Phone calls are the worst. But at least you can slam a receiver down (or, okay, dramatically press "end call"). A text? Once it’s out there, it’s out there. No take-backs, no do-overs—just a little blue bubble taunting you.
And there’s a special kind of horror in sending a text you know will change your life forever. The kind that makes your stomach drop the second you hit send.
Right up there with accidentally texting ‘love you’ to your boss–or worse, your ex, whose number was supposed to be deleted six months ago.
But this wasn’t just an awkward text. This was a burn-the-bridge-and-salt-the-earth text.
And I was about to hit send.
Not Everyone Is For You–And That's Okay
Life is full of all kinds of relationships. The family we’re born with, the family we choose. Lovers, life partners, best friends, acquaintances, work colleagues, that barista who’s always on shift when you go in.
With so many relationships to juggle, prioritization is inevitable.
Some of that prioritization happens naturally—we don’t even think about it. You probably don’t unload your deepest insecurities on the barista while ordering your large cold brew with lavender bitters, honey, and vanilla cold foam. That’s just not what that relationship is for.
But sometimes, prioritization becomes a conscious choice:
Let the relationship continue as it is.
Try to change it.
Or walk away.
Contrary to long-held popular opinion, each of those options is valid. Yes, even walking away.
Unfortunately, society—especially for women—frames cutting someone off as the ultimate cruelty. That it should only be done in extreme cases, like abuse. Maybe not even then.
One of these days, I’m gonna whack society upside the head.
We are so conditioned to think about everyone else’s feelings before our own, and it keeps us self-caged in relationships that don’t serve us.
And it’s not just about abuse. Not every relationship is meant to last forever. Not every relationship needs to be fixed. Some people just aren’t for us.
It doesn’t have to be a massive betrayal. It doesn’t have to be dramatic.
In a perfect world, we could simply say:
"Hey, I don’t feel any ill will toward you, but I also just don’t find any value in this relationship."
How did you react to that sentence? Did your brain immediately go, “That would make me a bitch”?
Yeah, same.
It took a lot of work to get to a place where I was comfortable being the ‘bitch.’
But now that we’ve established it’s okay to walk away, here’s the real question:
How do you know when it’s time?
How to Know When to Walk Away
I want to propose a framework you can use when deciding whether it’s time to say sayonara to a relationship.
This isn’t the only way to make the decision, but it’s a method I’ve used (without even realizing it) to navigate tough calls like this. Now that I’ve finally found the words for it, I figure I might as well share what I’ve learned.
At its core, this framework helps you step back and assess the relationship for what it is—and what it isn’t.
I want to be clear: no single category here is automatically good or bad. There’s no universal dealbreaker. Neutrality is okay.
If you’re anything like me, you’ve put a ton of pressure on yourself to make every relationship everything. But that’s impossible.
So instead, let’s just be honest about what our different relationships actually are.
For this framework, I propose we look at four key factors:
Obligation
Frequency
Depth
Reciprocity
Obligation
Obligation isn’t a dirty word—it’s just an honest reality. Some relationships exist because they have to:
Family
Coworkers
Your landlord
And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Obligatory relationships teach us how to:
Keep the peace when necessary
Choose our battles
Coexist with people we don’t necessarily like
These are important life skills—the kind that help us navigate the world without flipping tables every time we’re annoyed.
That said, just because a relationship starts from obligation doesn’t mean it’s devoid of real value. Maybe you actually like grabbing lunch with that coworker, or sitting on the porch drinking coffee with your neighbor.
The key takeaway? Calling a relationship obligatory isn’t an insult. It just means ending it might come with additional complications.
Frequency
Some people are daily fixtures in our lives. (Shoutout to my besties group chat, where I absolutely spam them with my every thought, and they graciously tolerate it.)
Others? We might go months or even years between conversations—but when we reconnect, it’s effortless.
Just like obligation, frequency isn’t a judgment of quality. Some relationships thrive on constant check-ins; others work best with occasional reconnections.
The value of a relationship isn’t in how often you talk—it’s in what that connection means to you.
Depth
Some relationships are deep. These are the people who know your struggles, your history, and every cringey phase you went through.
Some relationships are surface-level, and that’s fine too.
