Healing the Father Wound

I’ve mentioned my dad throughout my posts, and since I’ve shared about my mother, it feels right to complete the story by talking about him. I once wrote him a letter to let everything go, and though I’ve since lost it, the purpose was served: I shared it with my children, and I released it. Writing his story hasn't been as heavy as writing my mom’s; despite everything, I was closer to my dad.

The Complexities of Love

Like my mom, my dad told me not to have feelings. They were both emotionally unavailable in their own ways. But my dad had a "fun" side. He’d take us fishing—just us kids. I loved those trips because it was a way to get away from my mom, and we always got snacks. I really loved those snacks.

But there was a darker side, too. Growing up, he disciplined us with a belt or a switch. He was part of the "Silent Generation" where that was the norm, but it was something I refused to carry on with my own children. In fact, I once had to "lose it" on him when I overheard him saying he was going to spank one of my kids. I told him if he ever laid a hand on them, we’d have a problem.

Now that my kids are 21, 19, and 16, I know I was right. They are respectful and they listen—not because they are intimidated, but because we have a real connection. Success doesn't require fear.

The Hardest Goodbye

When my mom passed away, my dad fell apart. He had always struggled with death, avoiding funerals and refusing to face the feelings that come with loss. He wasn't there for me during that time; he was too lost in his own depression and drinking. He missed my mom so much he wanted to be with her, which was confusing because they fought so much. Looking back, I think they clashed because they were both trying to be the "masculine" provider in the relationship.

He died in 2015, just four and a half months after my mom. He could have taken care of himself and lived longer, but he didn't care to. That was the "abandonment" I felt—the pain of him choosing to let go. For years, I couldn't even talk about it without hurting.

The Power of Vulnerability

My dad wasn't big on compliments, but I’ll never forget the year I got married, bought a house, and got a promotion all at once. He told me, "You did great." I needed to hear that.

I’m also grateful for the way my kids changed him. They would always say "I love you" and hug my parents, and eventually, my parents started doing it back. By raising my kids differently, I actually helped my parents learn how to show affection.

After he passed, I had recurring dreams of him. In the dreams, we were in my childhood home, but I only ever saw the back of him as he was leaving. It made me so sad. I felt like he was a "coward" for not facing his demons, but I realized that was my own judgment.

In 2024, I realized my anger at him was a mirror. I was mad at him for not being vulnerable, but I was also afraid to be vulnerable with my poetry. I didn't think I was "good enough" because I don't follow the rules of writing. But I pushed through, shared my work on social media, and told myself: "These are my feelings, and they can't be wrong."

Not long after I shared my poetry, the dreams changed. Suddenly, my dad was in the house talking my ear off. We were going on trips together. It was confirmation that by working on my own vulnerability, I was finally "hearing" him again.

Putting on the Courage Pants

Today, I can cry in front of people—at meetings, in front of my kids, and with my friends. I’m working a "vulnerability muscle" that wasn't used for 39 years, so it takes time. Like my marathon training, it requires patience.

I am grateful for my dad, and I would choose him again. Both of my parents helped me in ways I didn’t realize at the time. All any of us can do is our best with what we have. If you want to be better, go find it. Put on your "courage pants," become aware of yourself, and love yourself.

I love you.

This is Love