Why I Took a “Time Out” & Went No-Contact With My Dad

Hi, Eldest Daughter. 

I’m so glad you’re here. 

This month, I’m sharing a five-part series for eldest daughters who’ve made (or are considering making) the difficult decision to go no-contact with a family member. 

Part one begins with my own story: why I chose to take a time-out from my dad and go no-contact. 

Part two explores the unexpected grief and relief that came with that decision.

Part three focuses on how I took care of myself in the aftermath, both emotionally and physically.

Part four offers a reflective questionnaire to help other eldest daughters discern whether low- or no-contact is the right step for them. 

And part five is a healing guide for those already walking this path.

This series is for anyone who’s ever carried the weight of family responsibility on their shoulders. It’s for anyone who’s learning that protecting their peace doesn’t make them unloving; it makes them whole.

If you’re considering going no-contact (or have already gone no-contact) with a family member, I hope this series helps bring you clarity and peace in your decision. 

With love,
Wren

What does no-contact and low-contact mean?

Before I share my story, let’s define the terms I’m using.

Going no-contact means cutting off all communication with a parent. No texts, phone calls, social media interaction, or visits. It is typically a last resort after an adult child continuously tries to set healthy boundaries with their parent, yet their boundaries are disrespected or ignored. In cases where there is any form of abuse or severe emotional distress, an adult child may go no-contact without first trying to set boundaries with their parent. 

Going low-contact means still being in communication with a parent, but only being in touch minimally, such as on birthdays and/or holidays. It usually involves keeping interactions surface-level and short.

Taking a “time-out” means temporarily going no-contact with a parent in order to focus on your own growth and healing before deciding if you want to try and repair the relationship or not.

It’s important to emphasize that deciding to take a time-out, or go low- or no-contact is not one that adult children make easily or lightly. It is a step taken as a way to preserve one’s emotional, mental – and sometimes physical – health and well-being.

My Story

Last year, I took a “time-out” and went no-contact with my dad to focus on my own healing. 

I didn’t make this choice overnight. It was one I’d been struggling with for years, as a result of deep hurt and unresolved issues. 

For some backstory: about twenty years prior to taking a time-out from my dad, my family discovered he had been cheating on my mom for a decade, with multiple women. It was a revelation that shattered my perception of my little world and left me feeling untethered and like I couldn’t trust the ground beneath my feet. Everything I thought I knew felt like a lie.

And even though my family as a whole (my parents stayed together in the aftermath), and I, as an individual, worked through a lot of that pain over the course of many years, I still continued to carry the scars of my dad’s betrayal. 

The message I internalized from my dad’s actions was that no matter what I do, I’m not good enough. That as a woman, I’m replaceable. That I can’t trust men – because the man who was supposed to protect me was the one who hurt me the deepest. 

And all of those feelings came rushing back last year when my parents finally ended up getting a divorce… and my dad immediately jumped into a new relationship. To be honest, I was surprised by how intensely my old hurt came back. 

If this had been the only hurt I was carrying in relation to my dad, I don’t think I would have made the decision to go no-contact with him. I think I would have worked through my pain and continued my relationship with him.

However, not only was I working through my past hurt at the time, but there were other, on-going patterns of behavior my dad was displaying that continued to hurt me. These patterns only served to compound my feelings of betrayal. 

My dad had a pattern of not respecting the boundaries I tried to hold. Even when I stated them clearly, he would push back on them, forget them, or try to make me feel guilty for having them in the first place.

He also had a pattern of “forgetting” when he said hurtful things to me. Instead of acknowledging the hurt he’d caused, even if it was unintentional, he would try to justify it and explain it away and create a different narrative than what actually happened. This consistent pattern of rewriting what happened (i.e. him gaslighting me) made me question my own reality and experience time and time again.

All of this made me feel like I couldn't trust him or be totally honest with him – or even talk to him when he hurt me. Because I didn’t feel heard or seen or respected. 

Instead of repairing our relationship when needed, instead of being able to heal, I just had to bury the hurt inside me again and again and again. I had to pretend I was okay, even when I wasn’t. And I had to try to forget about my own pain and just move on to keep the status quo. 

And it was killing me. 

All of the emotional turmoil I was carrying inside started manifesting physically. 

When I saw my dad’s name pop up on my phone, I’d break out into a sweat and avoid answering his calls or texts. 

I started having anxiety attacks whenever I was about to see him. 

When I spent time with him, I was constantly on alert, waiting for him to say something hurtful, rewrite a past event, or dismiss something I was feeling. 

Immediately after spending time with him, I almost always cried. And then needed a day or two to sleep and recalibrate my emotions. 

It was exhausting.  

But I kept pushing through my pain, continuing to bury it. I kept trying. I kept hoping things would change. Because I didn’t want to cut my dad off. I wanted a healthy relationship with him. 

I finally reached my breaking point after I clearly stated a boundary with my dad and he pushed back on it five times over a 48-hour period. My boundary was one that honored my own marriage and shielded my husband from being dragged into a family issue that neither of us wanted him to have to deal with. 

