How My Father’s Silence Shaped Toxic Patterns in the Way I Love

When I look back on the men I’ve loved, starting in high school and including both of my husbands, I see a pattern that took me decades to fully recognize. These were men who appeared kind, talented, and even gentle. Men who seemed safe. Men others admired.

I spent years wondering what was wrong with me, but my relationship choices were a result of a toxic pattern

But every one of them became emotionally absent, dismissive, or quietly cruel when I needed them most.

I spent years wondering what was wrong with me. Why I kept attracting men who disappeared when I needed them, who went quiet in the face of pain, who would not fight for me. It wasn’t until much later, after my father died, that I began to understand:

I wasn’t looking for love.

I was looking for closure.

I recognize it as a toxic pattern.

My Dad, the Gentle Disappearance

As a child, I adored my dad. I was his little clone. He taught me music, nature, science, and creativity. We collected butterflies, played instruments, identified trees, and explored the outdoors. I was his shadow, his buddy. He never raised his voice. He didn’t spank. He didn’t shame.

My dad loved me, but he didn't protect me

He praised me quietly. He called me brilliant, clever, inventive, and always behind the scenes.

But everything changed around the age of twelve. Puberty arrived. I was suddenly seen as a girl, not just by the world, but by him. I couldn’t play football with the boys anymore. He didn’t sit with me the way he used to. We weren’t “buddies” anymore, and he didn’t know what to do with the person I was becoming.

My mother’s cruelty had always been obvious. I was often told I was the problem, that I deserved mistreatment, and that I brought it on myself. But my father’s absence was a different kind of wound. I didn’t even recognize it as harmful until much later.

He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t cruel.

He just wasn’t there.

When I was bullied, he changed the subject.

When my mother said terrible things, he stayed silent.

He offered a mild platitude when I cried, but never took my side.

I thought I was loved. But I wasn’t protected.

That difference would shape my entire life.

The Pattern Repeats

I internalized the message without realizing it: Real love doesn’t show up. It whispers encouragement from the other room.

So, I kept falling in love with emotionally passive men.

Men who were gentle on the surface but absent when it mattered.

Men who reminded me of my dad in the beginning, but eventually mirrored my mother, cruel, dismissive, and gaslighting.

I didn’t expect people to defend me.

Not friends. Not partners.

Because I had never been taught that I was worth defending.

And when I was assaulted at 17, I told no one.

Because the silence was already in my bones.

Because I knew that if I spoke up, I’d be met with blame or, even worse, indifference.

Replaced and Alone

I eventually married my high school sweetheart. He and my dad became close.....so close, in fact, that he began to share the hobbies that I had once shared with my dad—before I grew out of being “the daughter he could bring along.”

And when the marriage crumbled, when my husband’s alcoholism wrecked us financially, emotionally, and legally, my father still refused to take a side. Still called him “a good guy.” Still told me not to “make waves.” Still wanted me to “handle things amicably.”

Without my dad's anger, I had no model for setting boundaries

And I realized I had been sent into the biggest battle of my life with nothing but a wet rag.

Without his anger, I had no model for setting boundaries.

Without his voice, I had no way to trust my own.

The Final Silence

Years later, in another abusive marriage, I weighed 95 pounds. I had no income, no stability, and no way to make decisions. My tween daughter was kept in her room just to protect her from the chaos. I told people what was happening. I asked for help.

No one noticed.

No one got angry.

Not even my parents.

When I finally left, my mom was more concerned about whether my daughter was upset that I’d taken a family photo off the mantle than about what we’d just survived.

That’s when I knew the silence was never neutral.

It was always a choice.

It just wasn’t chosen for me.

What I Know Now

The absence of anger is the absence of boundaries.

The absence of boundaries is the absence of love.

My father thought that avoiding conflict was kindness.

That staying neutral was noble.

Refusing to take sides made him a good man.

The absence of anger is the absence of boundaries

But when you refuse to name harm, you allow it.

When you don’t fight for your child, you teach her to stop fighting for herself.

This is not about blame.

This is about recognition.

Because we cannot heal what we refuse to name.

A Final Sign

That morning, as all of this came to the surface, I pulled the Seven of Swords and reversed.

The card of secrets is being revealed. Of old truths rising. Of no longer hiding behind quiet roles or stories that only tell part of the truth.

It was right.

The truth came up, and this time, I let it.

If You’ve Felt This Too

If you grew up in a home where one parent was obviously harmful and the other just… watched, this is for you.

If no one ever got angry with you, this is for you.

If your pain was too inconvenient to name, this is for you.

This is for you if you’ve been told your story is too much and your grief too messy.

You are not broken.

You are not a victim.

You are someone who loved deeply—and waited too long to be loved out loud.

Have you ever confused emotional silence for safety? I’d love to hear what helped you see it differently!

Further Reading & Support

"Attached" by Amir Levine & Rachel Heller – On attachment styles and why we gravitate toward emotional distance.

"The Body Keeps the Score" by Bessel van der Kolk – For understanding how trauma lives in our bodies.

"Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving" by Pete Walker – Especially on emotional neglect and abandonment.

"Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents" by Lindsay C. Gibson – For those raised by loving parents who never showed up emotionally.

"Mother Hunger" by Kelly McDaniel – On what happens when you’re never taught to expect protection.

Dr. Nicole LePera (@the.holistic.psychologist) – Self-healing and emotional accountability.

Nedra Glover Tawwab (@nedratawwab) – On boundaries, emotional labor, and relational healing.