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God and I have a tradition (several, but there is one in particular that I am going to share today): every time that my birthday and Rosh Hashanah roll around, I am given a word that basically sets the stage for how the following 12 months are going to go. As the (now and it’s so surreal to say) late Malcolm-Jamal Warner once said in an interview explaining why/how his earthly father gave him his name (which you can watch here), I too felt like our Heavenly Father had “set me up” when the word that I received right around June 17 was this one:

Ataraxia: a state of freedom from emotional disturbance and anxiety, especially as an ongoing condition of soul-fulfilling attainment; unconditional tranquility


Boy, oh boy. Okay, so here’s how the dots connect. My mother, Gail Hamilton Masondo’s birthday, is two days before my own. She turned 75 this year. She has always battled with health issues, especially since her early 30s, and so for her to reach that age was a pretty major feat. In fact, around her day, I thought about how it was about this time, 30 years ago, when westernized medicine (insert eye roll here) had misdiagnosed her and said that she had cancer (when she actually had an autoimmune disorder called sarcoidosis). She had a trip planned for South Africa to co-executive produce a project called Place of Hope, and so she said, “If I am going to die, I’m going to see Africa first.”

When my late fiancé and I took her to the airport, she said that she sensed something was “off” before boarding the plane. There, she encountered a life-threatening-and-then-life-altering experience that ultimately confirmed to her that Johannesburg would be her new home, where she would eventually rebrand as a chaplain, life coach (yes, that has not escaped me), and mentor. Meanwhile here, my fiancé passed on November 3, 1995. This year marks both occasions. 30 years. THIRTY YEARS. And her Spidey senses? Spot-on. She knew life, as we both knew it, was about to change. Drastically so.

And then here we are now, 30 years later and about two weeks ago, I received an email. A deal that I had made with her husband, several years ago now, was to email me dire information. It’s wild that, on a Monday, Malcolm-Jamal Warner left us, and that had me like “What in the world?” That Friday, though (South African time…they are seven hours up from Nashville, TN)? My mother did the same, ironically, due to the very thing that she was told she had in the US three decades prior — and that has had me peacefully yet steadily processing some things…mostly because we were estranged at the time and had been for a while (about a year prior to the pandemic).

When you make the decision to “go dark” with a parent (something that is upticking by the day in this country — check out “10 Women Tell Me Why They Made The Decision To Be Estranged From Their Parent(s)”), a complex-yet-clear resolve is probably the best way to describe what it feels like. Yet as I have watched other people over the past several days try and process for me, project their stuff onto me and want to feel like they need to make sense of it all about my journey with my own mother — in a truly signature Shellie Renée Warren fashion, I have decided to channel my energy, not into defending or explaining but towards helping others, should they find themselves in a similar predicament. Because if one thing is sure, it is death. And when you are estranged from a parent…it puts you in a very unique and fragile club that needs a very special and specific kind of support.

I hope that I can provide, at least a bit of that, in some way, today.

What Led Me Here. The ‘Reader’s Digest’ Version.

First pic: my mom as many people here remember her. Second shot: her final photo.

If you’ve been following my content for a while, you’ve heard me reference my mother several times over before. For instance, as a quotes gal, one of my favorite quotes of hers is, “Discernment prevents experience from being your teacher” — and, as life would have it, that is a part of the reason why I made the decision to no longer have a relationship with her.

Let me semi-explain. Another “set me up” moment from God was him pushing me to finish my third book last year. While I thought the only reason was because I needed to mark the 20-year anniversary of the first one as accurately as possible — I now get that, because God knows the birth and expiration dates of us all and also because my mother and I weren’t speaking, when it came to her chapter (and there is one), he wanted me to tell the story with the mercy and grace that would come along with the awareness that she was still on this planet. Perhaps if it had been after her death, things would have been expressed a bit…differently. We will never know because, aside from my safe circle, beyond what I said in the book, I won’t be saying much else. Pretty much ever.

You can cop the read for some context for what brought me to the conclusion that things, intimately, needed to end. For now, I will just share a line that I wrote in it (paraphrased) — the very thing that made my mother professionally iconic is the same thing that ultimately fractionated us for good: she refuses to take “no” for an answer. In some ways, it has worked in her favor yet as Aristotle once said, “The excess of a virtue is a vice.” Balance. Life should always have balance.

