I work in estate planning. It makes me appreciate my family so much more.

The author shares how the stories that she regularly hears in her work have made her appreciate her family even more.

• I work in estate planning, and my clients' stories sometimes bring me down.
• People contesting wills or someone writing a will that intentionally leaves out a child is common. 
• It's made me appreciate my family and our dynamics even more.

As the youngest of a trio of siblings, I grew up feeling left out much of the time.

My brother and sister were just two years apart, and their age proximity gave them shared experiences I longingly observed from the outside. I, on the other hand, I'm seven years younger than my sister and nine years younger than my brother. I made up for my feelings of inferiority by relentlessly pestering them, using a slew of annoying tactics to gain their attention.

Later, my parents were my victims: My teenage years were a blurred cliché of ridiculous arguments with my mom, with my dad acting as referee. My older siblings watched on, now the silent observers, as I wreaked havoc with my words and actions.

Moments of sibling angst and general family quarrels were offset by family holidays and vacations overflowing with memories and laughter, and so much love. We survived my tumultuous teenage years, and now the three of us all have families of our own. 

My family of origin isn't perfect, but it's enough. And as I grow older, I'm beginning to realize just how rare that is.

I work in estate planning and see strained family relationships

From the royal public feud, laid bare in Prince Harry's new memoir, to Britney Spears' long ordeal with her family, celebrities and their strained family relationships saturate the media. Those stories make for entertaining clickbait, but these sagas reflect the same struggles happening in our own neighborhoods.

As detailed in his new book, "Fault Lines: Fractured Families and How to Mend Them," Karl Pillemer conducted a survey that found more than 25% of American respondents over the age of 18 were estranged from at least one family member. That number is probably higher because it's difficult to be honest about raw family pain.

I see these families each day at my full-time job at an estate-planning law firm. While some of our work is cheerful — new parents desiring to establish guardianship — much of the work deals with end-of-life transitions, work overflowing with vulnerable conversations about family relationships.

I answer calls from grieving family members who want to contest a will. I talk to a widow who's rewriting a will to leave out one of her children. A woman facing a serious diagnosis feels like she has to choose between her feuding siblings and her children. An aging man wants to make sure his stepchildren won't inherit any of his wealth. 

Estrangements result from different values and politics, past pains from harsh parenting, and, of course, divorce. I'm privy to just one side of these stories, so I avoid passing judgment. No matter the cause, the damage left in the wake is the same.

Sometimes my clients' stories get to me

On days when I'm not careful, I leave the office hopeless for humanity, weighed down by clients' burdens and brokenness. 

I think about my own sibling squabbles — infrequent as they are — fueled by classic Midwestern passiveness, conflict avoidance, and my overly sensitive reactions to sarcastic words. As our parents age, I know we will be dealing with more serious discussions than where to host Thanksgiving. Do we have what it takes to avoid estrangement?

Thankfully, I believe we do.

I wish I could offer some great formula to be replicated by other families. A lot can be attributed to dumb luck. We also put in the effort to stay connected. While we are separated geographically, we still prioritize our annual college football game, holiday gatherings at the farm, and constant communication about things both big and little. We don't always agree, but even in conflict, I remember the words of Nietzsche: "In family life, love is the oil that eases friction."

In our family, love isn't measured in grand gestures. It's measured in steadiness and small words.

On challenging workdays, I pop into my sibling group text. This is the same text thread where we encouraged my physician brother during the early pandemic days with irreverent memes and satirical videos, where my sister shares hilarious stories about her second-grade students, and where we compare angst about parenting teens and young adults. It's always the text I open first when I'm feeling down.

"This job is getting to me. So many clients today who are estranged from family members or having family drama. It's so much. Promise me we'll never be like that," I text, begging: "Please."

"Promise," my sister is quick to respond.

My brother brings the clarity I need: "I'll stay on your team."

There's no other team I'd rather be on.