Daddy Issues for me are a messy mix of memories and guilt and self-care.
By
Updated 4 years ago,November 18, 2020
I admit it.
I do not call my dad.
Photo bySiavash GhanbarionUnsplash
Its not that I dont want to or that I physically cant.
You might be thinking to yourself, Wow.
Who doesnt call their father?!
She must have daddy issues…
Trust me, Ive asked myself the same questions.
Okay, maybe thats an exaggeration.
We bonded over our love of dirt biking when I showed a knack for it around 11 years old.
His exhaustion was apparent in ways like the unfinished projects scattered through the house and his short temper.
My parents relationship crumbled when I was in high school, and their divorce was a long time coming.
I moved out shortly after my high school graduation.
When I was 23, I decided to move to the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, 1,200 miles away.
My dad was an integral part of my process, and he supported me with gumption.
I wouldnt have considered it without his blessing.
My dad was there, of course, and said he was proud of me.
He said he would visit soon, and that he was excited to see the mountains.
I also get my crying from my dad.
In the beginning, we talked on the phone often.
I was in love with my new mountain life and I wanted him to share in my joy.
I wanted him to visit and see the mountains that I called home.
Thats not what happened.
The calls became more infrequent and shorter.
Pretty soon, the calls turned into texts.
The texts turned into Facebook likes here and there, until our relationship became nothing more than awkward silence.
It was like he resented my life because I wasnt around to hang out with him anymore.
I mean, who was he supposed to dirt bike with?
I think he started realizing that I never intended to come back to Oregon.
But I didnt understand.
I kept reaching out, asking him to visit, offering to buy him plane tickets.
He always had a reason not to come.
I filled the void with camping and friends and the new life I had built from scratch.
I was proud of myself, and I wanted to share that with my father.
I tried to ignore my feelings of abandonment while I attempted to convince myself that I didnt need him.
Months became years, and the distance between my dad and I festered in an ugly way.
It was an unspoken truth that we wouldnt face, being made from the same cloth.
As a young adult, I was eager for the advice and guidance that only a parent can offer.
He was too busy riding motorcycles and visiting my sisters and his grandchildren.
I was too busy internalizing my daddy issues and smoking weed.
Birthdays came and went.
My partner and I bought a home and a business and he never came to support us.
I was living a life my father knew nothing about.
Things came to a head when he called me out of the blue about six years after I moved.
We hadnt talked in months.
The little girl in me finally spoke, and she was angry.
There were more tears.
I told him I needed him to make a real effort.
I thought I had made myself heard.
Then I waited some more while I nursed a heart that he was actively breaking.
I saw a photo of my dad on a friends Facebook page with a woman I didnt recognize.
She was wearing a white dress and holding flowers.
No, I think hurt is a better word.
Like, what the fuck?
My dad got remarried?
Damn, he must be pretty busy to have not invited me.
I masked my hurt with a resolute decision that I couldnt play his game anymore.
I would be his daughter, and he would treat me that way, or I would not be.
I couldnt keep letting him wound me, believing I could change him.
I made myself a little brain compartment that day to tuck all my daddy issues into.
I intentionally misplaced the key and I havent bothered looking for it since.
Why do I share this?
Nedra explained how easy it is to question someone that chooses to not have a relationship with a parent.
She goes on to urge people to think about how difficult that decision must have been for that person.
I, of course, started crying.
I still want my dad.
Rather than try and risk failure, he doesnt try at all.
The apple doesnt fall far.
I fight with myself for letting go of my relationship with my father.
Ive been conditioned to expect disappointment when I let him in my life.
I have compassion for my dad.
Its not that he doesnt care.
But hes inconsistent at best, and that would be fine if he were my mountain biking buddy.
But hes my fucking dad.
Hes supposed to call me just to see how Im doing.
Hes supposed to come visit me and support the life I built for myself.
I should feel like his daughter.
Daddy Issues for me are a messy mix of memories and guilt and self-care.
I anticipate my emotions and my closest friends dont ask questions.
They know Im doing my best.
Im going to grab the tissues and my favorite bottle of wine and lean into the grief.
But the truth is, I respect myself for prioritizing my mental health.
I forgive myself for letting go.
I dont call my dad.
Judge me if you will, but Im done judging myself for it.
