When Father's Day Hurts: Grief, Estrangement, and the Complexity of Missing Someone Who Harmed You

The supermarket displays are up. Social media is full of celebration. The world has decided that Father's Day is about gratitude and connection and joy.

But for many people, this day stirs something very different.

If you're experiencing sadness, anger, numbness, or a grief you can't quite name—if you're watching other people celebrate something you lost, never had, or had to walk away from—you're not alone. And your experience is not a failure to appreciate what you should.

Why This Day Can Reactivate Something Deep

When the father you needed and the father you had are two different people

Sometimes these two people are so far apart they might as well be strangers.

You might have had a father who was abusive, controlling, dismissive, or emotionally unsafe. A father whose presence felt dangerous. And yet, Father's Day can still stir a complicated ache: grief for what you endured, yes, but also grief for what you never received from him.

This is one of the most confusing parts of surviving parental harm. Your nervous system can simultaneously hold the truth that he hurt you and the longing for the father you needed. These two things are not contradictions. They are the reality of what it means to have been a child dependent on someone who could not show up for you.

This experience often overlaps with the grief described in When Estrangement Feels Like Grief.

The quiet wound of emotional absence

Sometimes there is no abuse. There is just... absence.

A father who was physically present but emotionally distant. Who didn't ask about your day. Who didn't notice when you were struggling. Who didn't make you feel protected or seen. A father who left you managing your own emotional world while he remained unavailable in his own.

This creates a different kind of wound. One that's harder to name because there's no dramatic incident to point to. Just a slow accumulation of moments where you needed someone and no one came. Just the quiet knowledge that you were on your own.

The longing for a father you never had is not childish. It's grief. And it's legitimate.

This kind of emotional absence echoes themes explored in Why Adult Children of Alcoholics Struggle to Feel Safe.

The paradox of protection through distance

For many people, the only path toward safety is stepping away. Low contact. No contact. Distance.

And this choice brings something complicated: it can bring relief and clarity and real healing. It can also bring guilt.

Society doesn't make space for this contradiction. We're told, "But he's still your dad." "Family is family." "You should try to make it work." What these phrases don't acknowledge is that biology does not erase harm. A genetic connection does not obligate you to remain in a relationship that hurts you.

When you choose distance, you're not being disloyal. You're not being ungrateful. You're making a choice about your own nervous system's safety. And for many people, this choice is an act of profound self-compassion—perhaps the first real act of protection you've been able to offer yourself.

But the guilt can still arrive. The part of you that was trained to manage his needs, to smooth over conflict, to make excuses for his behaviour—that part can whisper that you should do more, try harder, forgive faster. That part doesn't know yet that you're allowed to choose yourself.

The many forms of grief on this day

Grief doesn't have a clean shape. It comes in different forms depending on your story.

You might be grieving the death of a father. You might be grieving the loss of a relationship that could have been repaired but isn't. You might be grieving the bond you wish you'd had. You might be grieving the time you spent hoping things would change, only to realise they wouldn't. You might be grieving the version of yourself who had to stay small and quiet to manage his moods. You might be grieving the longing itself—the part of you that still, somewhere deep, wishes he could have been different.

And Father's Day can make all of this louder. Sharper. Harder to ignore.

Even years into healing, this day can touch tender places. And that's not a sign that you haven't healed enough. It's a sign that something real happened, and your system still remembers it.

Sometimes the hardest part is the emptiness that remains.

Holding Multiple Truths at Once

One of the hardest parts of surviving parental harm is learning to live with contradiction.

You might feel sadness and relief about the distance you've created. You might feel longing for connection and anger at the thought of it. You might feel numbness one moment and overwhelming grief the next. You might feel love for your father and resentment toward him at the same time.

Your nervous system might brace before a family gathering, remembering old patterns of his unpredictability, his criticism, his emotional demands. And yet, underneath the bracing, there might be a small part of you that still hopes he could see you. That still wants his approval. That still carries the child who was told her needs were too much.

This isn't a character flaw. This is how the nervous system works. It can hold multiple conflicting truths because both of them are real.

