Parental Alienation in Teenagers: The Theft of Love, Loyalty, and Truth
Parental Alienation in Teenagers: The Theft of Love, Loyalty, and Truth
By: Adam Scott Publish: September 24, 2025
Parental alienation is one of the most devastating yet least understood experiences in family life. To the outside world, it often looks like a teenager simply “choosing” one parent over the other. Teachers, friends, even judges sometimes shrug and say, “They’re old enough to decide where they want to live.” But beneath that surface lies something far more corrosive: a systematic manipulation of loyalty that warps a child’s perception of love, fractures their identity, and leaves scars that last into adulthood.
Alienation is not just about custody or preference. It is a theft — of a parent’s relationship, of a child’s mental health, and of the truth itself. It comes in many forms, some subtle, some blatant, but all of them destructive.
The Silence After Separation
Divorce and separation are traumatic events for children, not because they can’t survive them, but because they almost always carry unanswered questions: Why did this happen? Who decided this? Was it my fault? Children rarely get clear answers. In many families, the responsible parent chooses silence. They tell the child, “We just couldn’t make it work,” or, “We both love you, and that’s what matters.” They hold back the darker truths — the abuse, the infidelity, the neglect — because they don’t want to burden their child with adult pain or turn them against their other parent.
That restraint is noble. It comes from love. But it creates a vacuum. And vacuums do not stay empty for long.
The alienating parent steps into that silence with a story. A story that often rewrites history in ways that serve their needs. Instead of admitting to abuse, they paint themselves as the victim: “Your mom left because she was cheating.” Instead of admitting to neglect, they inflate their sacrifices: “I gave everything, and your dad walked away.” Instead of acknowledging responsibility, they hand the blame to the other parent.
Children, desperate for answers, believe these stories. And because the responsible parent refuses to counter them — still hoping to protect the child from ugly truths — the alienator’s lies harden into fact. Over years, these false narratives grow into a false alliance, where the child sees the alienating parent as the one who was wronged and the victimized parent as the betrayer.
Example: The Absent Truth: Sophie was thirteen when she started asking questions about why her parents divorced. Her mother told her gently, “Sometimes adults have problems they can’t fix. What matters is that your father and I both love you.” Sophie’s father told a different story. He said her mother had left him for another man. He said she had chosen someone else over the family. At first, Sophie didn’t know what to believe. But her father repeated it often, with anger in his voice and tears in his eyes. He reminded her of it when she was upset with her mother, reinforcing the betrayal: “See? She’s always been selfish.”
The truth — that Sophie’s father had been abusive, that her mother had left to protect them both — was never told. Her mother stayed silent, believing Sophie should not carry the weight of that knowledge. But the silence became her undoing. Sophie sided with her father, convinced she had been abandoned for another man. She rejected her mother not because of what had happened, but because of what she had been told.
This dynamic adds a cruel layer to alienation. The child grows up in confusion, blaming the wrong parent while idealizing the one who caused the harm. Their trust is warped at its root. Later, when they learn the truth — and many do, in adulthood — the realization is shattering. Not only were they manipulated, but they also wasted years of resentment on the wrong target. The guilt doubles. The betrayal cuts deeper.
Research shows that children in high-conflict divorces are especially vulnerable to parental narratives, and that inconsistent or absent explanations increase the risk of alienation (Kelly & Johnston, 2001; Fidler & Bala, 2010). The alienating parent’s story becomes the child’s identity. And the parent who stayed silent out of love is cast as the villain in their own child’s eyes.
The tragic irony is that the parent who lies often earns loyalty, while the parent who protects through silence loses it.
The Parent on the Phone: Long-Distance Alienation: Emily was sixteen when her father began calling her regularly. He lived three hundred miles away and had not visited in nearly five years. Birthdays passed without him, Christmases were spent at her mother’s house, and when her grandmother died, he did not show up for the funeral. Yet when he called, he spoke with tenderness. He told her he loved her. He said he wished he could be there, but her mother always “made things complicated.”
At first, Emily enjoyed the attention. He asked about her friends, her music, her plans. But soon the conversations took on a different tone. He began to tell her that her mother was too strict, that life with him would be freer. “If you lived here, you could stay up as late as you wanted. I’d never pressure you like she does.”
What Emily didn’t see was that her father had made no real effort to be part of her daily life. He had chosen the easier path: to exist as a voice on the phone, never risking the hard, thankless work of parenting. And yet, through these conversations, he positioned himself as the ally, the safe one, the only one who “got her.”
