I am the daughter of an absent father.
He spent the majority of my life in prison, the time after prison, drunk. And then he died.
When I was younger, all I wanted was his approval. I wanted to know that, although he had no hand in raising me, I had somehow done something to make him proud. I never did, not to my knowledge.
Now that I’m older and have done some armchair psychology lessons, TED talks, and other pseudo therapy, I am aware of the fact that I am still looking for his approval, but in the form of relationships.
It’s dating with daddy issues. It’s a real circus.
In the past, I sought protection. Someone who would make me feel as though I wasn’t as vulnerable as I had been in the past. Someone to take on the boogeymen who still, at 44, manage to hide under my bed and in my closet.
I found that, although they said that they would protect me, in the end they either wanted to isolate or intimidate me. So, I learned to protect myself, to guard my own closet door until the sun came up, lest anything try to escape.
I wanted validation. I never had a father to tell me that I was smart, or pretty, or capable. I looked for a man who would tell me so, no matter how shallow the words were.
It seemed the more complimentary the man, the less substance there was between us. I realized the same words he had for me, he had for every woman. I had to develop my own depth, my own substance, to know compliments that were based on my worth.
The hardest obstacle to overcome was the rejection. Every time it wasn’t a ‘yes’, a full speed ahead, an overwhelming acceptance, it was telling me I wasn’t good enough. I still struggle with it today, actually.
If he can’t see me right now, it’s heartbreaking. If he had other plans, I’m a second choice. Things that shouldn’t hurt are devastating, because I’m still seeking acceptance in people filling in for my father.
I’ve ruined relationships, friendships. Not because I didn’t value the person, but because I based my value on how they saw me. It made me seem needy, although I was just vulnerable. It made me look desperate, when I was simply desperate for reassurance.
I still catch myself repeating this pattern sometimes, even now. I’ve filled my life with other things, good and positive things, so I know that I am worthy of being loved. Yet, the question is still there. Would he be proud of me now, today? Would he tell me I’m smart? Would he tell me I’m pretty?
If we’re being honest, probably not.
It’s the father-sized void I have left to fill.
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This post was previously published on Ellemeno.
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