Roberta Wasserman is a therapist, estrangement coach, and grief educator who works closely with parents and families navigating distance and disconnection. She and I have had thoughtful conversations about this topic before, and I’ve always appreciated the steadiness and clarity she brings to such a complex experience. I’m grateful to share her perspective here.
Capacity is a Room
That word — capacity — carries a kind of mercy inside it.
It’s like a musical note, dancing off the tongue. It suggests both limits and potential. It suggests growth — or at least the invitation to grow.
I even like how it sounds: capacity. How it rolls forward, soft but substantial. It feels honest and hopeful at the same time.
Capacity is not a virtue.
It’s not goodness.
It’s not righteousness.
It’s a room.
It’s space inside a human being.
And when we talk about reconciliation — especially in the land of estrangement — capacity may be the most compassionate word we have.
We Are Limited Creatures
Some people do not have the capacity to love challenging people.
That sentence alone can soften a hardened heart.
Not won’t.
Not evil.
Not heartless.
Do not have the capacity.
Some people were raised without emotional modeling.
Some were taught that control is love.
Some were taught that vulnerability is weakness.
Some are so bound by fear, pride, addiction, trauma, or rigidity that the space inside them is simply… small.
This does not excuse harm.
It does not erase impact.
It does not mean boundaries aren’t necessary.
It does not mean reconciliation is always safe or wise.
It simply means human beings have limits.
And sometimes estrangement is not born from cruelty alone — but from incapacity.
There is grief in that realization. But there is also clarity.
The Grief of Mismatched Capacity
One of the most painful dynamics in families is mismatched capacity.
One person is ready to reflect.
The other cannot tolerate self-examination.
One person wants repair.
The other wants control.
One person can hold complexity.
The other needs a villain.
That gap can feel like betrayal. It can feel like rejection. It can feel like proof that love was never real.
But often, it is simply a difference in internal bandwidth.
Some people do not have the capacity to:
- Sit with discomfort
- Apologize without defensiveness
- Love someone who challenges their worldview
- Accept a version of family that doesn’t mirror their expectations
And some people do.
That difference changes everything.
It determines whether conversations become bridges or battlegrounds.
It determines whether conflict becomes growth or fracture.
It determines whether reconciliation is possible.
Capacity Is Not Fixed
Here is the hopeful part.
Capacity is not static.
It can expand.
Not easily.
Not automatically.
Not without humility.
But it can grow.
- Wisdom grows capacity.
- Suffering — metabolized honestly — grows capacity.
- Therapy grows capacity.
- Spiritual practice grows capacity.
- Exposure to difference grows capacity.
- Time can grow capacity.
A person who once could not say, “I was wrong,” might one day whisper it.
A parent who once rejected a child for being different might one day realize love matters more than pride.
Expansion is possible — but only for those willing to stretch.
Growth requires discomfort. And not everyone is willing to feel it.
The Choice Before Us
In estranged families, we often ask:
- Who was right?
- Who started it?
- Who owes whom?
But a more transformative question might be:
- Who has the capacity to grow?
- Who can accept the opportunity before them?
If you are the one with more capacity, that can feel profoundly unfair. It can feel like carrying emotional labor for generations. It can feel like being the only adult in the room.
But capacity is also power.
The one who can:
- Regulate…
- Reflect…
- Hold nuance…
- Tolerate imperfection…
- Love without erasing themselves…
is the one with the larger interior life.
That does not mean tolerating abuse.
It does not mean collapsing boundaries.
It does not mean accepting ongoing harm.
It means recognizing that reconciliation — when it happens — happens because at least one person had room.
- Room to listen.
- Room to admit fault.
- Room to imagine something new.
Compassion Without Self-Abandonment
This is where compassion and boundaries meet.
Compassion says:
“They may not have the capacity.”
Boundaries say:
“I will not shrink my own capacity to accommodate that.”
Both can exist at the same time.
You can understand someone’s limitations without inviting them to damage you.
You can grieve someone’s smallness without hating them for it.
You can hope for expansion without waiting forever.
Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is acknowledge reality:
They do not have the capacity right now.
And I cannot make them.
That acceptance can feel like surrender. But often it is peace.
Expanding Our Own Capacity
Perhaps the deeper work is this:
To increase our own capacity for:
- Tolerance of flawed family
- Acceptance without illusion
- Love without fantasy
- Distance without bitterness
- Truth without cruelty
To say:
“They did not have the capacity then.”
And also:
“I will not let that define the limits of mine.”
Capacity is quiet strength.
It is the ability to sit at a table with a complicated history and not combust.
It is the willingness to see your family as human — not heroes, not villains — and still choose your own integrity.
It is choosing growth when estrangement would be easier.
Sometimes estrangement is necessary.
Sometimes reconciliation is possible.
Sometimes neither looks the way we imagined.
In the land of estrangement, we often describe things as a battlefield.
But perhaps it is also a classroom.
Some will leave unchanged.
Some will double down on defensiveness.
And some — the ones with expanding capacity — will emerge steadier, wiser, less reactive, more compassionate.
Not because the pain was small.
But because their interior room became larger than the pain.
Capacity.
- Room to grow.
- Room to forgive.
- Room to say no.
- Room to try again.
- Room to walk away without hatred.
Some people don’t have it.
Some people might.
And some of us are being invited — however painfully — to expand ours.
About the Author
Roberta Wasserman is a licensed therapist, estrangement coach, and grief educator who works with individuals, couples, and families navigating ambiguous loss and disconnection. She is also the author of Living in the Land of Estrangement: 12 Step Workbook for Estranged Parents and Grandparents.
