Going No Contact: The Grief No One Talks About

What happens when you choose peace over a parent who refuses to change

Let me start with something that happens to me all the time.

I'll be in a casual conversation with someone, and they'll ask about my family. I mention that I've been no contact with my mother for over a decade now.

And then it comes. That dreaded response.

"But that's your mother."

Followed by the guilt trip: "You only get one mother."

After 13 years of being no contact, I've learned something important. People's reactions never get easier. But one day, something just clicked in my brain, and I stopped caring about what others thought.

They never lived it.

People don't understand unless they've lived it themselves.

Going No Contact Is Always the Last Resort

Here's what people don't get: no one wants to cut their own parent out of their life.

This isn't a decision people make lightly. It's not about being dramatic or unforgiving or "not trying hard enough."

People go no contact because no matter how many chances they give that person, nothing changes. The parent continues to disrespect boundaries, show no genuine respect, and refuses to acknowledge the harm they caused.

Going no contact is what happens when you finally realize that holding on is hurting you more than letting go ever could.

The Moment I Knew It Was Over

When I finally made the decision to go no contact at 19, I sent my mother one last letter. I poured my heart into it. I thought maybe, just maybe, this would be the moment she finally got it.

But what did I get in return?

No apology. Nothing but gaslighting and blaming me for everything.

That's when I realized: talking to her was like talking to a brick wall.

And that realization? It broke something in me. But it also freed me.

The Big Moments No One Warns You About

I was 19 years old when my mom and I went no contact. Since then, I've graduated from college, fallen in love, gotten married, and had children.

In all those big moments, I thought of her well, I thought of the person I wish she were.

No one talks about those moments.

How you'll feel when you're walking down the aisle, and your mom's not there.

Or when you just gave birth to your first child, and you're staring at this tiny human, wondering why your mother doesn't feel the same overwhelming love you feel when you look into your daughter's eyes.

Or when you're pregnant and terrified, and you want to call your mom, but you can't because the version of her you need doesn't exist.

Those moments will break you wide open if you're not ready for them.

I wasn't ready. But I survived them anyway.

The Grief of a Parent Who's Still Alive

Here's what no one tells you about having a toxic parent:

You spend years holding on to this fantasy version of them.

The mother who would show up for you. The mother who would be proud. The mother who would finally see you.

Going no contact means letting go of that fantasy forever.

That grief is real.

You're not just grieving the relationship you had. You're grieving the relationship you'll never have.

You're grieving every birthday she won't acknowledge. Every milestone she won't celebrate. Every apology she'll never give.

You're grieving a living person. And that kind of grief doesn't have a name. It doesn't have a timeline.

It just sits there, heavy and complicated, for years.

How I Made Peace With It

I'm not going to lie and say I never miss her. Some days, I do.

But missing someone doesn't mean you made the wrong choice.

I found my own ways to process the grief. I wrote letters I never sent (you can read more about that [here] I cried at 2 AM while rocking my newborn daughter to sleep.

And slowly, over 13 years, I made peace with it.

Going no contact saved me.

I felt safe. I became the person I always wanted to be because I no longer had to be the person she wanted me to be.

I thought it would break me.

But it turns out, she always needed me more than I needed her.

Just Because They're Blood Doesn't Make Them Family

That is the hardest lesson of all.

After 13 years, I can honestly say I have never regretted my decision.

I am proud of that 19-year-old version of myself who chose peace over chaos. Who chose herself when no one else would.

You are allowed to do the same.

You are allowed to choose peace over chaos.

You are worthy of love that doesn't have conditions.

If going no contact is what you need, that doesn't make you weak—it makes you strong.

Breaking the Cycle

I'm a mom now. I have children to protect.

By going no contact, I broke a generational cycle.

My motto is: It ends with me.

My children will never have to walk on eggshells around me. They will never wonder if my love is conditional. They are growing up seeing what healthy boundaries look like.

19-year-old me gave my children the best gift of all: the gift of peace.

That's not something my mother could ever give me. But I can give it to them.

And that makes every hard moment worth it.

You Have the Right to Choose Peace

Whether you're considering no contact, already living it, or still trying to decide, remember this:

You're not broken.

The path to healing isn't always the one that makes others comfortable. Sometimes it's the one that makes you free.

You have the right to protect yourself. You have the right to stop explaining. You have the right to walk away from people who refuse to change, even if they're family.

Especially if they're family.

You are so much stronger than you know.

Keep building beyond whatever tried to break you.

If you're on your own healing journey and you're thinking about writing your story, I created something for you.

The Trauma-Informed Publishing Blueprint is a 90-day program designed to help trauma survivors write and finish their memoirs—with structure, boundaries, and support every step of the way.

And if you want to hear more conversations like this one, subscribe to my podcast Beyond the Red House wherever you listen to podcasts.

Your story matters. Your voice has power.

💛