Her mother, who had been there every day, began to look like the enemy. The parent who enforced rules, who nagged about homework, who asked her to clean her room, now seemed harsh compared to the gentle voice on the phone. Emily’s loyalty shifted — not because her father had earned it, but because he had carefully constructed a fantasy.
This is the cruelty of long-distance alienation. Absence is reframed as sacrifice. Distance becomes proof of love rather than neglect. And because the absent parent is never tested in the grind of daily life, they remain idealized, while the parent who is actually present becomes the villain.
The Parent Across Town: Close-Range Alienation: Marcus was fifteen, splitting time between his father’s house during the week and his mother’s house on alternating weekends. His mother lived just a few miles away and was physically present, but she undermined his father constantly.
Every time Marcus came home from his father’s, she would interrogate him. “Did he make you do chores again? That’s so unfair. I’d never do that to you.” Or she would sigh and say, “I bet he’s still giving you a hard time about your grades. He doesn’t understand how much stress you’re under.”
At her house, there were no chores, no curfews, no rules. She slipped him money for fast food, let him stay up late, and promised that if he ever wanted to live with her full time, she would make it happen.
Marcus began to resent his father. He saw him as controlling, strict, uncaring. When his father tried to enforce rules, Marcus rolled his eyes and muttered, “Mom doesn’t care if I do that.” The conflict escalated until his father, desperate not to lose him, began to bend. He eased boundaries, bought expensive clothes, and tried to buy peace. But no matter what he gave, it was never enough.
This is the cruelty of close-range alienation. The alienating parent uses proximity to sabotage the other, validating rebellion, reframing discipline as abuse, and poisoning the child’s perception in real time.
Diary of the Teen - I don’t know when I started feeling different about my dad. He’s always been there — driving me to school, yelling at me to do my homework, showing up at my games. But lately, I don’t want him around. When he cheers for me, I feel embarrassed, like he’s just trying to show off. Mom says he does things for appearances, not because he really cares. Maybe she’s right. He gets so mad about little things — my grades, my room, my phone. Mom says she understands me better. She listens. She doesn’t make me feel stupid. She says Dad doesn’t respect me, that he only wants control. Sometimes I think she’s the only one who gets me.
But then Dad buys me things when I ask, almost like he’s afraid I’ll leave. I like it, but it makes me feel strange too. He says yes more than he used to, but it feels like he’s trying too hard. Sometimes I push him, just to see how far I can go. He looks hurt when I do, and I hate that look. But part of me feels powerful when he gives in. It’s confusing. I know he loves me. I know he’s trying. But when Mom calls and asks if he made me mad again, I find myself saying yes, even if it’s not true. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe because I don’t want to let her down. Maybe because it’s easier than explaining. Sometimes I wonder if I’m losing him on purpose, and I don’t know how to stop.
Diary of the Parent - I sit in his room after he leaves, looking at the empty bed, the posters on the wall, the clothes on the floor. It’s like he’s here and not here at the same time. He barely speaks to me anymore. When I ask him how school is going, he shrugs. When I try to set rules, he throws her name in my face. “Mom lets me. Mom says you’re too controlling. Mom says you only care about yourself.” He says it like it’s the truth, but I know those aren’t his words. He’s parroting. He’s been taught to see me as the enemy. And it’s working.
I’ve tried everything. I’ve been strict. I’ve been lenient. I’ve bought him things I couldn’t afford just to keep him happy. I’ve ignored my own exhaustion to show up for every game, every event. But none of it matters. She undoes it all with a sigh, with a word, with a look. She poisons the well, and he drinks from it gladly. I don’t know how to reach him anymore. Every time I try, it feels like I lose a little more. People tell me to stay consistent, to be patient, that he’ll come back one day. But what about today? What about the nights when I lie awake wondering if he’ll ever see the truth? What if he doesn’t?
The Mental Health Toll
Alienation doesn’t just damage relationships — it damages the child’s mind. In the moment, teenagers trapped in alienation live with chronic anxiety and depression. They are caught in loyalty binds, forced to reject one parent to please the other. This conflict often shows up in psychosomatic symptoms — stomachaches, headaches, fatigue (Baker & Verrocchio, 2016).
They also learn dangerous lessons about love: that affection is conditional, that loyalty can be bought, and that withholding connection gives them power. In adolescence, this can look like rebellion or defiance, but in adulthood, it curdles into broken trust. Many alienated children grow into adults who struggle with intimacy, haunted by the belief that love can vanish at any time.
And then comes the guilt. Some alienated children, once grown, realize what was done to them. They see the manipulation for what it was and are left with crushing regret for the parent they rejected. They describe themselves as stolen, used, and betrayed (Baker, 2005). That regret often festers into depression, self-hatred, or relationship struggles that ripple into the next generation.
Perhaps the most haunting wound is identity itself. Children know they are made of both parents. When they are taught to hate or reject one, they often internalize that rejection as self-loathing. If my father is worthless, what does that make me? If my mother is unstable, am I unstable too? Research confirms that alienated children often battle low self-esteem and identity confusion long after the manipulation ends (Verrocchio, Baker, & Bernet, 2016).
Alienation does not end when childhood ends. Its echoes follow the child into adulthood, shaping how they love, how they trust, and how they see themselves.
The Legal Ramifications
Parental alienation does not happen in a vacuum. It happens in the shadow of court orders, custody agreements, visitation schedules, and legal frameworks that are supposed to protect children but often end up reinforcing the alienator’s strategy. The law is meant to operate in the “best interest of the child,” but when a teenager insists they no longer want contact with one parent, judges often take that voice at face value. What they rarely ask — and what alienation hides brilliantly — is whether that voice is authentically the child’s or the echo of manipulation.
In long-distance cases, the alienating parent often exploits gaps in enforcement. A parent who only makes phone calls may still be granted joint custody or visitation rights on paper, even if they never exercise them. Later, when they suddenly seek custody or relocation, they argue that the child “wants to be with them.” Courts, eager to respect the older child’s wishes, sometimes grant these requests, effectively rewarding years of absence and manipulation while punishing the parent who has carried the daily weight of caregiving.
In close-range alienation, the sabotage is harder to prove but equally destructive. Courts are flooded with accusations — one parent claims the other is alienating, while the accused parent denies it, insisting the child simply prefers them. Judges, lacking training in the psychological dynamics of alienation, may dismiss the problem as “co-parenting conflict.” By the time the alienation is severe enough for professionals to see it, the damage is often entrenched.
Some jurisdictions have begun to recognize alienation formally. Expert testimony from psychologists, child custody evaluators, or guardians ad litem may highlight alienating behaviors, and in rare cases, custody can be modified. Courts may order “reunification therapy” — structured intervention designed to repair the relationship between the child and the alienated parent. But these measures are controversial and inconsistently applied. Critics argue that forcing children into therapy or visitation can retraumatize them if allegations of abuse are present, while proponents point out that without intervention, alienation is a form of abuse itself.
The reality is that many alienated parents are left with little recourse. Filing motions, hiring attorneys, and paying for expert witnesses is costly, and alienation cases can drag on for years. The alienating parent may weaponize the legal system itself, filing repeated motions, withholding visitation under the guise of “protecting the child,” or using accusations of abuse to stall proceedings. The law, slow and cautious, often becomes another tool of alienation rather than a shield against it.
For the child, the legal ramifications are equally damaging. When courts fail to intervene, they are taught that manipulation is power and that the truth is irrelevant. When courts do intervene harshly, they may feel punished for loyalty to the alienating parent, deepening their confusion and mistrust. Either way, the legal system’s inability to consistently identify and address alienation adds another layer of trauma.
Alienation is not just a private betrayal; it is a legal failure. It exposes the gap between psychological reality and legal recognition, leaving families fractured and children unprotected. Until the courts develop consistent standards for identifying and addressing alienation, the law will continue to serve as both battlefield and weapon, where the child’s best interest is too often lost in the fog.
Conclusion
Parental alienation in teenagers is not a matter of preference. It is not rebellion, not independence, not choice. It is manipulation — the theft of love, loyalty, and truth. It rewrites family bonds, erases one parent, and distorts the child’s mind in ways that last for decades.
Whether it comes through the distant voice of a parent who exists only in phone calls, the constant sabotage of one who lives across town, or the lies told in the silence after separation, the result is the same: the child is robbed of clarity, stability, and unconditional love. The alienated parent is left bleeding, desperate, and powerless, competing with fantasy they can never outdo. And the child, the true victim, is left with scars that surface years later, when they finally realize what was taken from them.
Alienation must be named for what it is: not preference, not choice, but abuse. A theft so deep it reaches into the future.
References
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