How was her boundary-breaking rewarded? She was the manager of the multi-award winning group Take 6 during their first two classic LPs (check out “Spread Love Podcast #31 - Gail Masondo” where they gave her some of her flowers a few years back). Every time you listen to the Hallelujah chorus of Handel’s Messiah: A Soulful Celebration, you partly have her to thank, because she co-executive produced the project along with the late Norman Miller and late-and-beyond-great Quincy Jones.

My godchildren’s mom has shouted her out before in her Color Me Country radio show before because my mom was one of the founding board members of the Black Country Music Association. Yeah, my mother was such the ish back in the day that I remember when she let me choose between attending Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown’s wedding or spending the weekend at my then-best friend Angie’s house. I chose Door B.

And I think that’s a lot of what people don’t get. When you have an “industry parent,” how you think you know them is very different from how those of us in the home do. And although my mom was: physically beautiful (far more than she ever gave her own self credit for); a diehard New Yorker; extremely pro-Black, pro-woman and cultured; a lover of People Magazine and watching Entertainment Tonight (back in the day); gonna give you a Scripture and say something along the lines of “God has a plan that is customed made for your life” during almost every conversation; thoroughly a fan of pretty much every genre of music that you could imagine, a woman who could spend literal hours in bookstores (shout-out to the late Davis-Kidd Bookseller in Green Hills) and definitely someone who had no problem with going to movies alone; damn near a homeopath because she knew just about every herb (and its function) known to man; someone with a laugh that was loud, full and oftentimes caught you totally off-guard and was an Adventist to her core — my mom was also a survivor of some pretty dark generational curses. Haunting ones. And when things haunt you, they can creep up unexpectedly.

No time to get into all of that now yet I will say this: there was a year, in my 20s, when I let both of my grandfathers very much so have it for being very-much-less-than-stellar fathers to their children who also happened to be my parents. My mother’s name, Gail ironically means “father’s joy” and yet her dad? He too liked to use Scripture — oftentimes to weaponize, manipulate and deflect with it, though. And that left wounds — and contradictions — that lasted for a lifetime for her.

And so, when I came along — well, I’ll put it to you this way: my father (who has now been gone 11 years) used to tell me that I wasn’t human (the why is also broken down more in the book) while my mother said that I was her “warrior woman child” and that Satan has hated me since my conception. Which is why she shouldn’t have been (and probably wasn’t) caught off guard when I told her, at the age of 12, that I was going to break some generational curses in my family. Her immediate response, without hesitation? “Good luck. You’re going to be surprised by some of the ones that you’ll be up against.” She was right, which is perhaps why God came behind her during that same year and said, “Shellie, your health will always be intact but your heart will be broken often.”

He ain’t neva lied. Of course, not — he’s God. Because while so much of my family, generationally, on both sides, have survived generational woundedness, brokenness and peak toxicity, the fighting that I have been doing…at all costs…even at the expense of relationships with family members if need be? It has been heart-breaking sometimes, yes. Necessary, though? Absolutely. Because I don’t want to just survive curses; I want them to be thoroughly eradicated. I want to thrive and prosper beyond one of my other favorite quotes: “Adulthood is surviving childhood.” Not only that but when you know your purpose, it is idolatry to put any person, place, thing or idea before it. Including your DNA. And a part of my purpose has always been to yank out some of the roots that have caused my family trees to sometimes have some really strange fruit on them.

And so, in order to do that, some things, especially within my early 40s, revealed that although my mom was insightful enough to know that I was a natural fighter, I had to remove myself, so that wars wouldn’t continue between us. I was on a mission and so I couldn’t remain in certain cycles.

There is a Scripture that talks about Christ not bringing peace but a sword, even between family members at times, in order to correct some things (Matthew 10:34-36). That’s not poetry. That’s reality. And it was mine.

Interestingly enough, another profound point from my mom about me? “Shellie is very violent about her peace.” I always dug the phrasing of that and she would be correct because, one of the family curses, was the fact that so much education, so much religion, so much bougie rah-rah (one of her grandmothers was a buyer for Macy’s in New York while one of my dad’s grandmothers was one for Neiman-Marcus), so much “Let’s look right even if it ain’t right” was in my DNA that one thing that was lacking, for many if not most, was holistic peace. Folks would rather look the part than be the part. Me? Yeah, I’m good on that. Peace for $100, Alex — even if I’ve got to go to battle for it with the very people who made me…again, generationally so.

And so, in a nutshell, that is what led me to my decision to be estranged. I was doing the same things, with her, expecting a different result. It was time to let discernment be my teacher and that has ultimately kept me so much safer — sure with extreme sacrifices yet all have been worth it, because sacrifice, by definition, is about giving up something good (or good at times) for something even greater.