You have the right to grieve what you didn't receive. You have the right to protect yourself from harm. And you can feel both of these things on the same day.

If this bodily remembering resonates, you may find Why Does Healthy Love Feel Uncomfortable After Abuse? helpful, especially the parts about how the body responds before the mind catches up.

Creating Your Own Way Through This Day

Honour what is real for you

You don't owe anyone a celebration of Father's Day. You don't have to participate in the rituals. You don't have to perform gratitude for a relationship that was complicated or harmful.

If it feels right, you might honour the safe father figures who showed up for you: mentors, teachers, grandparents, friends. Anyone who offered you the protection or guidance you needed from your father but didn't receive.

Or you might simply honour yourself. For the boundaries you've set. For the cycles you've broken. For the ways you're showing up differently in your own relationships. For surviving something you should never have had to survive alone.

Protect your nervous system

If social media posts feel triggering, you can mute them. Log off entirely. Take the day offline.

If family gatherings feel emotionally unsafe, you're allowed to decline. You don't need to explain your absence or justify your boundaries.

Your nervous system's safety is more important than anyone's expectations of you.

Our bodies often respond before our minds do, the NIMH explains how stress affects the nervous system.

Create a ritual that honours your experience

This might be something quiet and private. Writing a letter you never send. Lighting a candle for the part of you that needed protection. Spending time in nature. Doing something kind for your inner child—the part of you that was left managing too much.

Or it might be nothing at all. Sometimes the most powerful act is simply refusing to participate, refusing to pretend, refusing to perform something you don't feel.

Name your grief with someone safe

If you can, tell someone you trust how you're really feeling. A therapist. A friend. A support group. Someone who won't rush you toward forgiveness or push you toward reconciliation.

Naming grief to another person changes something in your nervous system. It signals that you don't have to hold this alone. It begins to soften the isolation that grief can create.

Ground yourself when emotions surge

When memories or feelings come up, your nervous system might try to pull you back into old patterns. Into the small self that learned to disappear. Into the part that braced for criticism. Into the child who couldn't quite do enough.

When that happens, you can anchor yourself:

Slow breathing, especially longer exhales that signal safety to your nervous system. A grounding walk where you feel your feet on the ground. A warm shower or weighted blanket that helps your body feel held. Writing down what's coming up without judgment. Holding something cool or textured that brings you back into your body. Noticing three objects in the room around you, connecting to the present moment.

Trauma is stored in the body — Bessel van der Kolk’s work describes this in depth.

Grounding is not denial. It's not avoiding your grief. It's care for your nervous system so you can move through grief without being flooded by it.

If shame shows up around these needs, you may also find Understanding Toxic Shame meaningful.

Your Resilience Lives in What You've Built, Not What You Received

Father's Day may always carry tender places. But it can also remind you of something your nervous system might not recognise yet: the strength you've built.

Every boundary you've set, despite guilt. Every cycle you've broken in your own relationships. Every moment you've chosen your own safety over someone else's comfort. Every time you've offered yourself the compassion your father couldn't offer. Every time you've said no when saying yes would have hurt you.

These are not small things. These are signs of profound resilience.

You are not defined by what your father did or didn't do. You are not defined by the ways his absence or harm shaped you. You are defined by what you've learned about yourself in the aftermath. By how you've learned to love, protect, and rebuild yourself. By the fact that you're still here, still trying, still looking for ways to heal.

You're Not Alone in This

If Father's Day feels heavy, know this: many people experience complex emotions on this day. People who endured emotional neglect. People navigating toxic family dynamics. People who are estranged from their parents. People who are missing someone who hurt them.

Your experience is not unusual. Your grief is not strange. Your anger is not wrong.

Family estrangement is more common than people realise: “When Parents and Children Are Estranged” — PsychCentral

And healing is possible. You don't have to hold these feelings by yourself.

If you need support navigating estrangement, complicated grief, relational trauma, or the shame that often accompanies these experiences, I'm here.

📧 kat@safespacecounsellingservices.com.au

📞 0452 285 526