“Anyone can have a child and call themselves “a parent”. A real parent is someone who puts that child above their own selfish needs and wants”-Unknown
Hi dad, it’s me, your baby girl.
When I came into your life I had hopes and dreams.
I hoped for happiness, acceptance and understanding.
I hoped for peace, warmth and stability.
I hoped you would hold my hand as I grew up.
I hoped you would be there when the sun set for me and the light behind the clouds seemed forever lost.
I dreamt you would be my hero, my knight in shining armor.
I dreamt you would be my father, my confidant my mentor.
I dreamt you would be my teacher, my guide and light of my life.
I dreamt you would lovingly show me how to mature into an adult.
I dreamt you would accept me through my most rebellious days.
I needed you to teach me how to stand on my own.
I needed you to teach me to own that space in the world that’s solely mine.
I needed you to teach me to live up to my responsibilities.
I needed you to teach me appropriate speech and behavior.
I needed you to teach me how to stand up for myself.
I needed you to teach me boundaries and how to protect myself.
I needed you to teach me how to be strong.
I needed you to teach me right from wrong.
I needed you to be there when my life fell apart.
I needed your support and understanding through my darkest days and nights.
I needed your comfort and love when I fell into the abyss.
I needed your tenderness and understanding when there was none.
I needed you to save me from my darkest demons and scariest monsters.
I needed your encouragement, your praise, your recognition, your honesty and security.
I needed you to believe in me and my potential.
But most of all, I needed to you to show me that I matter to you.
Not because of what I do or what I wear or what I think or my choices.
I needed to know that I matter to you because I’m you’re little girl, through think a thin.
I now know that you couldn’t be that person for me.
I know you had a hard life, but you were still my dad and that responsibility never changed.
You weren’t there to teach me to ride a bike, how to tie my shoes or show me how to do math.
You weren’t there to ask me how my grades were or if I ate breakfast before school.
I know you were happy with your life, your job and your other wife and kids.
I know I struggled not to succumb to the darkness, the loneliness, the solitude and the silence.
I taught myself right from wrong, good from bad and stood up for myself.
I gained my strength all on my own, and you can’t take credit for that.
I now understand that you craved the happiness, attention and self-fulfilling needs of yourself.
Just as I so badly hoped you would care for me.
Dad, now that I am an adult, that little girl inside of me still needs you to be my hero.
I still wish I had a Dad, not a friend.
I still wish I had you emotionally, not just biologically.
But, how can I explain to you how it hurts when you now reach back to me now without acknowledging the pain, the hurt and void you gave me?
When you’ve thrown me to the curb?
How can I show you that without accountability, there can be no healing?
Your damage has caused deep internal scars.
And as I carry your grandchild, I reflect upon your duties.
I reflect upon your failed attempts and disappointments.
How can I show you that our relationship mirrors that of a friendship, not what a daughter really needs.
How can I show you that as much as I love you and as much as I would to let you back in
I just can’t…completely.
I still need to be unconditionally loved, accepted, praised, encouraged and supported.
I still need my boundaries to be considered and respected.
Dad, I do understand your struggles and now and your wants, needs and desires.
But that gives you no excuse to exclude the job of the father you’re supposed to be.
I wish this baby in my belly will know his/her grandfather.
But sadly, probably never will.
I wish you wanted to know your grandchild.
But your pride won’t let you.
I cannot subject my child to your pain, like you have so often caused me.
The damage is unknown to you, you cannot see.
I wish for you the healing, hope and clarity that I found.
I wish you for the strength to withstand the tests we face in life.
I wish you the strength to be a man and handle a hurtful situation like a man.
I wish the peace you so desperately crave and the love that’s gone missing for so many years.
I love you dad.
Although you can’t love me.
At least the way a father should love his daughter.
Or at least the way I wish you did.
I contemplated whether or not to post this. But you know what? This is my blog. This is my life. This is my story. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. This is the truth. The honest truth.
Do you have something you wish your dad did or didn’t do?