Will They Ever Come Back?

Will they ever come back? It’s one of the most painful questions people ask during estrangement. While no one can predict whether a relationship will be repaired, the waiting itself can take a significant emotional toll. Many people find themselves replaying conversations, questioning their decisions, putting parts of their lives on hold, and learning to live with both hope and uncertainty, which can become an important part of healing.

A mother said something to me recently that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

We were talking about her daughter, whom she hadn’t spoken to in years, and she was trying to explain how things had gotten to this point. What struck me was that she wasn’t describing a single explosive argument or an obvious turning point. If anything, part of her struggle was that she couldn’t point to a single moment and say, “That’s when everything changed.”

Instead, she talked about a hundred little moments that only seemed important in hindsight.

A returned text that felt different from how it used to.

A phone call that seemed rushed.

An invitation that never came.

A growing hesitation about whether she should reach out or wait for her daughter to contact her first.

At the beginning, she told herself she was probably overthinking it. Most parents understand that adult children get busy. Careers, marriages, children, and responsibilities naturally change the rhythm of a relationship. She wanted to believe that was all she was seeing.

As she talked, I found myself thinking about how exhausting uncertainty can be.

Not because something is happening, but because you don’t know what’s happening.

When people are hurting, they often imagine the pain comes from the answer. In reality, sometimes the pain comes from not having one.

Listening to her, I found myself thinking about how hard it is to live with unanswered questions.

As she talked, she kept coming back to the same things.

She wondered whether she should send a text or leave things alone.

She wondered whether her daughter was upset about something she didn’t know about.

She wondered whether reaching out would help or make things worse.

At one point, she laughed and said, “I spend more time thinking about what I should do than actually doing anything.”

I think that’s when she realized how much of her life had become tied up in trying to solve something she couldn’t solve on her own.

As we continued talking, I became increasingly aware of how much space the relationship was occupying in her life. She wasn’t spending all day talking about her daughter, but she was spending a great deal of time thinking about her. Questions about the relationship seemed to follow her into ordinary moments. She wondered whether she should reach out or give her daughter more space. She wondered whether she was missing something important or simply trying to make sense of something with no clear explanation.

At one point, I asked her how much of her day was spent thinking about the relationship. She laughed when I asked, but the laughter didn’t last very long. After a moment, she admitted it was probably far more than she wanted it to be. The relationship wasn’t only something she thought about occasionally. It had become something she carried with her throughout the day, even when she was doing completely unrelated things.

Later in our conversation, she said something that stayed with me.

“I feel like I’m bothering her.”

What struck me wasn’t only the sadness in her voice. It was how different that feeling was from the relationship she remembered having. There had been a time when she never questioned whether her daughter wanted to hear from her. There had been a time when reaching out felt natural. Now she found herself hesitating before sending a text message and second-guessing herself afterward.

The more we talked, the more I realized that she wasn’t only grieving the distance between them. She was grieving the loss of something that had once felt easy and secure, and she wasn’t sure how to make sense of that change.

There was a time when she never questioned whether her daughter wanted to hear from her. There was a time when she never wondered whether she belonged in her daughter’s life. Now she found herself hesitating before reaching out, worried that her presence might feel unwanted or burdensome.

That’s a particular kind of grief.

As we continued talking, another layer of that grief began to emerge. She wasn’t only grieving the relationship she had lost. She was grieving the version of herself that existed when that relationship felt secure.

Some relationships become woven into the fabric of our identity. They shape our routines, our expectations, and the way we imagine the future. When those relationships change, we sometimes discover that what we’re mourning isn’t only the loss itself. We’re also mourning the future we thought we’d have.

I’ve seen this happen after a divorce. I’ve seen it happen between siblings. I’ve seen it happen in friendships that unexpectedly ended. The circumstances may be different, but the experience often sounds remarkably similar.

The more we talked, the more I found myself thinking that she wasn’t only mourning the relationship she had lost. She was mourning the future she thought she would have.

When people ask whether an adult child will come back, they’re often asking about much more than the relationship itself. They’re thinking about holidays, grandchildren, family gatherings, and all the moments they imagined would still be ahead of them.

For some people, those fears are tied to grandchildren. For others, they’re tied to holidays, birthdays, weddings, illness, aging, or simply the awareness that time keeps moving forward, whether we’re ready for it or not.

