'My brother and I grew up in a happy home. You'd never believe it after what he did.'

For most of her childhood, Emma* believed her relationship with her brother was exactly what it was meant to be.

"He wanted to show me everything," she said. "He included me in his world."

He was a few years older, so when he started high school she became "the annoying younger sister", but the shift felt developmentally normal. Emma changed too.

She became a sporting champion, disciplined and driven. Her brother loved gaming. They occupied different worlds, but they were still family.

Nothing about their early relationship suggested what would come. But when her brother got married, something changed.

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Emma made an effort to be welcoming. She saw someone shy, entering a close family and wanted her to feel included.

Then the comments started. Criticism of her parenting, remarks about her toddlers' clothing, and other repeated observations that felt insulting. Emma initially dismissed them, telling herself that peace mattered more than her discomfort.

But as the relationship progressed, something shifted even further. Her brother no longer contacted their parents independently and he stopped seeing his friends.

"When they became engaged, it was impossible not to notice," Emma said. "His decisions no longer felt like his own." After the wedding, tensions that had been building over two years surfaced. Shortly afterwards, Emma was told there would be no further contact.

The decision was not mutual, but it was final. That was six years ago, and since then, the grief has come in waves.

"You think you've accepted it," she said. "Then a family event comes up. Or a milestone. And you're right back in it."

Emma says she tried to reach out, but each attempt seemed to trigger offence, and ultimately, she felt like there was no safe path forward.

"Sometimes love looks like stepping back," she said. "Even when it breaks your heart."

Over time, Emma says her anger morphed into something heavier. She describes it like chopping wood, each strike creating a fracture, until one day, the log splits cleanly in two.

"Those two pieces grew together," she said. "And then they exist separately."

Susan De Campo, a relationship counsellor and director of LifeCare Consultancy, says sibling estrangement often sits within a wider family system, and is rarely as simple as two people falling out.

"Sibling relationships are typically the longest personal relationships we have with anyone," she explained. "The loss of this can result in shame, embarrassment, and deep grief. And it's complicated further by how parents manage ongoing relationships with all of their children."

Susan has worked with families where parents remain in contact with estranged siblings, forced to "constantly juggle logistics" and tolerate intense emotions on both sides.

"It can be incredibly difficult," she said. "Estrangement doesn't happen in isolation. It ripples outward."

Emma has learned that estrangement involves grief, independence, and learning to become your own anchor, but also that expectation to heal most often falls on women.

Susan says this gendered expectation is common.

"Emotional labour, reconciliation, and keeping the peace are still disproportionately placed on women," she explained. "Even when the harm wasn't theirs to fix."

"Every birthday I don't hear from him, it hits," she said. "Acceptance isn't the absence of grief.

"We had a good childhood," Emma said. "Joyful. Loving. Estrangement isn't proof of a broken family."

Susan agrees.

"Family cut-offs are far more common than people realise," she said. "And the grief associated with them is immeasurable."

For Claire*, estrangement from her sister was her choice, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt.

"I can't point to one moment," she said. "It was death by a thousand paper cuts." Claire always felt like she was the black sheep of the family.

"No one labelled me," she said. "But behaviour communicates everything." While Claire was outspoken and questioning, her sister, nine years younger, leaned toward fitting in.

By the time her sister was growing up, Claire had already left home, so the pair weren't close. But the final rupture came years later when Claire discovered her sister had been discussing her past with an ex-partner.

"It was a gut-drop," she said. "That hollow feeling where your body knows before your mind catches up."

It wasn't the gossip that bothered her, but the fact her sister could use her privacy and pain for entertainment. Her sister didn't apologise for the betrayal, instead telling Claire she was overreacting.

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By the time Claire stepped back, it wasn't because she didn't care, it was because any repair would have come at the cost of her own values.

She didn't announce the estrangement, she simply stopped communicating. Susan describes this as emotional cutoff, a concept first articulated by family systems theorist Murray Bowen.

"Emotional cutoff is often a way of managing unresolved conflict or anxiety when emotional safety can't be achieved," she explained. "If individuals have tried professional guidance and still can't feel safe, a cutoff may be the only option. At least for now."

For Claire, the cost of estrangement was grief and guilt, but the return was peace.

"Space to breathe without bracing myself." It also reshaped her understanding of family. Obligation without respect, she says, isn't necessarily love.

"I'll probably always grieve the sister I had and the relationship I hoped for," Claire said. "But grief doesn't mean the decision was wrong. It just means it mattered."

*Names changed for privacy.

Feature Image: Getty. (Stock image for illustrative purposes).