Monday through Friday, 9-5
I don’t know how long I’m going to make it through this piece without crying. Place your bets now…
I’m not much of an over-thinker these days. I do my very best to leave the past and the future with the Creator. Every day I seek to live more in alignment with God, my life gets better.
Funny how that works.
Sometimes I think back to my years as an atheist, and I feel so much gratitude that I see human existence differently now.
That all being said…
When creativity is flowing, it’s flowing. All artists know this. And when it’s not? It’s 100% not. It’s so easy to beat ourselves up during those dry spells, but the truth is this: if you’re going to create something that you’re proud of, it’s not going to come from force.
I wasn’t ready to tell this story, but I knew I’d tell it someday.
Then suddenly, I’m walking home after working for nine hours straight, and my dad drifts into my mind (and he just won’t leave). My thoughts kick into overdrive and everything I want to say starts flowing through me—that’s when I know my creativity is back online.
So when the channel opens, I write.
It would’ve been harder if I hadn’t already accepted that removing my mom from my life would mean the relationship with my dad would have to change too.
I love my dad. I’ve looked up to him my entire life.
He’s the smartest person I know. He attended the United States Naval Academy, then graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in Biology. He went on to graduate summa cum laude from law school—and didn’t pay a dime in tuition. He’s an incredibly hard worker (Taurus), and he’s the biggest dork.
The. Biggest. Dork.
Scorched-earth dry sense of humor. Loves Howard Stern, being in nature, dogs, Michigan Out of Doors, fishing, and his signature Friday night combo: an edible and an orange soda. Maybe some McDonald’s.
Side note: I once tagged Michigan Out of Doors in a photo of my dad and me holding this beast of a salmon we reeled in on the Pere Marquette one fall. They ended up sharing it on their Instagram story, and it was a really sweet little bonding moment for us.
But like me, life has not been kind to him. He’s been through a lot. Growing up, I didn’t get to see much of him. My mom was basically a single parent during my formative years while he was in law school. And then he worked his way up quickly—became a partner at his firm, ran for local office, sat on local boards and commissions…
Starting to see the similarities?
But when I did see him, he was angry. Always so angry. And he kept to himself. It was always a big day in the Redick Household when my dad would drop some lore on us about his childhood, his past, or some glimpse into what he’s lived through.
Because I’m me, I know why my dad is the way he is. But my whole life, I’ve wanted to know him. To have a relationship with him. To be someone I could go to for advice and emotional protection.
I didn’t get that chance.
The day I removed my mom from my life was the day I posted publicly about my spirituality—how torn I felt about the way God is so often boxed into Christian and Catholic associations. That post was a huge step for me. It felt like the first time I was truly vulnerable with others. And what did my mom do? What she’s always done. But this time, it was at the exact moment when I felt peak proud of myself for standing publicly in my truth.
And to be honest, after that, the decision to keep her in my life felt like flipping a light switch. She couldn’t stay, and it was time to part ways. I also knew she’d go straight to my dad, so I drafted a message to him and sent it immediately after blocking her on everything:
Tuesday, May 20, 2025—4:10 PM
Hi Dad. I need to let you know that I can’t have a relationship with Mom right now.
When I try to be myself, she tears me down and makes me feel ashamed. I’ve been working hard on myself, and I’m not willing to risk the progress I’ve made or the direction I’m heading (if you placed any bets at the beginning, I’m tearing up now).
I understand that Mom may try to make it harder for you to have a relationship with me because of this. The year I was kept from Grandma and Grandpa after Scott died showed me how easily those connections can be blocked. And I know how much you both drilled into my head that you’re a “unit.” So I know what I’m risking by being honest with you.
But we’re adults. I’m 30 years old. I’m choosing to talk to you—to try to build and grow our relationship, if that’s something you want too. I see the effort you’re making, both for yourself and for us. It means a lot to me, and I’m proud of you.
If you want to keep building something with me, I really hope you do. It might be harder to stay connected—Mom already unfollowed me on all my Instagram accounts (my parents share all the same accounts)—but I hope we’ll find a way.
I love you. xo
Tuesday, May 20, 2025—4:29 PM
I love you too. I’ll keep this particular communication private, and I’ll continue staying in touch with you. I’ll keep working to grow our relationship and will check your posts regularly, even if I have to do it manually instead of by “following.”
Mom’s struggle comes from a place of pain. She worries that your choices are hurting your life and your future. That worry is where she’s coming from—trying to protect herself from it. And her primordial ooze of a Catholic upbringing makes it hard for her to accept different conceptions of God. She struggles with me too. I always try to remember that when I hear her resistance.
We’re all infected with the gestalt of our upbringing—for better or worse—and that can cause reactive responses to anything “different.”
I hope that explanation helps you hold space for both Mom’s love for you and her reactions, even when they seem at odds. Holding space for conflicting ideas is, in my opinion, a real sign of maturity.
I love you. Keep up the hard work and keep believing in yourself.
I think I’m in a much better place now for you and your sister to get to know your real dad. Never too late, I guess. I’m sorry it took me so long. But I really value the chance to build a closer connection with both of you.
I love you! xo
This conversation will self-destruct in five seconds. ;)
Wednesday, May 21, 2025
5:18 PM: Hi Dad. FYI—not ignoring you. I got a new client yesterday, so I’ve been working hard for them.
5:19 PM: That’s totally fine. I did not think you were ignoring me. In fact, it would be better if you responded to me while I’m at work.
5:21 PM: Ok Dad.