The mother I spoke with eventually realized that she wasn’t only grieving her daughter. She was grieving the future she thought she would have with her daughter. And once she understood that, she began to see how much of her life had become centered around waiting.

Waiting for a phone call.

Waiting for a message.

Waiting for a sign that things might be changing.

Waiting for certainty.

The challenge, of course, is that certainty doesn’t always arrive.

And eventually, many people find themselves facing a different question altogether. Not, “Will they come back?” but, “How do I continue living while I don’t know?”

That’s a question I’ve sat with alongside many people over the years.

One of the ideas I appreciate in David Kessler’s work on meaning-making is that healing isn’t about pretending the loss doesn’t matter. It’s not about replacing the relationship, and it certainly isn’t about giving up hope. It’s about finding a way to keep participating in your own life even while important questions remain unanswered.

Over time, that’s what this mother began doing.

She didn’t stop loving her daughter. She didn’t stop missing her. She didn’t stop hoping. But she slowly began permitting herself to build a life that wasn’t entirely organized around waiting. She started making plans again. She spent more time with people who cared about her. She allowed herself moments of happiness without feeling guilty for having them.

The estrangement still hurts.

But her life gradually became bigger than the pain.

I think that’s one of the hardest lessons uncertainty asks of us. We can continue hoping and still live fully. We can leave the door open without standing beside it every day. We can acknowledge what we’ve lost without putting the rest of our lives on hold.

One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that prolonged uncertainty doesn’t only affect relationships. It affects the way we relate to ourselves. People begin second-guessing their decisions. They stop trusting their instincts. They wonder whether they’re doing too much or not enough. After a while, the relationship isn’t the only thing that feels uncertain.

They do too.

And when that happens, many people become emotionally stuck. They find themselves replaying the same thoughts, questioning every decision, and feeling trapped between hope and fear. They want to move forward, but they’re afraid of making the wrong choice. They want clarity, but clarity feels impossible when emotions are running high.

That’s one of the reasons I created When Words Feel Risky.

Not because it can guarantee a particular outcome. It can’t.

But when people are overwhelmed by uncertainty, grief, guilt, fear, or self-doubt, they often lose access to their own clarity. They stop trusting their judgment and struggle to know what to do next.

If you’ve found yourself second-guessing every interaction, replaying conversations, feeling trapped in relationship uncertainty, or struggling to trust your own judgment, When Words Feel Risky offers practical support to help you slow down, sort through what’s happening, and respond from a steadier place.

Whether someone comes back or not, you deserve more than a life spent waiting.

You deserve a life that’s being lived.

Watch the Video

Watch the full video below for a deeper conversation about estrangement, uncertainty, and what waiting can do to us over time.

When Words Feel Risky

When Words Feel Risky is a self-paced program designed to help you navigate emotionally difficult relationships with greater clarity, steadiness, and self-trust.

If you’re feeling emotionally stuck, overwhelmed by uncertainty, replaying conversations, or unsure what to do next, you’ll learn practical tools to help you organize your thoughts, understand what’s happening beneath your reactions, and make decisions from a calmer, more intentional place.

Whether you’re facing estrangement, a difficult family relationship, conflict with an adult child, or another important relationship that feels uncertain, the goal isn’t perfection. The goal is to help you feel more grounded and confident in how you move forward.

If You’d Like Personalized Support

Every family situation is different, and sometimes reading articles or watching videos isn’t enough to sort through what you’re facing.

If you’re struggling with family estrangement, relationship uncertainty, a difficult family relationship, or you’re feeling stuck about what to do next, I offer confidential consultations and coaching designed to help you gain clarity, understand your options, and move forward with greater confidence.

Whether you’re hoping for reconciliation, trying to navigate ongoing contact, or learning how to cope with a relationship that feels painful and uncertain, you don’t have to figure it out alone.

Continue Reading

• Why Narcissistic Adult Children Cut Ties With Parents
• When Loving Someone Starts Hurting You (After You’ve Tried Everything)
• Will They Ever Come Back?
• What If I Never Get Another Chance?
• She Still Sees Me as the Person I Used to Be

Research Reference

Kessler, D. (2019). Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief.