Dads
/When it comes to parents, in some ways I’m lucky. I have a difficult relationship with mine where I can’t be fully myself. It’s not safe.
And also, I have them. I have parents. A mom and not one, but two dads.
One who doesn’t want anything to do with me. Who I’d imagine I’m a lot like based on what I’ve heard about him from other people.
And one who raised me, who did his best and also who will likely never be open to seeing me as I am.
I’m lucky that I have parents. And also, I’ve had to parent myself since I was a child.
So when these holidays come up I’m torn between reaching out to celebrate them and protecting my heart.
You see, if I called my dad today it would likely go like most of our conversations.
He’d remind me that I talk too much, that I’m unusual and he doesn’t understand me. That my talking about the traumas I’ve endured, according to him, is me harping on the past. Not a way to process it, to heal, to use it as fuel for the person I’m becoming and the legacy I want to leave.
To talk to him would hurt me, but to choose not to call is hard too. You never know how many holidays you have left with someone, so skipping just one is a choice in and of itself.
So today I thought I would talk about some of the things I learned from my dads. From the one who is no longer in my life, and the one who is, just barely, and with conditions I never agreed to.
My dad taught me that every day is a new day. That when you get in an argument with someone, you don’t have to hold onto it. You don’t have to let it color the next day. You can choose to make up, to move on.
My dad taught me that sometimes the smallest gestures can make someone feel seen and heard and supported.
During my first psych ward stay, we were allowed to have sugar-free candy, but not gum. So my dad took out a full pack of gum from his pocket, pulled out a piece for him and a piece for me, and then tucked away the rest, hidden deep in my styrofoam cup of sugar-free candy. In that moment, we were flaunting the rules, together.
My dad taught me that family can mean something. His definition and mine are a lot different these days, but when I was in college, and I worried that I would have to move home, he told me how he had to move home when he was 35 and divorcing his first wife. About how hard it was to come to his mom with his hat in hand and ask for help.
My dad taught me that when you don’t know how to do something, you can figure it out. You can Google it, you can read about it, you can find the next right step. The only person limiting your growth is you.
My dad taught me that hurting myself didn’t go unseen. That my disordered eating wasn’t OK with him, not from a place of shame, but from a place of pain.
My dad taught me that adults never truly have it all figured out. We may pay more bills, and have more responsibilities, but that doesn’t mean that our trauma doesn’t catch up to us. That doesn’t mean we have all the answers, or that we say all the right things, or that we treat others well, even when we love them deeply.
My dad taught me that even when we behave in a way that isn’t in line with who we are and who we want to be, we take responsibility for it. That we can apologize. That it’s never too late to say I’m sorry and to mean it.
For many of the humans in my chosen family, today is a hard one.
Father’s Day and Mother’s Day are reminders of the parents we had, that we have, that we didn’t have, or of those who didn’t show up how we needed them to.
Sometimes it’s a reminder of parents that are in our lives who don’t act like parents. Sometimes it’s a reminder of parents who are long gone—whether that’s through death or emotionally—they aren’t in our lives.
Today is a day when we are reminded that grief comes in layers. Just like love.
That sometimes we have to step up and be the parent to ourselves. That WE have to break the generational curses. That WE have to be the one to disrupt the patterns of trauma. That WE have to be the black sheep, the weird ones, the ones who don’t fit in.
So if today is hard for you too, know that you’re not alone.
Sure, you may be sitting alone in your room thinking about what today might’ve been if things were different.