And it is within this state of peace that I want to offer up some tips — hacks, whatever you want to call it — for people who either are estranged or sense that it’s time to be and you’re just not sure how to navigate all that comes with it. Then I’ve got a few — eh hem — words for those of you who know folks who are “in the club” so that you will stop revictimizing them (whether you realize that is what you are doing or not).

3 “What I’ve Discovered” Tips for Estranged Children

This picture? It’s taken with a woman by the name of Carolyn Demonbreun, who was very dear to us, who passed a few years ago, on a Juneteenth no less (because you clearly see the hue — LOL). I’m sharing it to show that clearly my mother and I were still trying to figure out our relationship well into my adulthood. And listen, some things were great about those moments. It’s just that the high As didn’t overcompensate for the low Fs — ones that came with very few Cs in-between (shout-out to old-school report cards).

And that leads me to my first tip:

1. Remember that you are supposed to supersede your parents. I’m going to stick with Black culture here because that is what I care about most — and this thing that you should honor your parents (Exodus 20:12) as if the Bible doesn’t also say don’t provoke your children (Ephesians 6:4)? It really needs to stop. It’s like there is an enslaved mindset that it’s okay to endure mistreatment so long as it’s coming from your DNA when the reality is family should be the very people who are safe, both to and for you, at all times. And honestly, if more people took that seriously, they wouldn’t keep generational nonsense going.

They would get that a sign of breaking free is becoming a better version of self than your parents — no matter what the cost. If that is your ultimate goal, and you know that family is what’s standing in the way, don’t allow guilt, shame or fear prevent you from doing what needs to be done. Scripture tells us that perfect love casts out ALL fear (I John 4:18). Too many people let fear of family hinder them from self-love and learning how to love better than they were loved.

2. Count the cost. It will be high. When I first received the news of my mother’s shifting, I personally was at peace. It’s not that I didn’t have moments of sadness (c’mon, she’s my mom); however, what folks don’t get is that when you make such a drastic decision as to become estranged, you realize that 1) you’ve been grieving on some level the entire time which is why the choice needed to be made in the first place and 2) there is a death that has occurred once the estrangement begins. So, I wasn’t in the emotional state that many others were. I knew that the moment would someday arrive. Nothing about what I decided to do was romanticized.

Another Scripture to hold close: “It’s best to stay in touch with both sides of an issue. A person who fears God deals responsibly with all of reality, not just a piece of it.” (Ecclesiastes 7:18 — Message) If you need to go to therapy, read books, pray and fast for days, weeks or months before making the decision to release a family member, especially a parent, DO THAT. That way, you can have as little regret as possible and you can handle all of the peanut gallery’s…let’s go with the words ego, ignorance and insensitivities.

3. Give whatever will fully release you from the estrangement (in the end). What I mean by that is this: As my mother’s husband was sharing some of the physical difficulties that she was experiencing in the midst of her transition, I asked him if he thought that her hearing from me would help. Because that not taking “no” for an answer thing? Even up until last fall, she had tried to connect. I didn’t want to risk the peace and wholeness that I had, though. Many times over, I had in the past and counterproductive is the word I will use for how things tended to play out. He said “yes” and so, I contributed to what I thought would help her to really relax and release.

We were estranged yet I took no pleasure in her suffering. If she needed to hear that she was loved, forgiven and that I would be fine, I would give her that — because it was true. And any of you who are questioning the forgiveness part — sometimes, in order to really forgive someone, you have to remove yourself from being tempted to not forgive them again should similar actions continue — because, as they say, the only way to predict the future is the past…until the past changes. In some ways, ours had. It many others, it never truly did. Sometimes estrangement is the ultimate act of forgiveness: I remove myself from never wanting to forgive you ever again (Matthew 7:14-15).

Estrangement isn’t easy — whether it is seasonal or permanent. Yet never let someone cause you to feel guilt or shame about doing what will keep you holistically safe. Because anyone who does? They are, ironically enough, unsafe.

Which leads me to my other set of tips…

3 Tips for Individuals Who Know People Who Are Estranged

Unsplash

1. Use some common sense instead of random presumptions and unhinged emotions. If you know someone who is estranged from a family member, especially if the member is a parent, ponder the fact that it must have been under some super extreme measures for them to come to that decision — and so no, they don’t need your insights and opinions on the matter. Whether you realize it or not, all you’re doing is revictimizing them. Boy, watching some people have an attitude because I’m estranged has been — “comically revelatory” is what comes to mind. Imagine losing a parent so that you can become a better version of yourself and folks acting like you somehow did something to them.

