. The risk of the same thing happening to them is then too great.  

When I look back today, I ask myself the question, what kind of person would I have been if none of that had happened? Maybe I wouldn't get in my own way as much, feel less guilt or self-doubt, and be more confident. I would have two parents.  

I also wonder why no one helped me? Everyone just listened to what was drummed into me and I had to say. Nobody cared about how I was really doing. Nobody prevented the alienation. Everyone just watched. That makes me incredibly angry, because that's how I was blamed as a child. Nobody cared about how I was really doing. Nobody prevented the alienation. It was me who said that I didn't want to see my mother anymore. It was me who made all the bad accusations against her. But as a child I couldn't see that my father lied to me and used me as an instrument!  

I will have to live with this guilt for the rest of my life, even if my mother doesn't blame me.