Not everyone in your life needs to be the keeper of your darkest secrets. There’s value in the gym buddy you suffer through workouts with, and then part ways.
Depth isn’t a moral metric. It’s not about what a relationship should be—it’s just about what it is.
Reciprocity
This one carries a little more weight. Relationships are meant to be two-way streets—at least to some degree.
That doesn’t mean every relationship is perfectly equal all the time. And that’s okay.
Maybe you text someone constantly, and they only reply once a week—but when you really need them, they show up. Maybe you vent to your bartender about your existential crisis, but you don’t expect them to unload their problems onto you in return.
The key isn’t balance—it’s mutual satisfaction. If both people feel good about what they give and get, the dynamic works.
But if one person is always drained, unheard, or carrying the emotional labor while the other just coasts?
That’s when reciprocity—or the lack of it—becomes a problem.
The Sticking Point
Now that we’ve categorized our relationships like a slightly glitchy algorithm that swears it’s working perfectly, we arrive at the real challenge.
"Wait… this wasn’t the hard part?"
Oh, my sweet summer child. Now we talk about pain.
Pain is inevitable. It’s just part of the package deal that is being alive. Some pain is necessary, like growth pains, grief, or waxing appointments.
But here’s the thing: not all pain is necessary. And if we’re going to experience pain no matter what, we should at least avoid the pointless kind.
So what do you do when a relationship is painful?
Honestly? Whatever you want.
That may sound deceptively simple, but in practice, doing what you actually want (instead of what’s expected) can be one of the hardest things in the world.
So that’s what this framework is really about—getting honest about what a relationship is, what it isn’t, and how much unnecessary pain it’s causing you.
"Um… how?"
Excellent question! Lucky for you, I just lived through this exact dilemma.
Let’s take a real-world example and put this framework to work.
A Practical Guide
Taylor Swift Slander and Other Red Flags
I have an uncle and aunt—my late mom’s younger brother and his wife. They’re not bad people, but we have a bit of a rocky history.
For about a decade, they removed themselves from our lives. Turns out, another family member had been spreading lies about us, and they believed them without question.
Eventually, they realized the truth. To their credit, they apologized and made an effort to repair the relationship.
But here’s the thing—they had been gone for a decade.
In that time, I had grown up. A lot happens in those years. You figure out who you are, what you believe in, what you want from life. And in my case? I also went through losing my mom, leaving my religion, and realizing I was gay—all at the same time.
By the time they tried reconnecting, I was a completely different person than the niece they had once known.
To be fair, they did try. They invited my family to lunch. My uncle texted me (which I appreciated—he’s dyslexic, and I knew texting wasn’t easy for him, even if a lot of his texts were backhanded compliments about my idol, Taylor Swift. “She’s too skinny,” he once said. “And those bangs! So ugly.”)
But I was struggling.
Not because I was holding a grudge, but because the whole thing felt forced.
We went from barely speaking to them suddenly acting like secondary parental figures. They treated me like the 13-year-old they had last known, completely disregarding the fact that I was now a woman in my twenties.
Every interaction felt like a performance. If I played along—smiling, nodding, keeping things light—we got along fine. But the second I showed any real part of myself? Condescension. Belittling. Arguments.
I wanted out.
But I kept telling myself, They’re trying. They’re making an effort. You’re just being resentful and stubborn.
And so I stayed trapped in a relationship that checked all the wrong boxes: obligatory, surface-level, sporadic, and completely one-sided.
That last part—the lack of reciprocity—was the hardest to reconcile.
They had apologized. They were reaching out. They wanted to make things right.
And I just … didn’t care.
I didn’t want to try.
For a long time, I felt like a terrible person for that. I kept putting off making a decision, trying to force myself to feel something I simply didn’t.
Then I finally understood why:
It hurt.
It wasn’t about resentment. It wasn’t about stubbornness. It was about the fact that every time we spoke, I felt smaller. Like I was being stuffed into a version of myself that no longer fit.
Their condescension, their inauthenticity, their refusal to see who I’d actually become—
It wasn’t just frustrating. It was painful.
And when something hurts you but brings you no real value… what’s the point?
Applying the Framework
So, let’s put this relationship through the framework and see what we get.
Obligation: Blood relations, so obligatory by default.
