Are You Entangled? Why Your Child’s Pain Feels Like Yours

and what to do about it

Love binds us, but it was never meant to break us.

A lot of my internal unrest comes from me falling for the lie that peace is only possible when the people I love are happy, safe, calm, and provided for.

That’s especially true as a mom. As moms, we absorb this unspoken rule:

“If they’re not okay, I can’t be okay.”

It feels noble. Loving. Even Christlike.
But it’s not sustainable. Believe me, I’ve tried it long enough to know.

All it leaves you with is full-time anxiety and constant fatigue.
Again, know all about it!
And what’s more, it’s not the peace Jesus promised us.

Jesus didn’t say: “My peace I give you… as long as your daughter is fed, your son is sober, your spouse is stable, your parents are healthy, and your friends are kind.”

He said: “My peace I give you… not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
(John 14:27)

That’s peace rooted in Him, not them.
Not their behavior. Not their feelings. Not their outcomes.

Why We Lose Peace When Our People Are Hurting

I’ve figured it out! So let me tell you what I’ve found.

First: Love—especially when paired with empathy—entangles. (Back to Entanglement in a minute.)

In other words, we feel what they feel.

We want to fix what they can’t.

And when we can’t? We spiral.

Because somewhere in our soul, we decided:

If I love them, I have to fix their suffering, and if I can’t do it, then I have to suffer with them.

But the truth is that only Christ does that. Check that— (already did that).
He lifted our illnesses, He carried our pain as only Christ can.

And He doesn’t ask us to take on what He already carried.
He says, “Cast your cares on Me” (1 Peter 5:7)—not each other.
He says, “Come to Me, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28)—not “go to them and wear yourself out.”

Even in empathy, we have to remember:
We are not the Savior.
We are not the Healer.
We are not the one who carries it all.

Quantum Entanglement and a Mother’s Ache

So I started thinking, as I like to do, about something I’ve been seeing in my feed a lot lately: Quantum entanglement.

Quantum physics has discovered something called quantum entanglement, or as I’m calling it, “being a mother,” which happens when two particles become so linked that the state of one instantly affects the other—even across galaxies.

Yes, galaxies!!

Let me just say that I can feel my daughter’s pain across 1000s of miles. I’m not sure about galaxies, but quantum mechanics may just have given me the answer.

These particles were once connected—physically and through shared interaction. And even after they’re separated, what happens to one still affects the other. When one particle changes—its spin, position, or energy—the other responds immediately, no matter how far apart they are. It’s as if they’re still connected by an invisible thread that transcends space. Like they remember one another.

Einstein called it “spooky action at a distance.”

Mothers feel it every time the phone rings.

I know this isn’t how quantum entanglement works in a physics lab—but as a mother, it’s hard not to believe that part of me broke off and walked around in the form of my child. That maybe our souls—like those particles—are still somehow linked across time and space: separated from my body but still affecting my soul.

Because when you love someone deeply—especially a child—you can become emotionally and spiritually entangled with them, in what I’m discovering is a forever thing.

You feel their fear, their hunger, their social pain, their failure.

Sometimes more than they do.

Especially with kids who are neurodivergent, mentally ill, prodigal, or chronically misunderstood, this entanglement intensifies. You're not just parenting them; you're absorbing them. You can’t help but want to carry their burden—and fix it.

But here’s the danger:

The deeper the love, the deeper the link.
The deeper the powerlessness, the deeper the pain.

When the Entanglement Becomes a Tangled Mess

Emotional or spiritual entanglement is not inherently bad. It can be beautiful—a holy ache that draws us to intercession, a sign of connection, a signal to love deeper.

But it turns toxic when:

• We absorb their pain as our own.

• We believe our peace is dependent on their healing.

• We forget where they end and we begin.

That’s when compassion turns into control—and connection starts to cost us our peace. When we stop reflecting Jesus—and start trying to replace Him.

How to Disentangle Without Disconnecting

The good news is we don’t have to shut off our hearts.
We just need to stop trying to be their savior.

Here’s what I think disentangling can look like, thanks to a long talk with my pastor husband, and expert on my entanglement:

• Name the Link.
  “This is her emotion, not mine.” Just naming it brings clarity.

• Let the Ache Lead to Prayer.
  Don’t panic. Intercede.

• Breathe the Boundary.
  Inhale: She is not alone.
  Exhale: And she is not mine to rescue.

• Ask: What’s Mine to Carry?
  If the answer is “nothing,” lay it down.

• Entrust Again and Again.
  Your child is entangled with God more intimately than she is with you.

What Peace Looks Like Now

Peace isn’t detachment.

It’s the stillness that comes from knowing God is holding them, even when you have to let go.

It’s the trust to stand in stillness while their storm rages—believing God is in both places at once.

It’s praying from afar,

resting while they wrestle,

loving without enmeshing,

and finally believing:

I can be okay… even if they are not.

Not because you don’t care.
But because you’ve handed them back to the only One who never lets go.