After restating my boundary five times with my dad, I finally understood that he wasn’t able to give me what I’d been asking for. He wasn’t able (or perhaps, wasn’t willing) to respect what I needed. Instead, he was just concerned about what he wanted. 

It was in that moment I realized: I can’t fucking do this anymore.

My Fears

Even though I knew I needed to take a time-out from my dad, it still took me a while to take the next step and actually do it.

I worried about how other family members would react to my decision. I worried it would negatively impact my relationship with them, specifically my younger brother. I worried if in the process of taking care of myself by going no-contact with my dad, that I would lose other familial relationships too. 

I also worried about hurting my dad. Disappointing him. Making him angry. 

I worried I’d regret my decision. 

Because the truth is: I love my dad. Deeply. In my perfect world, I would never even entertain going low- or no-contact with him, whether it was temporary or not. 

In my perfect world, my dad would respect my boundaries. He’d acknowledge the hurt he caused. He’d ask for forgiveness when I brought issues to him. He’d listen to me, without rewriting history. He’d work to repair our relationship when needed. 

Here’s the thing: I wasn’t asking for perfection from my dad. I understand that we all say hurtful things to the people we love and we all make mistakes. That’s part of being human. 

What I was asking for again and again when I brought issues to my dad was an acknowledgement of hurt caused. I was bringing up issues with him in the hope he would ask for forgiveness, so we could repair and strengthen our relationship. I was asking him to take a moment to reflect and then work to change harmful behavior so it wasn’t repeated. 

I was asking for my boundaries – the way in which I could stay in a relationship with him while still taking care of my own well-being – to be respected, not pushed against and ignored.

Because taking a time-out wasn’t a decision I wanted to make. Instead, it was a decision I felt forced to make: I could either stay in a relationship with him or I could take care of my mental health and well-being. 

And, after struggling with this decision for years, I finally set aside my worries. And, for the first time in my life, I finally chose myself. 

My Next Steps

There’s no right or wrong way to go low- or no-contact with a family member. And there’s no step-by-step guide to tell you how to do it. It’s something anyone who’s ever made this decision has to navigate based on what feels best for them in the moment.

Since there was a pattern of my dad not listening to me when I brought issues to him, I started distancing myself incrementally without announcing what I was doing. I took longer to respond to his texts. And if he called, I responded by text instead of calling him back, which felt safer for me.

When he asked to see me, I said I was busy and didn’t offer alternate times to connect.

After a few weeks, I learned he was talking to other family members about me going silent on him. In an attempt to not drag other people into my stuff, I sent my dad a text stating, without a lot of explanation, that I needed to take some time to focus on my own healing. In it, I told him I loved him and that it was temporary and that I would reach out when I was ready. 

Two days later, he sent a text asking me to help him figure out a vacation rental for an upcoming trip he was taking. (*deep sigh*)

Over the course of the next month, my dad continued to reach out, asking me where I stood and asking to see me.

So I sat down and wrote him a letter. Honestly, I was angry that he continued to reach out to me, despite me saying I needed some temporary space to heal. And I was angry he kept talking to other family members, telling them he had no idea why I needed this space. 

In the letter, I explained in detail the hurt that had resurfaced after his and mom’s divorce. I explained how him moving on so quickly afterward affected me. I also laid out his patterns of behavior that continued to hurt me. 

I wanted to be clear about why I was making this decision. 

I think behind my directness was still the hope that if I could just explain my hurt to him one more time, he’d finally get it, apologize, and we could work to repair our relationship. 

I ended the letter telling him, again, that I loved him, and reiterating that I wanted this distance to be temporary as I focused on my own healing. 

Despite my efforts, he still didn’t get it.

Since I sent him my letter, my dad has continued to reach out. He’s sent messages telling me how much I’m hurting him with my silence, that he thought we moved past certain issues, and that he thought I wanted him to be happy in his new relationship. To be fair, he’s also sent me messages telling me he loves me and that he’s thinking of me.

Yet, he still hasn’t taken accountability or apologized for the ways in which he’s hurt me. 

Without that, I don’t know how to stay in a relationship with him and keep myself emotionally safe.

So I’ve simply stopped responding to him.

I’ve decided to fully take the time I need to focus on myself and my own healing, regardless of how he responds to my decision. 

***

Choosing to take space from my dad wasn’t easy. It’s one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. 

But it was also one of the first times I chose myself without apology.

I wasn’t punishing or rejecting my dad by taking a step back. I was protecting myself. And creating the distance I needed to breathe, reflect, heal, and begin to understand who I am – not in relation to my dad or my family, but who I am as an individual.

If you’ve ever felt the same tug to step away from someone you love, please know that you are not alone. Sometimes, love looks like distance. Sometimes, healing begins with space.

Next week in part two, I’ll share what happened after I went no contact – the unexpected grief, the quiet relief, and the complicated emotions that surfaced once the silence set in.