My Friends Think I Should Go “No Contact” With My Parents, but That Feels Like Such a Western POV

I'm at odds with two different versions of myself.

mixed feelings’ multi-voiced advice column features a mental health expert or writer who responds to your most pressing existential conundrums. Use our anonymous form to be considered for a future newsletter. This month, writer and founder of We The Urban Willie Greene explores family obligation, queerness, and how to set boundaries with loved ones.

Art by Logan Tsugita.

dear mf,

I’m a queer person of color who was raised in a family that values blood over everything. After my parents (finally) admitted they’re uncomfortable with my queerness, my queer relationship, and well, queer people in general, most of my friends think I should go ‘no contact’ with them. I’m really struggling with this because while I was raised in the West, my parents were not, and they feel like our family unit can remain the same, despite the hurtful things they said to me.

I feel like I’m at odds with two different versions of myself: one that was raised in the West and believes that love should be earned and one that was raised in a family with Eastern values that honor collectivism and filial piety. I’m not sure I’m ready to go “no contact” yet, but it’s not out of the question. In the meantime, how can I communicate and set boundaries that show my family that while I haven’t rescinded their access to me and will be there for them in times of need, I won’t stand for their bigotry? I’m worried that I have to cut them off to show them I stand by my values and if I keep communicating with them, that I’m sending a message that their bigotry doesn’t matter to me.” — Eastmeetswest, she/her

Willie Greene is the Founder of WE THE URBAN which he created at fourteen years old from his bedroom in North Carolina. What began as an online community celebrating fashion and art, notably championing Black queer creativity, soon became Tumblr’s first blog to transform into a nationally syndicated print magazine. WE THE URBAN is now one of the biggest mental health platforms on social media for marginalized voices. His book, Not Sure Who Needs to Hear This, But, is now a national bestseller.

Dear EastMeetsWest,

When the people who raised you say they love you, but only the version of you they can understand, it creates a heartbreak that doesn’t fit neatly into any language. You’re being asked to choose between the family that taught you what love is, and the identity that taught you what freedom feels like.

That tension is not a failure on your part; it’s the cost of being the first in your family to live openly. You are carrying a bridge on your back: one side rooted in ancestral duty, the other in self-respect and queerness. And both sides feel like home.

Conversations around going “no contact” with family members have seen an uptick in recent years, but what often gets missed in these discussions is that (for better or for worse) immigrant families simply love differently. Affection isn’t always verbal. Commitment can look like obligation. “We are uncomfortable” can sometimes mean “we are terrified,” especially when queerness was never given a name in their world.

So let me say this clearly: Your queerness is not a betrayal of your culture. It’s an expansion of it. Your very existence is progress.

You are not Western or Eastern. You are the ocean between them, learning how to hold both without drowning. Some therapists who specialize in bicultural identity call this the “bridge role.” It’s when you become the one teaching your family a version of love they never had modeled. That’s sacred work. Work that shouldn’t come at the expense of your dignity.

Understanding how complicated these dynamics can be, staying connected to them is still a valid choice. The Family Acceptance Project has shown that even imperfect, gradual acceptance is protective for queer people’s mental health, meaning you can take time without taking harm.

I believe what matters most in your journey to figuring this out is boundaries. Clear, firm, loving boundaries. As psychologist Dr. Thema Bryant teaches: “Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously.” They are an act of compassion because they keep relationships grounded in truth rather than resentment. They are not a door slam. They are a doorframe, determining what kind of love is allowed in. And you can keep the door open without leaving it unlocked.

When it comes time to actually say these boundaries out loud, you don’t need to deliver a monologue or hold a family intervention. You can name what you need in regular, imperfect human language.

Befriend simplicity. Understand that a moment of discomfort is worth the long-term peace and clarity that follows. Something like: “Hey, when you say things that make me feel small or judge my relationship, I have no choice but to step away from you. I love you, but I need to feel safe to stay in community with you.” Being that clear might feel extremely awkward, or like your voice is shaking, because it’s new. But even a shaky boundary is still a boundary.

Please be gentle with yourself through the process. If you slip up sometimes —if you laugh something off to avoid an argument, stay on the phone longer than feels good, or shrink a little to keep the peace — that doesn’t erase your progress. Boundary setting is a skill, a muscle. And skills get mastered through regular practice. Never forget that you’re learning this in real time with people who taught you to never say “no” to them. You can always reflect and say, “Actually…that didn’t sit right with me.” You can always gently reset: “I let that go earlier, but it’s important to me to say this again…” Being consistent doesn’t mean being bulletproof. It just means you keep coming back to yourself.

You get to decide what access looks like in this new chapter.

Maybe that means shorter check-ins instead of long visits.
Maybe you redirect conversations when they turn harmful.
Maybe there are topics that are no longer up for debate.

Your boundaries can be small shifts that communicate a big truth: “I’m here. But not at the expense of myself.”

And you can absolutely say: “I love you. I’m not going anywhere. But I won’t shrink my queerness to make this easier. I am whole, and I need you to meet me there.”

They may not know how to rise to that… yet. But let that be their limitation, not your queue to shrink and erase yourself. Sometimes the love that remains after all of that is thin, complicated, or quiet…but it’s still worth holding. When it comes to our caregivers, even the smallest thread of connection can be meaningful when it doesn’t require us to self-abandon.

Here’s what I ultimately hope for you:

That you remember your identity is not a negotiation.
That you stop preparing the softest parts of yourself for impact.
That you stop treating acceptance like something you have to earn.
That you stop dimming in case their eyes aren’t ready for your light.
That you always choose the version of yourself that feels like freedom.
That you never shut off the parts of you that make you special, for anyone.
That you treat yourself with kindness, love, grace, and compassion.

You can love your family and love yourself enough not to disappear. If they grow? Beautiful. If they don’t? You’re still standing.

And please remember: there are people in this world who will see you clearly and love you openly, in all the ways you deserve. That love exists. And it’s already moving toward you.

Your queerness deserves ease. Your authentic life deserves room. Your heart deserves a home, even if you have to build it yourself.