Thursday, May 22, 2025
3:20 PM: … I guess you decided you don’t want to respond to me either?
3:48 PM: I just haven’t had the mental capacity to respond.
3:49 PM: Ok. Whenever you’re ready.
Tuesday, May 27, 2025
1:39 PM: Hey Dad. I haven’t forgotten about your very thoughtful messages to me. I just need some time to think about everything and how I feel about it all.
1:43 PM: That’s okay. Take your time. Call me at work if that would be better. Texting has its limitations and propensity for misinterpretation. ;)
1:46 PM: Ok, great. I’ll probably give you a call at some point soon then. Thank you.
I took the next week to really sit with everything he said. I reread each message dozens of times, dissected every line, and asked myself what I truly wanted.
He told me outright he was deleting our text messages. Why? Because he knew my mom would eventually go through his phone and find them. So he suggested we talk on the phone instead. His work phone. The one no one has access to.
In other words, having an open and honest relationship with my dad wasn’t an option.
On top of that, he asked me to reach out during work hours—Monday through Friday, 9 to 5. So what does that mean? I can’t have a relationship with my dad unless it’s in secret? During business hours?
So those were the terms.
Alexa, you can finally have the relationship with your dad that you’ve always wanted, but only under certain conditions. I’m 30 years old, building a business in New York City, and I’m supposed to squeeze our relationship into office hours? And what, if I call after 5 PM, you won’t answer?
After a lot of tears, I realized: I can’t do this. Of course—of course—when my dad is finally ready to have a relationship with me, he wants to keep it hidden. Quiet. Off the record.
Absolutely not.
Keeping secrets is all I’ve done my entire life. This is exactly what I am walking away from—the guilt, the shame, the lies.
I will no longer accept this dynamic. Even if it’s for what I’ve been yearning for since I was a little girl.
So I wrote him:
Tuesday, June 3, 2025—4:46 PM
Hi Dad. I know we talked about having a call, but I process things better in writing. Thank you for your vulnerable messages a couple weeks ago. I’ve been thinking a lot about how I want to move forward.
I hear what you’re saying about Mom. She’s in pain. She’s been in pain a long time. But hurt people hurt people, and she keeps hurting me. Just because I can understand why she is in pain doesn’t make the way she treats me okay. The day I posted that vulnerable piece online, I felt so proud—like I’d finally shown people who I really am. Her response? “I watched your latest piece. You are stoned (I wasn’t). Hard to watch! Get it together. Horrified to watch. I’m so sad.”
This isn’t new. I just finally stopped tolerating it. I am my own person. And I’m living my life without that dynamic.
Nothing makes me prouder than seeing you heal, Dad. But the truth? I always waited for the day you’d stand up for me. That day never came. And it still hasn’t.
If anyone else in my life told me I could have a relationship with them but only Monday through Friday, 9 to 5, and that they delete my messages to avoid someone seeing them—that would be a dealbreaker. I can’t accept a conditional relationship. Not from you. Not from anyone.
So here’s where I am: I don’t accept your terms. It’s time for me to go completely independent. I’m an adult. I’m taking ownership of my life. Last night, I realized my identity used to be built on external validation. But now I’m cultivating internal self-worth, and I want to take care of myself.
I’m so grateful for the support you and Mom gave me while I was finding my footing here in New York. But now? It’s time to make the hard decisions. The ones that heal my inner child.
Cutting off Mom was one step. Recognizing that it’s not the right time for us is the next. Knowing I have no one to rely on—especially not financially—is the third.
It’s all me now.
I love you, but I love me too much to hide our relationship for someone else’s comfort.
Right after I sent the text message, he FaceTimed me, and I’ll never forget how he looked. My dad has always been quick to tear up over something sentimental, but this was different. He was clearly in pain.
He told me I didn’t need to explain any further. Said that even though this wasn’t the outcome he wanted, he understood my perspective. I told him how sorry I was. I asked him to trust that I didn’t want to do this. It’s just something I have to do.
Last fall, when I was just beginning to build my business, I created an investor deck for my dad. I asked if he’d be willing to help cover a couple of my ongoing business expenses for one year. He agreed. And on that call, he told me I could still count on him to support the expenses we discussed.
I told him I loved him, and that was the last time I spoke to my dad.
Let me be clear. My parents have both hurt me deeply, in very different ways.
My dad’s emotional absence. My mom’s emotional instability. It’s called disorganized attachment, and I’ll write more about that soon. But there’s a difference between someone who causes harm, apologizes, and then changes their behavior—and someone who continues to cause harm with no apology, no accountability, nothing.
Sometimes I feel tremendous guilt. How could I do this to my family?
But here’s the truth: at some point, someone has to be the one who refuses to hide behind generations of pain. If you strip it all away, the only consistent support I’ve ever received from my parents was financial. That was the final tether I had to cut to become truly independent.
And that’s not something we talk about enough.
No, I didn’t grow up in financial poverty. But I was starving—for emotional connection, for consistency, to have my thoughts validated and understood. To be loved for who I really am. To know that I wasn’t crazy for believing I didn’t deserve to suffer as much as I did.
Since my dad is already on the healing path, I truly believe there will come a time when he’s ready to become his own person.
I can see that version of him.
And when he’s ready, I’ll be here—waiting with a joint, a margarita, some John Denver, and a fishing pole.
I wonder what we’ll talk about then.
I wonder how much we’ll have in common.
I wonder how much of our pain will look the same.
Until then, he knows where to find me.
