I have never dealt with something from the past few years. I’m not sure if I really want to either. To be perfectly honest. But here, I shall at least attempt to try to deconstruct these difficult layers.
About a year and a half ago, I was in the midst of probably some of the hardest, and darkest, days of my life. It seemed like nothing is really going right. My then fiance and I were still trying to get married, and it really didn’t seem like there was an end to the tunnel coming anytime soon. One of my dearest friends had gone into a coma from a brain aneurysm, and I missed her care for me and her big smile and hug she would always give me when she saw me. The potential of losing this dear girl was just another layer to add to the already thick onion my life had become.
About a month after she went into the coma, frustrations and issues with my fiance’s and my parents were getting straightened out….or so I thought. I had grown cynical of us ever making it to a wedding day, and I found that I didn’t have much hope for the seemingly close light at the end of the tunnel. My dad still wouldn’t talk with me, and I was giving up on trying to restore any sort of balance. From the pity parties he would have, to the harsh words he would use to snap at me or my siblings, I did my best to stay out of his way and not say anything that would incriminate myself.
During a meeting that my fiance, his parents, my parents, and I had, his dad encouraged my dad, ignoring the dark look on my dad’s face, to take me out on a date, and really spend time listening to me. Both my fiance and I looked at each other with “yeah right, that’s going to happen!” faces. Yet again, I initiated going out with my dad. Seriously, I have become so sick of initiating conversations with him, dinner dates, coffee dates, ANYTHING to try to work on our father-daughter relationship. Ya know what, screw father-daughter relationships. I am done trying, and have been for over a year now. If my dad wants a relationship with me, he’s going to have stop blaming everyone else for his problems, and accept that it is because of him that I have no desire to have any sort of relationship with him.
We went out for a coffee date, per my request and initiation (last time I did that, btw). I even told him I was done. That I had initiated every dinner date we had. And he told me that he had been seriously considering kicking me out of the house. I asked him why, and his response was so unfeeling. He told me that he was so frustrated with me, he didn’t want to deal with me. Great dad, that’s such a loving way to treat your daughter. I love that you’re caring for me.
Pardon my cynicism. It doesn’t take much for my cynical heart to pop back up to the surface. I think that cynicism is the direct product of a broken heart.
Going back home after our short and blunt, at least on my part, coffee date, I had no idea what was in store for me. I knew that he had told me that he wasn’t thinking about kicking me out anymore, so I guess that was good. He had complained that I wasn’t talking to him, and I told him that I had nothing to say to him. I told him I didn’t trust him. And i knew there was a huge possibility he would never remember or would actually hear the things I told him. I walked away from that coffee date knowing that it hadn’t gotten me anywhere, and I was fine with that. I really didn’t expect anything different.
About a week later, my friend died.
I still continued with work, struggled with the way my dad wasn’t treating me, and feeling that claustrophobic feeling of I have to get out of here. I had tried to move out a year prior, but had succumbed to the guilt trips from my dad about how my siblings would be negatively impacted if I left them. Besides, he said, I didn’t have transportation. Too much opposition. It was just too much for me to figure out and fight against.
A year later, I was beginning to feel that now was the right time to move out. The day before my dear friend’s funeral, I went to breakfast with my mom. It was probably one of the most tense meals I’ve ever had with her. we were both on edge, and she was stuck between my dad and me, and obviously felt torn. we ended our breakfast with me saying that maybe it is time for me to move out. her response shocked me when she agreed with me. Upon getting home, I immediately started thinking about how I was going to move out, or at least who to get counsel from about moving ahead with moving out.
I was working on getting some piles of clothes and such cleaned up, when suddenly both of my parents burst into my room, and my dad shut the door behind him. My first feeling was one of dread and anxiety. This was so not cool.
My dad told me that he had talked with mom about the breakfast we had had that morning, and that he wanted me to move as soon as possible. “Within the next two weeks.” He told me that he’s tired of dealing with me, and doesn’t have time for me anymore. He told me that I’m a bad influence on my siblings, that he wants me gone, and that he’s tired of me not helping out my mom. Gosh, I was gone 5 days a week, working a full time job! I didn’t have the physical time, or energy, to do every chore around the house when getting home late from work! He looked around my room and told me that my bed had to stay and to talk with mom about what else I could take. With that, he left the room, and I was left in a puddle of shocked tears. I called my fiance and tearfully told him what had just happened. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him that stinkin’ mad. He actually had to get off the phone with me because he was so mad he couldn’t speak. He ended up calling my dad, and trying to chew my dad out for kicking me out. My fiance asked my dad if he had taken the time to listen to me or hear my heart. my dad told him that I didn’t have a choice and I was moving out. no matter what.
I sat in my room in shock, and when my mom came by later, I couldn’t believe what she told me. She said that appeals were welcomed. I sat there, reeling. I was just told, by my mom, that my dad wanted me to come to him, and beg and plead to let me stay. how the heck could I do that when the things he wanted me to do were in no way possible for me to do?! Heck no, I wasn’t going to go appeal. It truly was time for me to leave. This decision was further cemented when multiple people came to me and said that my dad had told them that appeals were welcomed. I never, not once, heard that directly from my dad. There was no way on earth I was willing, anymore, to bow down to his egotistical reign over my family. I was done.
Later that evening, my mom told me everyone else was going out to dinner, and I could come along if I wanted to. I didn’t really want to stay home, besides, what’s not to like about a free meal. my dad was in extraordinarily chipper spirits, and all of my siblings and I felt like there was something really messed up with that picture. He had just told his oldest child and daughter to move out, and then here he is, less than 8 hours later, happy and cheerful at dinner. It was so sickening. I have never been more grateful for working 9.5 hours a day than I was those following two weeks before I moved out.
I was home as little as I could be. My heart felt shredded, and no more would I try to initiate any sort of relationship with my dad. I felt used, manipulated, crushed, betrayed, unloved, misunderstood.
Even though three months later I let my dad walk me down the aisle, I hated it every step of the way. I could not wait to reach my love and be away from the man I did not know who walked beside me.
I do not trust that man. I don’t honestly think I will ever trust him again. And that’s okay. When my husband and I start our family, he will not be allowed near our children. I don’t care how “hurt” he feels, his grandchildren will never know him. I never want my children to feel like their parents don’t love them. I don’t want my children to feel the pain that a hypocritical dad can leave behind. My dad is self-centered, self-pitying, and he has lost most of his kids’ respect. I think rightly so.
The hardened part of my heart is still not willing to let my dad back into my life. For all I care, I don’t want him around until it is clear that he has repented, changed, and is actively seeking out his children to win them back. I do not see myself initiating another coffee/dinner date with my dad. He has actively stepped on, crushed, and broken my heart too many times.
Readers, be careful how you treat your children. A child has a very deep memory. They have an even deeper memory when it comes to feeling/being hurt. Be careful.
With that in mind, and without further ado,