It took me three years to realize why my older son stopped calling.
Not completely, mind you. We still did the obligatory birthday calls and holiday visits. But those easy Sunday afternoon chats? The random “Hey Dad, what do you think about this?” texts? Gone. And the worst part was that I spent those three years convincing myself everything was fine.
The wake-up call came during what should have been a simple family barbecue. My younger son pulled me aside and said something that still echoes in my head: “Dad, do you realize you’ve spent the last hour telling him everything he’s doing wrong with his career?”
I hadn’t. In my mind, I was just being helpful. Offering wisdom. Being a good father.
But here’s what I’ve learned since then: when your adult child pulls away, it’s rarely about one big blow-up. It’s usually death by a thousand cuts of unsolicited advice, unmet expectations, and conversations that feel more like lectures than connections.
If you’re in this boat right now, watching the distance grow between you and your adult child, I get it. The instinct is to either push harder or give up entirely. But there’s a third option: learning how to rebuild that bridge, one conversation at a time.
1. “I’ve been thinking about something you said”
This one changed everything for me. Instead of starting conversations with my latest opinion or advice, I began referencing things my sons had told me days or even weeks earlier.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said last week about changing departments at work. How’s that going?”
See what happens there? You’re showing that you actually listened. That their thoughts stayed with you. That their life matters enough for you to remember and follow up.
My older son later told me this was when he started feeling heard again. Not judged, not coached, just heard.
The key is to resist the urge to immediately jump in with solutions. Ask follow-up questions instead. “What made you consider that change?” or “How are you feeling about it now?” These questions invite them to share more, rather than shutting down because they know a lecture is coming.
2. “I realize I never asked you about”
About six months into repairing things with my older son, I tried something that felt incredibly vulnerable. I said, “You know, I realize I never asked you how it felt when I kept pushing you toward accounting. I just assumed I knew what was best.”
The silence that followed was terrifying. But then he started talking. Really talking. For the first time in years, he told me how suffocating it had felt, how he’d spent his twenties feeling like a disappointment even though he was successful in his chosen field.
This conversation starter acknowledges something powerful: that there are gaps in what you know about your adult child’s experience. It shows humility and genuine interest in understanding their perspective, even if it’s years after the fact.
3. “What’s bringing you joy these days?”
We get so caught up in the serious stuff. The job, the mortgage, the kids’ schools. But when’s the last time you asked your adult child what makes them genuinely happy?
I started using this with both my sons, and it opened up entirely new dimensions of our relationships. My younger son lit up talking about a woodworking class he’d started taking. My older son shared his excitement about coaching his daughter’s soccer team.
These aren’t things they would have brought up if I’d stuck to my usual “How’s work?” routine. And here’s the beautiful thing: when people talk about what brings them joy, their walls come down. They become more open, more themselves.
As researcher Brené Brown notes, “Joy is the most vulnerable emotion we experience.” When your adult child shares their joy with you, they’re taking a risk. Honor that by just listening and celebrating with them, without adding your two cents about how they could monetize their hobby or fit more practice time into their schedule.
4. “I owe you an apology for”
This might be the hardest one, but it’s also the most powerful.
For years, I defended my actions. I was just trying to help. I meant well. I did my best with what I knew at the time. All true, but none of it acknowledged the impact of my behavior on my sons.
When I finally said to my older son, “I owe you an apology for not trusting you to know your own mind about your career,” something shifted. Not immediately, but gradually.
The apology needs to be specific. Not “I’m sorry if I ever hurt you” but “I’m sorry for the time I dismissed your interest in graphic design as impractical.” It shows you’ve actually reflected on your actions and understand what went wrong.
5. “Could you help me understand?”
My younger son once told me that every conversation felt like I was trying to win a debate he didn’t know he’d entered. Ouch.
Now, when we disagree or when I genuinely don’t understand his choices, I say, “Could you help me understand how you see this?” It completely changes the dynamic. Instead of positioning myself as the authority, I’m positioning myself as someone willing to learn.
This works especially well with lifestyle choices, political views, or parenting decisions that differ from yours. You don’t have to agree with everything, but showing genuine curiosity about their perspective builds bridges where judgment builds walls.
6. “I’m proud of who you’ve become”
Not what they’ve achieved. Who they’ve become.
I spent so many years focusing on accomplishments. The promotion, the house, the whatever. But one day, I told my older son, “I’m proud of how patient you are with your kids. I see how you really listen to them.”
His eyes actually welled up. This successful thirty-something man needed to hear that his dad saw him, really saw him, as a person.
Try to be specific about character traits you admire. Their resilience through a tough time. Their loyalty to friends. Their creativity in solving problems. These observations show you’re paying attention to who they are, not just what they do.
Closing thoughts
Rebuilding a relationship with an adult child who’s pulled away isn’t a quick fix. It took me months of consistent effort before I saw real change, and there were plenty of setbacks along the way.
But here’s what I know now: our adult children don’t need us to have all the answers anymore. They need us to be curious about their lives, humble about our mistakes, and genuinely interested in who they’re becoming.
So here’s my question for you: which of these conversation starters feels most uncomfortable? That’s probably the one you need to try first. Because in my experience, the conversations we avoid are usually the ones that have the power to change everything.
