This past weekend my father got remarried.
My dad and I don't have a relationship, or at least we don't have a relationship that extends beyond the world of single syllables. Ever since I can remember, our relationship has been rooted in the conditional acceptance that he has chosen to offer me and because I refuse(d) to comply with his fairytale version of an ideal daughter, he chose not to be a part of my life. I'm proud of the woman that I have become and I'm excited for the places that my life journey will undoubtedly take me and if he doesn't want to share in that...that is his choice and it's his loss.
My father lives his life in a lot of fear. His life is the pragmatized equivalent of a house of cards; a shatterable existence that requires perfection and submissive solidarity to sustain and/or survive. In a house built of cards, not one card can be placed out of line, not one card can stray from the design plan. One misplaced or rebellious card can, and will, ruin the entire house. A house of cards cannot stand successful in the face of adversity, nor is it likely to stand if its creator is not constantly protecting and preserving the fragile piece of work. And when a house of cards begins to tumble, as they often do, the creator runs frantic, striving to maintain a foundation that will inevitably collapse. For my father, nothing, or no one, is more important than keeping his house of cards intact.
Because my father's world is so fragile, there is no room in his world for a girl like me. Last week I wrote about the strength that lies in the frangible and I stand by those words; I believe that there is beauty in the breakable...but, in my opinion, that only applies if you don't let your breakable nature dictate your behavior. The strength and beauty lies not the frangible nature itself, but in the ability to accept that you have vulnerable or breakable moments and yet still you choose to stand and proceed down life's path, no matter how fearful or stumble-driven that path might be. But my father allows fear to be his catalyst and I don't think there's any strength in that.
When I think about my dad and all of the missed opportunities that we had/will continue to have, it makes me feel sad and angry and lonely; but more than anything, when I think about my dad, I feel an overwhelming sense of compassion. I imagine that if your life's priority is to avoid anything that makes you feel uncomfortable and if you live in a constant struggle to maintain something that is essentially unmaintainable...well, I imagine that it can get pretty dark and lonely and paralyzing and I feel sorry that he lives his life in that kind of fear-driven mentality. But no amount of compassion, or love, will make me sacrifice the woman that I've become, the woman that I've become proud of, just because it will make him feel more comfortable. If the only way that I can have a relationship with my father is to adhere to his boundary-forced guidelines, I'm not sure that's the kind of relationship I want to fight for.
I'm not saying all of this to play the victim card, rather quite the opposite. It is true that I had a shitty childhood. I grew up not in a loving, supportive household, but in the equivalent of built-in child support. There was always food on the table, but there was never conversation. I always had the supplies for school work, but never any help for it. My father never took the time to get to know me and my mother was no peach either. (My mom once told me that it would be easier for her to love me if I was skinnier.) My parents openly preferred a daughter that adhered to obligation rather than independence; they never encouraged my spastic, nerdy nature, nor did they ever extend any kind of tangible love towards me...AND...I took responsibility for my life. I stood up and I decided to hold myself accountable. Every value that I have is because I decided to implement that value into my life and I put in the hard work and I strive, every day, to be the kind of woman that I truly want to be.
I hold out hope for my dad and I, I truly do, but not at the sacrifice of the things that I believe in and not at the sacrifice of the things I've chosen to stand for.
1 comment:
I've stumbled upon your website and read your stories about your family. I was very surprised at how much information you were willing to share with strangers, such as myself. In all honesty, I think you need to see a therapist. You hold so much anger towards your family and quite possibly the world. Parents are not perfect, your idea of a parent seems to be one of a fairytale version. At your age its time to take responsibility. You are capable of building a relationship with your mother and father, many people no longer have that option. I'm sure as an adult, you will see a different side to your parents that you never saw as a child.
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