Frequency: A long stretch of low contact, followed by sporadic attempts at reconnection.
Depth: Completely surface level.
Reciprocity: Drastically uneven.
Now, taken on their own, none of these factors necessarily mean a relationship should end. Plenty of relationships function just fine in low-frequency, surface-level spaces.
But then comes the real deciding factor:
Is this relationship causing me pain?
And that’s the big one. Because pain is the sign that something needs to change.
It wasn’t a question of whether things could be different, but what kind of change was necessary.
You've Got Options
At this point, it’s clear: something has to change. But what does that actually look like?
Well, it depends.
If a relationship is causing you pain, but you still see personal value in it, then the best move might be an honest but difficult conversation. This means laying out expectations versus reality and figuring out what you’re both willing (or unwilling) to do to improve things.
Then comes the real test: follow-through. Both people put in the work, and over time, you see if the relationship actually improves.
But sometimes, like in my case, you reach a different conclusion:
There is no real value here.
You don’t care enough to try.
You just… don’t want this anymore.
That’s when the harder choice comes into play: low or no contact.
Of course, this is the nuclear option. I’m not saying everyone should immediately jump to it—I certainly didn’t.
By the time I was truly ready to cut ties, I had spent years turning it over in my head. Years of trying to justify why I should keep this relationship, talking it through with my dad, trying (and failing) to make myself care instead of dreading every interaction.
I finally had to be brutally honest with myself:
Was I willing to keep faking it?
And more importantly—was it fair to let them keep trying when I had no interest in meeting them halfway?
The answer was obvious, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
Here’s the truth I learned the hard way: You cannot make yourself care. No amount of guilt or obligation can build something that was never really there.
So I debated. I could ghost them. I could slowly fade away. I could try every avoidance tactic in the book.
But in the end, I chose the path that gave both of us clarity. I gave them closure.
I wrote the text.
“This decision isn’t about anger or resentment. It’s about prioritizing my emotional well-being. I believe this is the best step forward for me. I ask that you can respect this boundary going forward. Please don’t reach out to me directly.”
Then I hmm-ed. I haa-ed. My thumb hovered over that send button for what felt like a lifetime.
And finally, I hit send.
The Aftermath
When you launch the nukes, you have to be ready for the fallout.
I could have blocked them immediately. Cut the cord. Walked away without waiting for their response.
But… I didn’t.
I don’t know why. Maybe some tiny part of me still hoped for something different. Maybe I was waiting for that one magical message that would suddenly make it all make sense.
Spoiler: That message never came.
Instead, what I got was exactly what I should have expected.
If you’ve ever tried to break up with a control freak, you already know what’s about to happen.
Emotional Manipulation & Guilt
Aunt: We’re so completely side-lined by this and confused and obliterated; that you are literally writing us off!
The victim narrative—right out of the gate.
Exaggerated language (obliterated, side-lined) reframes my boundary as their personal tragedy. It’s not about my well-being anymore. It’s about their pain.
Then comes the blame shift.
Aunt: We’re so sorry you feel this way, we had no idea!! You never made it clear that we were hurting you.
Translation: If we didn’t know, it must not have been real.
This subtly shifts responsibility onto me. Instead of reflecting on why they were oblivious, the burden lands on my supposed failure to communicate.
But here’s the thing: someone doesn’t have to recognize they hurt you for the hurt to be real.
Control & Obligation
Aunt: We would’ve loved a chance to see you one last time and actually ask for clarification on what exactly we’ve done so wrong.
Uncle: Wish we would have known we were so toxic, would have apologized and adapted to try and make things better.
Notice the framing? Like I denied them a right to fix things. Like my choice wasn’t just painful—it was unfair.
"One last time" is pure guilt-bait, dripping with finality and pressure. The unspoken message? You owed us another chance.
Oh, my bad. I didn’t realize there was a legally required exit interview before handing in my resignation from this relationship.
"We would have apologized and adapted" is a nice sentiment. But here’s the truth:
This isn’t a reality show where they get one last chance to prove themselves before being voted off the island.
I don’t owe anyone a redemption arc.
And then there’s the kicker:
"Even more than we already had been."
Ah. The implied sacrifice. The subtle guilt trip. The How could you do this after we tried soooo hard?
But I never asked them to try. And if I wasn’t willing to meet them halfway, then keeping this relationship alive wasn’t just unfair to me—it was unfair to them, too.
DARVO (Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim & Offender)
Aunt: We would’ve appreciated a chance to fix any misunderstandings and to defend ourselves, so that all of our emotional well-being could be dealt with in a more adult, respectful manner.
Ah yes, the “if you were mature, you wouldn’t have done this” argument.
Let’s break it down:
"Fix misunderstandings" → Assumes the problem is miscommunication, not their behavior. (Denial)
"Defend ourselves" → Turns my boundary into an accusation they now have the right to refute. (Attack)
"In a more adult, respectful manner" → Implies my decision was childish and irrational. (Reverse Victim & Offender)
Nothing says ‘adult and respectful’ like trying to gaslight someone into staying in a relationship they clearly don’t want.
But ending a relationship isn’t a courtroom trial. I don’t owe anyone a debate over whether they deserve to stay in my life.
If ending a relationship required a closing argument, I’d be standing at the podium like Elle Woods in Legally Blonde. But lucky for me, it doesn’t.
Performative Grace & The "Open Door" Trap
Aunt: We will always love you and miss you. If you ever need anything, you can always reach out.
Uncle: If/when you need anything, know that we are still here for you. We wish you nothing but the best!
Sounds gracious, right? But look closer.
"If you ever need anything..." → Not actually kind. It subtly suggests You’ll be back.
Cue King George III’s entrance. “You’ll be baaaaack ... wait and see ...”
"Please don’t hesitate to let us know." → Puts the burden of reconciliation on me.
"We wish you nothing but the best!" → Framed as neutral, but really? We are the bigger people here, and you are not.
They’re basically acting like the emotional equivalent of a bad salesman who won’t make ‘no’ for an answer.
“Are you suuuure you don’t want this timeshare in Toxic Relationships, Florida?”
No, I’m trying to get out of Florida, actually.
If they actually respected my choice, they wouldn’t be waiting for my inevitable regret.
They would move on.And so will I.
How to Respond
If someone reacts this way to your boundary, it’s not because you were wrong—it’s because you made the call.
So, how do you respond to this kind of emotional chaos?
You don’t.
Seriously, don’t.
Engaging just pulls you back into their control loop. Every reply gives them another chance to chip away at your resolve, twist the narrative, or guilt you into staying where they want you.
You said your piece. They responded how they responded.
For me, their reaction was all the validation I needed. People who actually love and respect you don’t treat your boundaries like a personal attack.
But, of course—some people don't understand respect, much less boundaries.
Entitlement in Disguise
If you’ve experienced a reaction like this, I have some bad news:
They feel entitled to you.
Which is wild, considering I am not a streaming subscription they forgot to cancel.
And entitlement is the death of any relationship.
The moment someone believes they are owed your time, attention, or emotional energy, they stop seeing you as an autonomous person with the right to say no.
Respect and entitlement can’t exist in the same space.
This became crystal clear when my uncle, after promising to respect my wishes and not contact me again... did exactly that.
Respect as a Bargaining Chip
Uncle: I believe it’s only fair to have my say as well. If I am to respect your wishes, I believe it’s only fair that you at least acknowledge mine as I will be doing for you.
Oh, I see. Respect is a tradable commodity now. Like Pokémon cards, but for boundaries.
The false fairness fallacy—framing respect as a transaction instead of a baseline expectation.
Respecting my boundary isn’t a favor I owe him something for. It’s not conditional on me giving him one last chance to be heard.
Imagine if ‘no’ worked like this in any other context. ‘I respect your decision not to date me, but in return, I demand we at least go on one last dinner date.’
Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve had a guy say that to me before.
True respect is unconditional.
Infantilization & Dismissal
Uncle: One day you will see how hard it is to see the kids you knew as adults. Look at our little Annie. How long until you think you aren’t protective over her?
The issue here isn’t just that he’s comparing me to a child. It’s that he’s comparing a fully grown woman in her twenties to a child.
Annie is not a kid. She is a grown adult—but sure, let’s call her “little Annie” like she just got back from preschool snack time.
Clearly, he doesn’t see her as an adult. And that’s the point.
By using Annie as an example, he’s making it clear that autonomy doesn’t actually count in his eyes. That no matter how much we grow, we’ll always be the kids he once knew.
It’s a direct attempt to undermine my independence—to reframe my decision as immature and shortsighted.
The unspoken message?
"You’ll understand when you grow up."
"You’ll regret this when you’re older."
But here’s the reality:
Respect acknowledges growth and changing perspectives.
Entitlement clings to outdated perceptions to maintain control.
Martyrdom & Guilt Baiting
Uncle: We will always be here for you. Just like I offered your mother my kidney, liver, lung, and everything else, that all goes for you, and your sisters too.
Ah, the grand sacrifice tactic.
Not one organ. Not two. The man was out here offering his kidneys, liver, lung–hell, probably a femur–like he was running a clearance sale at the Body Parts Emporium. ‘Buy one, get one spleen free!’
This isn’t just about devotion—it’s a guilt trip disguised as generosity.
By referencing a dramatic, never-actually-required act of self-sacrifice, he’s subtly implying:
"How could you cut someone out who was willing to give you a literal organ?"
Except grand gestures don’t erase fundamental relationship issues.
And I never asked him for that kind of devotion in the first place.
I appreciate the gesture, but let’s be real: a hypothetical liver donation doesn’t cancel out years of condescension.
The "You Don't Know Everything" Trap
Uncle: I honestly think there is more to the story that you don’t know, and I hope we can talk about it all someday.
Classic manipulation through manufactured ambiguity.
Next, he’s going to tell me the real reason I left is locked behind a $5.99 paywall.
By suggesting there’s a hidden truth I don’t know, he’s subtly undermining my confidence in my own experience.
The unspoken message?
"If you really knew the whole story, you wouldn’t have left."
But here’s the truth:
I don’t need a secret piece of information to validate my decision.
I know how I felt in this relationship. I know my experience.
And that is enough.
No credit card information required.
False Closure & Power Plays
Uncle: I would love to get a thumbs up, or F you to know that you read this. From here on out though I will leave you alone until you are ready. That door will always be open.
Great, so my options are passive compliance or outright hostility. No in-between. Love that for me.
On the surface? This sounds like he’s accepting my decision.
But look closer.
"A thumbs up or an F you" → A bait for engagement. Even a hostile response still gives him control.
"Until you are ready" → A refusal to accept my choice as final.
"That door will always be open" → Framed as kindness, but actually a subtle assertion of control.
He decides when and if the door stays open. He assumes that I will eventually come back. That my decision isn’t real—just a phase.
But real respect doesn’t wait for regret.
It doesn’t leave the door cracked.
It lets people go.
Silence is Golden
No, I did not give him his “thumbs up or F you.”
He’s the one clinging to an open door. Meanwhile, I am perfectly happy keeping it shut, locked, and—just for good measure—bolted from the inside.
His last message was a clear violation of a simple boundary, and if I had any lingering doubt, it erased it completely.
A word to the wise: Watch for entitlement disguised as kindness. Much like “limited-time” sales that somehow last forever, fake kindness always comes with fine print.
“I’ll always be here for you.” → Sounds like unconditional love, but really keeps the door cracked for control.
“I just want to explain.” → Often code for “I refuse to accept your reality as valid.”
“I never meant to hurt you.” → Translation: “Your feelings only count if I say they do.”
If someone is guilting and manipulating you, there’s no real respect there. If you want one last conversation to spell things out, that’s your call.
But if you don’t? Silence is a response, too.
Silence isn’t just golden. It's bulletproof.
The Gut Check
I wish I’d had this framework sooner. It would have saved me from spiraling in self-doubt, from convincing myself I was the problem.
So if you’re struggling with the aftermath of a decision like this, here’s a simple test:
Do you feel lighter?
More at peace?
Relieved?
Less anxious?
If yes—congratulations! You made the right choice.
Prioritize yourself. Prioritize your peace. No one else is going to do it for you.
And before you go doubting yourself again—take a deep breath and remember:
No, you are not crazy.
No, you are not a bitch.
You are a human being, trying to build a life that feels good to live in.
Your happiness will not always align with other people’s expectations of you—And when that happens, it’s their expectations that are wrong. Not you.
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