I’ve never really liked Father’s Day.
Up until very recently, I had labeled myself a girl with “daddy issues”. It was a bit of a self-deprecating joke, but underneath it, I think it was a bit of an excuse. An excuse to place blame and give my power to another who I had named the reason I made the choices I had made.
Out of all the facets of my life, I feel I’ve struggled in relationships most of all. I idealized and created a narrative that looked like being rescued or being chosen. I thought that would make me feel special. Today, I realized that every single relationship was a steppingstone along the path to me coming back home to myself. A big part of this was seeing my father as a human being with his own issues that were there long before my arrival. Issues that shaped the way he fathered (or didn’t father) his children. Although he let me down, I have chosen not to stay down.
One of the things I try to remember during difficult times is the Shamanic phrase “don’t sit down in the dark”. I realized I had been sitting down in my daddy issues for far too long, a victim trapped in a story.
I spent too much of my life in this trap, a trap my mind created and I blindly followed. I’ve dated “my father” several times throughout my life. These relationships looked like irrational jealousy, bullying, verbal abuse, intimidation, controlling behavior, losing myself in the relationship, fawning to please, and trading my self-respect to hold onto connection. I overstayed in these relationships believing I could change them. I really, truly believed that if I was as special as they said I was, they’d be different, and I would get to feel the way I dreamed. It would be me who changed them all around. Their tough exterior would melt away into a puddle just for me. You might say I liked the bad boy, but they weren’t bad. They just had some lived experiences that gave them a little grit, and I liked that because I had it too. I now know they were holding up a mirror for me that I wasn’t yet ready to look into. Energy that was seeking completion. Those relationships reflected what remained unhealed within me. They were spiritual assignments, and I’m grateful for every one of them.
When I was notified that my dad had died, we hadn’t spoken in 10 years.
Learning that he had died alone at home and hadn’t been found for a few days was devastating. It stirred up an enormous amount of anxiety and sadness. I ached inside at the idea of any human being dying alone. Were his symptoms managed? Was he in pain? My mind went wild wondering, and my highly sensitive heart was just broken. Even though we hadn’t spoken, I had no doubt I would have been there in a moment’s notice to be there for him. I asked myself why. Was it to be the bigger person? To prove I was worthy of his love? To be seen by him for once? Would I have been doing it for him or for me?
When his sister was planning his services, she called to say that my dad did not want my mom at his funeral. I was so angry at him. Angry that he was so bitter, so resentful, that even in his death he was trying to control the hell out of things. His anger towards my mom hurt me, even in the end. This had been the story of my life. He resented her leaving him, and I was stuck in the middle, an innocent little girl waiting for her daddy to choose her.
My mom has always been the only person in my life to understand even a little bit of the void he had left in me, and she couldn’t be there by my side at his funeral. Deep down I was upset with her for accepting his request without advocating for me. Why wasn’t she speaking up saying she needed to support me? In this moment, I was still a little child waiting for my adults to do the right thing on my behalf. Always waiting.
Looking back, I understand that my mom was just honoring my aunt who was trying to honor her brother, but through it all, I suffered the most. The child who always carried the invisible burden of her parent’s dysfunction. I began to realize I was tired of carrying it all. I was ready to put it down.
After my aunt sorted through his house, she created a box of memories and belongings for each of his children. That was in 2022. This box sat on the floor for 4 years. At first, I thought I couldn’t handle it, at least that’s what I told myself. I felt scared of what I might find in there. I wondered if it would stir up emotions I couldn’t deal with. I wasn’t sure I had the strength. It was never the “right” time.
Over the last few years, I have been shedding a lot of the weight I no longer wish to carry. This weight has shown up in my body as debilitating back pain, neck tension, and even a mysterious frozen shoulder that left my dominant arm completely useless. This unbelievable pain and debilitation swooped in around the time of my dad’s death and bewildered doctors. It resolved without us ever really knowing the cause.
That mirror I wasn’t ready to look into? I picked it up and began to face my demons.
My children have been my biggest inspiration for change. My other inspiration has been being both a receiver of and a student of Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy. Learning to see from the lens of my spiritual Self even as parts of me reacted to the external world: the circumstances, experiences, people, and things I cannot control. I opened my inner sight and my heart to the strength I held within me, but I had become separate from. I saw how reactive I was being in response to my younger daughter, getting overwhelmed by both of my children’s endless anxieties and sensitivities, all while realizing my marriage was falling apart. I knew I needed to reach higher. I needed something beyond me to carry me through or I was going to keep getting thrown around in the waves of this bottomless ocean.
I also didn’t like who I was becoming. I remined me of my dad—resentful, reactive, angry, even rageful at times. Women sometimes laugh, blaming rage on fluctuating hormones, but I began to see it as what I’ve learned to be sacred rage. Sacred rage is that knock on the door when enough is enough and you need fierce advocacy….from YOU. You are no longer numb. You can no longer carry on the way you’ve been living. You can no longer NOT speak up. You can no longer watch life passing you by as you victimize yourself. It no longer fits who you are becoming.
Change was beckoning me forward, whether I was ready or not.
This year, in honor of Father’s Day I finally opened the box. With my two daughters by my side, we went through the pictures and other memories. My favorite picture of me and my dad was inside, and I felt both a warmth in my heart and a bit of sadness. My daughters kept asking me if I was sure I was ready, and I assured them I was. They asked me how I knew. I told them that I’ve learned to handle discomfort, that it doesn’t last, and that I know how to gently support myself through it. This is how I know. I allowed whatever needed to to rise up, I relaxed through the tears, and I let it pass through. No longer fighting, avoiding, or pushing it away. I just opened my heart to the experience….fully. I let my children watch me as I did.
It feels ironic that the longest day of the year, the summer solstice, is also on Father’s Day. I will welcome the sunlight of the longest day to shine down on me as I’m reminded of my own inner light. The light that has always been there, just waiting for me to see it. Waiting for me to remember.
The other night, after my girls went to bed, I danced outside on my back deck in the dark. There was a storm approaching, and the wind was picking up. I swayed and moved my body like the trees and my hair blew in the breeze like the leaves on the branches. I watched the last of the animals take shelter in the woods. I smiled as I moved and liberated my body, basking in this feeling of freedom. The last song I heard was “End of an Era” by Niall Horan.
So I’m letting go of
Someone I want more of
One breath and it’s over
The end of an era
It feels like the daddy issues chapter has closed. In the depths of me I really believe it has. Another Father’s Day will come and go. Boys have come and gone. My heart has mended this core wound, and is open to all the possibilities that lay ahead. The freedom I feel today is rooted in forgiveness. I’ve forgiven my dad for not being able to give me what I needed back then and I forgive myself for the way that wound informed my life and relationships for as long as it did. I have learned to let go.
Is there something in your life that keeps showing up, asking to be witnessed?
What might happen if you opened your heart to the possibility of letting go?
Here for it all with an open heart.