So many people are unsafe spaces, perhaps without even knowing it — or sadly, not even caring. Please don’t be one of those individuals. No one needs your permission or blessing to do what is best for them — and so no, they are not obligated to explain it to you in a way that makes sense to you. Do you hear how arrogant it sounds to think otherwise? Geeze, I certainly hope so.

2. Stop being a danger zone for those of us who made the decision. Speaking of arrogance, wanna see some real egos in humans pop up? Tell them that you choose to not have a relationship with someone who they like or admire (because there is a difference between the two). I’m telling you, God has brought some supernatural ataraxia into my space as certain individuals who I haven’t heard from in years have felt like they need to know why I’m not going to South Africa to formally send off my mother, what my personal thought processing is, and if I need to be reminded about how great my mother was in their eyes. Listen, the only contribution that is needed for a child of an estranged parent in this season is, “Sorry for your loss” and/or “You are in my prayers” and/or “Is there anything that we can do?” THAT. IS. IT.

Something else that I addressed in my book is the fact that, over the years, some of the most unsafe people I experienced were the modern-day Pharisees of the faith that I grew up in. Folks said that I lied about my sexual abuse (which is abusive). Folks invalidated some of my trauma. Folks even think that they need to decide if my experiences with my mom were damning enough for my ultimate decision. Listen, humans are going to human — my father used to tell me that all of the time. I will say this, though — knowing that we could separate from a relative…how much more are we willing to do the same when it comes to the crowd who taunts our resolves rather than supports them or at least has sympathy regarding them? Final point.

3. Stop projecting. It benefits no one. I’ve been very selective about who I talk to, outside of my safe space, since my mother’s transition. One of her friends — someone who has attempted to check on me for years now — we caught up and I chuckled when she said that when she and my mother talked about my first book, my mom said, “Why couldn’t Shellie just have written a cookbook?” Listen, my mother refused to speak to me for six months when I told her about that book deal and I think the very thing that she knew I was (a curse-breaker and very candid speaker), really challenged her at times. You know, sometimes it seems easier to stay in the familiar than to really do what is needed to fully and forever break free. And honestly, that was a part of our conflict as well.

Kind of like when Christ told his earthly parents about him needing to be about his Father’s business while they were freaking out and not understanding what was going on as he appeared lost and yet wasn’t (some of y’all will catch that later — Matthew 2:41-50). In real time, sometimes people who make radical life decisions end up saying something similar to others: y’all are projecting onto me what you would do if you were me yet you’re not. And to tell you the truth, if I am doing what keeps me in line with my life assignments and tasks at hand, resist the urge to assume that it is bad or that I am lost, just because you don’t get it. You don’t have to. Pray for; don’t prey upon. The first is beneficial. The second makes you a part of the problem.

___

It never fails. Every year, I find myself saying to someone I know that by the end of the 12-month cycle, some people are going to leave this earth who will catch me off guard. Gail Loress certainly wins that award in flying colors for 2025 (she even wrote a song in preparation for that moment: “When I Get Home” and yes, it is her singing it).

And yet, I am at peace. Sometimes I wear T-shirts that have my parents’ wedding announcement or wedding picture on them (not sure how thrilled they would be but…they should’ve thought about that before having me…just sayin’ — LOL). Because of the way she left the States 30 years ago, I have some generational art and evidence of her entertainment world accomplishments at my reach. Hell, I look in the mirror sometimes and see her staring right back at me or I will look at my hands as I am typing and be taken aback by the fact that they are just like hers and her own mother’s.

Being estranged doesn’t make you unaware. If anything, it makes you more sensitive to what’s around you and how you move in that energy than ever.

Her firstborn, born two days after her 24th birthday. Pretty sure neither one of us thought that things would end quite in the way that they did. Yet I do think that one day God will explain to her (if he hasn’t already) that sometimes, things don’t go as planned and yet they do work out for the best — because if it is what will ultimately bring spiritual growth and purpose fulfillment, mission has been accomplished.

Did I love my mother? No doubt. Liked a lot about her too.

Were things complex? You have no idea.

Am I at peace with my decision? Yes, I am. Violently so. Just as she’s always said.

A mother knows her child, after all.

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Featured image owned by Shellie R. Warren

 

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